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"Among Sinister Shadows" 29 Mar 2009 5:53 AM (16 years ago)

In March of 1929, Paramount sought to entice newspaper readers into theaters with the following prepared review of William Wellman's "Chinatown Nights" ---

"There is more mystery on one Chinese standing in a shadowy Chinatown doorway than in all the mystery stories ever written. And in 'Chinatown Nights,' showing at the _______ there are more than five hundred Chinese revealed in all the intriguing and little known business of their powerful tongs."

"'Chinatown Nights' is a picture for everyone who loves drama, excitement and mystery. The suspense and action of the picture are excellently handled and the revelation of the inscrutable practices of the Chinese tong are surprising. A superior cast of screen artists enact this superb drama. Wallace Beery, Florence Vidor, Warner Oland and Jack Oakie head the cast of noted screen players. The picture was directed by William Wellman, the man who made 'Wings.'"

"'Chinatown Nights' is the story of a white boss of Chinatown who wins the love of a white society woman. She sacrifices everything for him, but not until she is dragged down into the mire of the underworld, does she awaken to his love for her."

"The Whole Cast Talks!" declared period print ads for the film, and according to one genuine newspaper review of the film in late March of 1929, that fact was, in of itself, a problem:

"'Chinatown Nights' is one of those talking pictures which would have been just as good, if not better, with sound effects only and the old style sub-titles. Wallace Beery and Florence Vidor are the stars in this Chinatown opus, but you go away feeling that Warner Oland, cast as 'Boston Charley,' makes the picture. "

"In this Gallery God's humble opinion, both Beery and Miss Vidor are miscast in a big way. Beery is the white boss of Chinatown, a part which he fills well, but you hardly can see the refined background which he is supposed to have. Miss Vidor makes a very good society woman, but as a drunken creature she wins no sympathy. And, what the sound box does to Miss Vidor's voice, is nobody's business.'"

"The plot deals with the society woman who falls in love with the white boss of a Chinese tong and tries to get him to quit it all and go her way. There is a war, with no small amount of shooting and killing. Some of the sound effects are excellent. In a Chinese theater scene, to cover the bark of guns, one tong throws firecrackers into the air and the staccato is splendidly recorded. There are some interesting scenes of Chinatown and a few inner workings of the tong are exposed."

Happily, while with us today, and an inarguable important entry in early talking film history, William Wellman's "Chinatown Nights" is difficult to fairly judge and nearly impossible to encounter in any form other than horribly bad dupes that, seemingly, first surfaced on Betamax tape ---the stunning photography reduced to wavering blotches of white and gray, and the busy soundtrack, once "splendidly recorded" now a shrill cacophony.

Despite the William Wellman branding, which raises weak hopes that the film may one day surface on DVD simply based on its lineage (early sound films can never seem to receive recognition based solely upon their place in cinema history --- only owing to either who directed them or who appears in them, inexplicably perhaps the only genre of film treated in this odd way) but then too, there is no getting away from the stereotypes that decorate the film (I'll leave it to someone else to use the word "plague") and all the baggage that goes with it. Understandably, "Chinatown Nights" may well long remain lurking in the darkened corners of film history, amidst sinister shadows of quite another sort.


Syndicated publicity item, April 1929:


"To celebrate the completion of 'Chinatown Nights,' the all-talking picture in which he was featured with Florence Vidor, actor Wallace Beery gave a little party at his home. The director, William Wellman, the staff workers, and the cast, including Warner Oland, Jack Oakie and all the others, were invited."


"As they came in, Beery told each that he had arranged with a prominent radio station to broadcast his party, commenting on the arrival of each guest, etc. As they entered, Beery phoned a certain number and almost immediately from the radio loudspeaker came laudatory words of welcome. The guests thought it very fine and complimented Beery on the stunt."


"William Wellman was one of the last to arrive. As he entered the door of the house, the radio spoke words to this effect: 'Here is Billy Wellman, the slave-driving director who beats his wife, sticks pins in his children and tortures his actors. He should be in jail and probably will be soon.'"

"After Wellman had recovered from the shock, and the guests from their hysteria, Beery revealed that the radio was a private affair and that the 'announcer' was George Bancroft, out in the garage."

We pause for melody! Who, of a certain age, won't recognize Paul Whiteman's 1928 recording of "Dancing Shadows" as serving as incidental scoring on what seemed like countless dozens of silent films in the earliest years of home video marketing? Infinitely more interesting than most of the films it accompanied at that time, hearing it again is not unlike greeting an old friend who, maddeningly, never seems to age.

"Dancing Shadows" (1928)

Mr. Ian McIver, who maintains the astounding "Virtual Radiogram" website based in the United Kingdom -- a mecca for theater organ enthusiasts, historians and all else in between -- and a reader of these pages, kindly sent along two of his favorite recordings by Regal Cinema organist Sydney Torch. The first, "When East Meets West" (a medley recorded in 1935 at the Regal Cinema, Edmonton) fits nicely with our nod towards "Chinatown Nights." The second, "Hotter than Ever," (recorded in 1934 at the Regal Cinema, Marble Arch) is sheer, shimmering cinema organ pleasure.

"When East Meets West" (1935)

"Hotter Than Ever" (1934)

Mr. McIver's website (link in above paragraph) is a multi-layered treasure of information (Jesse Crawford fans will be especially delighted!) of cinema organ history in the States, the United Kingdom, Australia and other locales --- accompanied by heaps of graphics and, best of all, a myriad of audio files. Be prepared to spend many a happy hour exploring! Many thanks to Mr. McIver for sharing with us!

Summer, 1929:

"The rhythmic tapping of the feet of 50 dancing girls - the wailing of saxophones and the high notes of an opera tenor in a theatrical boarding house - the bark of gangster's guns and the quiet 'raise you five grand' in a poker game are said to be some of the high spots in the First National Vitaphone picture 'Broadway Babies.'"

"'Broadway Babies' takes you behind the scenes in a big musical comedy theater, into night clubs of Broadway, and into the theatrical boarding house. It is a story of theatrical life, the experiences of three young hoofers who are fighting for recognition behind the footlights. Dazzling sets, particularly the theatrical scenes and those in the night clubs, promise to be exceptional."

So declared studio publicity releases farmed out to newspaper syndicates in mid 1929, and for once, the claims were valid --- and remain valid in 2009.

Is there a more charmingly cluttered (both visually and aurally) early talking film than "Broadway Babies?" Despite the abundance of optical and audio excess --- or because of it, "Broadway Babies" could easily (and should!) be called upon to serve as the leading surviving example of what talking cinema was like at that point in time --- when the part-talking hybrids had largely given up the ghost, and Hollywood had resolved to embrace and enhance the new medium. Best of all, by today's standards, "Broadway Babies" doesn't dull the senses -- it excites them.

The overly-decorated sets give the eye something to settle upon at every viewing (once one has had enough time to digest Alice White's limited repertoire of acting modes) and the soundtrack, bless it --- is a technical masterpiece of the period. Long before the term "multi-track" had even been a fanciful notion, "Broadway Babies" layers dialogue, incidental sound effects and a nearly start-to-finish astonishingly intricate background musical score into a practically seamless, unified whole.

"Broadway Babies" served as the opening talking picture attraction at the newly wired-for-sound Lantex Theater (Llano, Texas) in late 1929, and the arrival of talkies themselves was deemed of enough importance to warrant a special newspaper pull-out "Talkie Section" as well. Perhaps in the days leading up to the re-opening of the theater, citizens heard this special Victor exploitation recording being played outside the theater or in local record and phonograph shops?:

"Broadway Babies" (1929)


The following publicity placement for the now presumed-lost 1930 film "She Couldn't Say No" was heralded as being written by the film's star, Winnie Lightner, herself. While doubtful at best, the piece does serve to give us an idea of the filmed that can't easily be gleaned otherwise:

"While I was playing the leading role in 'She Couldn't Say No,' I realized for the first time what a heartbreaking experience it is for a woman to love a man who does not love her. I studied the part so thoroughly that I am sure I gained a complete understanding of the character. Of course, it would not do for me to say that I play it convincingly, but when you see 'She Couldn't Say No,' I hope you will enjoy my performance. I sure did my best to entertain you."

"In the story I am Winnie Harper, a big-hearted night club entertainer, who falls madly in love with Jerry, a racketeer, and then almost breaks her neck reforming him - which is always a silly thing for a woman to do. But then, Winnie loved the way she did everything else. With all her heart and soul."


"She succeeds in keeping him on the straight and narrow path for a long time by employing him as her manager. Inspired by the love she lavishes on him, she goes on to bigger and better things until she lands a job as the prize attraction at the swellest night club in town. With Jerry drawing 10% of her salary things go along smoothly and Winnie begins to think that her luck has changed and that she and Jerry are going to live happily ever after."

"Blinded by her own love, she refuses to see that Jerry's indifference is due to the fact that he does not love her. And then the dreadful blow! Winnie discovers that Jerry has fallen in love with a society girl who is attracted to him because he is so different from the men she has been acquainted with all her life. To keep up with her crowd he joins the 'gang' in a job, is arrested and sent to jail."

"Winnie still fights for the man and just when she thinks she is winning, the society girl steps into the picture again. Believe me, this poor girl certainly has her heartbreaking moments. When you see the picture you will sympathize with her just as I did. Of course, Jerry eventually comes to his sense but - well, it's too late. In watching the misfortunes of Winnie you, too, are going to understand what a tragic thing it is for a woman to love in vain."

Clearly, today's film trailers which painstakingly spell out each plot twist and treat you to every notable scene, visual element or clever line of dialogue, can trace their lineage back to this sort of counter-productive publicity placement! Sadly, at this stage in the game, it is unlikely we'll ever have the chance to see for ourselves --- but, stranger things have indeed happened.

As performed by vocalist Welcome Lewis, these two covers of melodies from "She Couldn't Say No" are pleasant enough, but nobody could belt 'em out like Winnie, so --- lacking Vitaphone disc audio in absence of the film itself, we must content ourselves.

"Watching My Dreams Go By" and "A Darn Fool Woman Like Me" (1930) Welcome Lewis

Melody that arrived between the end of the Great War and the dawn of the 1920's is as unique, to my way of thinking, as it is difficult to describe. There's a palpable sense of release and relief in this music, as we moved away from the terrible struggles and senseless death that permeated the War, and began to find a new place and sense of self in the weak first light of the new decade. Teetering and wavering between the old and the new, tentatively dipping into new forms of musical expression, these tunes capture a moment in time and history when all seemed possible, once having survived what was once deemed impossible.

"Darling" (1919)
"Rose Room" (1920)
Art Hickman & His Orchestra (Above)

"Make Believe" (1921)
Nora Bayes (Above)

"Oh By Jingo" (1919)
as performed by:

Margaret Young (1920) and Frank Crumit (1920)
(Imagine what Charlotte Greenwood did with this song!)

"Girl of My Dreams" (1929)
"I'm Waiting for Ships That Never Come In"
Performed by Maurice Gunsky (above)

Has anyone any information about this rather interesting vocalist?


Medley from "Whoopee!" (1930)
Medley from "Monte Carlo" (1930)
Performed with Orchestra by Pianist Raye de Costa

Medley from "The Love Parade" (1929)
Jack Payne & His BBC Orchestra

"Why Be Good?" (1929)
Vitaphone Disc Excerpt
A quiet, lilting melody in a sea of swirling jazz --- can anyone identify it?

"Nola" (1927) The Revelers
"Hello Bluebird" (1926) Vincent Lopez & His Orchestra
"High, High, High Up in the Hills" (1927) Nat Shilkret & the Victor Orchestra

Excerpt from "Jack White & His Montrealers"
(Vitaphone Short Subject # 791)
"I'm Ka-Razy For You" ("Say It With Songs") - Ruth Petty
"Mean to Me" - The Lee Sisters

Medley - "The Gold Diggers of Broadway" (1929)

Wishing all Readers a Happy, Safe and --- Let's Hope --- PROSPEROUS Spring Season!

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A Yuletide Frolic III - "Cheer Up and Smile!" 20 Dec 2008 1:10 PM (16 years ago)

Happy Holidays! For this third annual Yuletide Frolic edition of "Vitaphone Varieties," we'll acknowledge the disconcerting notion that the less romantic and fanciful aspects of the late 20's and early 30's might be closer to us than we suspect by entirely ignoring that fact and simply having fun with this post!

While postmen today don't seem to carry parcels any longer --- or smile much either for that matter, one can't help but wonder at the contents of some of those neatly wrapped parcels he cheerfully lugs up this snowy residential city street --- here forever caught in a mid-delivery time warp of the sort that most of us still experience today every now and then.

To accompany him on his appointed route, let's pipe in Eddie Cantor's (timely!) 1931 recording of "Cheer Up! Smile! Nertz!"

"Cheer Up! Smile! Nertz!" (1931)




Although this second image was taken on the same stretch of street, we have another smiling postman here --- and a grateful recipient as well. To continue and cap this little introductory "Cheer Up" motif, we've coaxed the fragile Noel Francis out of the dark and distant old posts from these pages to warble "Cheer Up and Smile" from the preserved but elusive "New Movietone Follies of 1930." Miss Francis? Ah, here she is... Yes, this way... Take your time.... Deep breath now... Ready? Ladies and Gentlemen, Miss Noel Francis:

"Cheer Up and Smile!" (1930)

The sadly absent mid-1929 Universal talkie "College Love" (an eight reel elaboration upon the studio's long running and successful "Collegians" series of two-reelers) is described thusly and adequately by the AFI catalog:

"At Caldwell College, Flash Thomas (Eddie Phillips,) captain of the football team, is in love with Dorothy May (Dorothy Gulliver,) who is infatuated with Bob Wilson (George Lewis,) without whose help Thomas would not be such an outstanding player. Broken hearted, Thomas tries to laugh it off, then against the rules accepts an invitation to a roadhouse party. Wilson, discovering he is missing, hides in Thomas' bed to fool the coach (Hayden Stevinson,) then tries to persuade him to leave the party. When they return, however, the coach discovers the ruse and puts Wilson, who shields Thomas, out of the game. Dorothy asks for an explanation and, receiving none, returns Thomas' fraternity pin. At the last minute, Wilson is rushed into the game and Thomas plays to redeem himself. Wilson scores a touchdown, is proclaimed a hero, and wins the love of Dorothy."

A Charleston, West Virginia newspaper review from late July of 1929 brings us a bit closer to a film we'll likely never otherwise experience:

"Those who have seen the cast of promising young screen players in the series of short college stories entitled 'The Collegians,' are due for a surprise in their first feature production, 'College Love,' showing at the Virginia Theater."

"It is difficult to identify the improvement, but that improvement is very obvious. Perhaps the addition of sound is responsible, but more like, one observes, it's the scenario. 'College Love' gets away from the Horatio Alger type of story and therein, one suspects, lies its success."

"There is an abundance of action in this picture - action on the gridiron, on the campus, and action in romance and comedy. The musical score greatly enhances the story - there are some very tuneful selections. The dialogue is on par with many of the motion pictures which stars with years of learning appear."

"'College Love' is a swiftly-moving story of life in one of the large institutions of learning - although the 'learning' feature is entirely ignored. The action hinges upon a football game and the male leads are taken by members of the squad."

"Brought into the plot is the 'darling of the campus' and the rivalry between the two heroes of the gridiron for her attention. Excellent scenes of a football game before thousands of fans are shown. They are so realistic that one could easily imagine they were being shown from a news reel."

"Dorothy Gulliver takes the part of the campus favorite. The rivals are George Lewis and Eddie Phillips. Other who have taken parts in the 'Collegians' series add considerably to this picture. It is, without exaggeration, the best picture portraying college life that has been produced in sound."

While I couldn't dredge up recordings of the two original tunes featured in "College Love" ("It's You" and "Oh, How We Love Our College,") we have an entertaining 1927 recording that takes the accepted tradition of casting college pictures with performers for whom college youth is a distant and faded memory to a level of high parody. The vocal is by our old friend, Billy Murray, joined here with dialect comedian, Monroe Silver.

"Oh, How We Love Our Alma Mater" (1927)

Before moving along to our next feature item, a selection of melodies ---

From a long list entitled "Lost Films That We're Not So Sure We'd Go Out of Our Way to See if They Weren't," comes this pairing of beautifully performed tunes from Metro's 1930 "The Rogue Song," as interpreted by Nat Shilkret & the Victor Orchestra:

"The Rogue Song" and "When I'm Looking At You"

Resurrecting a tune from time dimmed pages of this blog --- if only for the fact that it well deserves another brief fling at fame --- is "Blue Baby," a 1928 melody that all but soars upwards and away every time I hear it --- which isn't often enough. The music is by Roy Leonard & His Orchestra (that swirling jazz violin knocks me out every time!) and the vocal is by Irving Kaufman --- who is nothing short of perfect here.

"Blue Baby" (1928)

With each passing year, Fox's 1929 landmark musical "Sunny Side Up" seems to never quite catch the DVD release train --- bravely grasping for the brass ring, but never quite making it into boxed sets where its inclusion might not be precisely logical but neither unwelcome either, as an extra or supplement. Hope still exists that Fox might gather up "Just Imagine," "New Movietone Follies of 1930," "Happy Days," "Hearts in Dixie" and "Sunny Side Up" for a diverse and important collection of the studio's early sound product --- but, alas and alack! -- none of these films can boast any pedigree (an element apparently vitally critical to Fox when pondering what to do next) other than that they were all wildly popular and successful with audiences of the day.

Here's a gem of a review of "Sunny Side Up" but Wood Soanes, from September of 1929:

"'Sunny Side Up' isn't the best title in the world for a picture - it sounds as if the film were an epic of the hash house - but 'Sunny Side Up' is one of the best pictures of the year and another ten-strike for Janet Gaynor and Charles Farrell. It doesn't require the gifts of a prophet to foresee the box office interest that will be aroused in this new Fox release, previewed at the Grand Lake last evening, for it affords Miss Gaynor the best chance she has had since 'Seventh Heaven.' It provides us with some new screen faces if importance, it has a bevy of corking tunes, it possesses some elaborate scenic contrivances, and most of all - it has laughs."

"As a matter of record, the Grand Lake audience hasn't laughed more at six romantic comedies. And for these guffaws, you may thank the memory of the gag man who exhumed comedy situations from all ears; and the skill of El Brendel, Marjorie White and Frank Richardson - particularly Miss White, because she had to make most of her own comedy."

"It may seem a little odd to have such a profusion of diaphragm laughter in the story that is merely a revision of the Cinderella tale in which a winsome East Side girl dreams of a Prince Charming and has him come to life almost at once: a story in which Cinderella is transported into the 400, is ousted by mistake and then gets back with flying colors and her man. That tale surely, is not new to screen audiences."

"But, the telling of it was another story. David Butler unfolds his first sequences in the East Side tenement where Miss Gaynor lives and is beloved by Brendel, the delicatessen merchant. Her pals are Frank Richardson, a song plugger with a flair for musical theft that is inordinate, and Miss White who is just one of those little jazz babes with a delicious sense of humor and an aptitude for nut comedy."

"The merit of 'Sunny Side Up' as may easily be discovered from this synopsis is not in the story, nor, you may be informed, is it in the work done by Farrell who, is pretty to look at but has one of those baby voices that go with the vo-de-do boys in the male quartets. It is the ensemble effect, the blending of rich comedy with acceptable pathos, and the singing of such tunes as 'If I Had a Talking Picture of You.' "

"Sunny Side Up" ran two hours and seven minutes last evening and will, of consequence, be edited. Perhaps in the thirty minutes of material that is dropped we will lose the symphony orchestra effect when Miss Gaynor plays the zither - no fooling - in the privacy of her boudoir; some of the more obvious of the cheap jokes; a couple of the burlesque scenes into which vulgarity crept; the children's part in the 'Talking Picture' chorus and some of the painted back drops."

"Of all things that should be retained at all cost are the 'daisy specialty' of Miss White and Richrdson, and the beautiful Arctic-to-Tropic transformation scene. This last was one of the most unique presentations to be put on the screen and while it is a little too long, it is sufficiently unique to stand. One looks for effects of this kind in the 'revue' pictures, but doesn't find it. Then, it shows up in a 'Sunny Side Up.'"

Let's hope the film again "shows up" again in a form that restores at least some of its once former glory --- and rescues it from the black market where it now unhappily resides in tattered and senseless near-oblivion.

"If I Had a Talking Picture of You"
(1929) Johnny Marvin

"You've Got Me Picking Petals..."
(1929) The High Hatters

"Turn on the Heat"
(1929) The Collegiate Jazzers
Vocal by (who else?) Irving Kaufman

Medley from "Sunny Side Up"
(1929) Al Benny's Broadway Boys

Selections from "Sunny Side Up"
(1929) The Rhythm Maniacs
Side One - Side Two


Our next item of interest is courtesy of Doug Gerbino, a loyal reader and friend of these pages:

Accompanying most initial screenings of Warner Brothers' 1927 Vitaphone success "The Better 'Ole" --- a broad comedy of the Great War that starred Syd Chaplin as "Old Bill," a character created by Bruce Bairnsfather --- was none other than Mr. Bairnsfather himself, via a Vitaphone short subject.

Providing a clever introduction to both the character of "Old Bill" and the feature film itself, this simply produced short subject presented Mr. Bairnsfather before the drawing easel, where he replicated his famous character while telling of how it came to be created. But --- to paraphrase John Miljan --- why tell you about it when I cannot let you see it, but hear it? Here then --- and again, thanks to Doug, is Bruce Bairnsfather (portrait, below left) via the Vitaphone.

Bruce Bairnsfather (1927) Vitaphone Short Subject #393

Note: The disc has a VERY rough start but ultimately clears up --- somewhat. The other-wordly squeals and groans of this ravaged disc serve as a sad reminder of just how fragile the relics of our past are.

While Vitaphone discs are sturdy souls, and tenacious survivors as well, radio transcription discs of the late 20's and early 30's seeming had an unspoken suicide pact, given the low numbers in which they exist today. That said, it's a pleasure to offer two that were given the will to live and are with us today --- and in fine shape too!

From 1933, NBC's "The A&P Gypsies" (with tenor Frank Parker, under the direction of Harry Horlick) dish up some elegantly arranged melodies of the day -- as well as some mid-brow salon-pop compositions and foreign novelties: "It's Just a Memory," "Butterflies in the Rain," Sigmund Romberg's "Road to Paradise," "Love Songs of the Nile," "Characteristic Russian Melodies," "Let's Have Another Cup of Coffee," "Strike Me Pink," Selections from Victor Herbert's "Natoma," "Stardust," and "Dardanella."

The A&P Gypsies (NBC - 1933)

The real surprise here was just how elaborate this "canned" radio show was in terms of production and care of recording. If you can arrange for your next dinner party to run no more than 36 minutes, this is what you need playing in the background!

"Blossom Time" (1931)

"Blossom Time" (1931) was a short-lived (perhaps even one-shot) syndicated musical offering sponsored by local "Say It With Flowers" florists --- and as such, the focus was one tunes with floral themes or titles. No shortage there, I suppose --- just not tunes that people wanted to hear time and again. Heard here: "I'm Bringing A Red, Red Rose," "Where the Shy Little Violets Grow," "In My Bouquet of Memories," etc., etc. Listeners were urged to bring the whole family to their local florist, where the "Fall Flower Festival" was going on at full speed, with something for everyone! - "Come see the flowers - spend happy hours."

The text portion of this post concludes here --- but a good deal still awaits your eyes and ears ahead! We'll be back shortly after the New Year arrives --- and here's a sincere wish to each and every one of you for a Happy Holiday and a bright, healthy and prosperous 2009!!!!!!!!!

"Christmas Melodies" (1928)
Paul Whiteman & His Orchestra

"Jingle Bells" and "Silent Night" (1931)
Advertisement for the Junior Home Magazine
Phil Spitalny & His Orchestra

"My Silver Tree" (1928)
The Broadway Nitelites

"Jingle Bells" (1925)
The Revelers

"Singing in the Bathtub" (1929)
From "Show of Shows"
Fred Meles' Symphonic Jazz Orchestra

"The Kinkajou" (1927)
From "Rio Rita"
Nat Shilkret & the Victor Orchestra, Vocal by Billy Murray

Promotional Disc for
"Why Bring That Up?" (1929)

"It Happened in Monterey" (1930)
From "King of Jazz"
Henryk Gold & His Orchestra

"A Night of Happiness"
from "A Song of Kentucky" (Fox-1929-Lost Film)
Jackie Taylor's Orchestra, Vocal by Buster Dees

"What is claimed to be the longest close-up ever made in
all talking motion pictures was taken of Lois Moran in
'A Song of Kentucky.' Co-starred with Miss Moran is
Joe Wagstaff with Dorothy Burgess leading the
supporting cast in a story that has as its greatest
thrill, the running of the 1929 Kentucky Derby and
the charm in its musical atmosphere."

"Wedding of the Painted Doll" (1929)
The Badgers
From "The Broadway Melody"

"Chinatown, My Chinatown" (circa 1916)
Tenor Solo - Little Wonder Records

Ad for the "Hop Ching" Checker Game
on Display in Above Window




"That Old Gang of Mine" (1923)
Ernest Jones & Billy Hare

"So What's the Use?" (1910)
Raymond Hitchcock

"The Perfect Song" (1930)
Nat Shilkret & the Victor Salon Orchestra

"Maybe?" (1926)
Nat Shilkret & the Victor Orchestra, with Jesse Crawford

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A Temple of Synchronization 9 Nov 2008 9:25 AM (16 years ago)

No, "Vitaphone Varieties" hasn't fallen by the wayside --- nor has this writer!
True enough, recent posts have been scattered and erratic at best, and gone are the days of new additions that appeared with clockwork regularity in years past --- but I owe it to you, to the topic at hand and (I suppose) to myself, to try to maintain a monthly posting schedule.

Many thanks to the readers who have written, expressing concern, horror, anger and polite curiosity --- for these notes did much to hasten my return! I cannot hope for this blog to ever lay claim to being "100 Shows in One" as the glorious lobby-card for "Show of Shows" depicted above does, but we'll try our best! Oh yes, there will be a third annual "Yuletide Frolic" post in time for the holidays --- so check back!

For now, let's get to it. Forgive the somewhat rusty prose, pace and content of this post --- I'm limbering up after too long being away from the keyboard!

In late 1928, newspapers informed readers that "George Jessel has completed a sound drama with songs for Tiffany-Stahl, titled 'The Ghetto,' from an original story by Viola Brothers Shore." The film would reach screens in February of 1929 as "Lucky Boy."

A lengthy, syndicated publicity press release --- also from February of 1929 --- affords some interesting, albeit highly colored, background on the film --- and on Jessel himself, and is worth offering here in part:

"One day, at the studio, a camera rebelled after Jessel had worked since 10 o'clock that morning. He was due on stage at at the National at 8:30 and it was almost 7. Jessel realized that if the scene was not taken the same day, it would flop. The cast was rehearsed and coaxed into the mood, the scenery had been set up after hours of work, and the musicians were soaked in the melody that Jessel was to sing. While the operator worked on the camera, Jessel jollied everyone along and watched the studio clock anxiously. Soon, everything was in readiness and Jessel mounted the stage. Singing with all h is heart and soul, he went through the first verse chorus of 'My Mother's Eyes,' the theme song of the picture, and not a Kleig light clicked, not an unwanted sound disturbed the perfect synchronization of Jessel's voice. Jessel started on the second stanza. The cameraman cut him short with 'Stop!' The film had buckled. Three times the cameraman made repairs, and three times Jessel sang, only to be cut short with 'Stop!'"

"He had been working all day, he had a night's work ahead of him. In exasperation, he made a dash for the door. 'Let me get out of here quick before I shoot myself" he whispered to the door attendant, but the door had hardly closed on him than he was back. The last attempt was tried. And, oddly, Jessel sang as he had never sung before, the musicians played as though to make the song immortal, and a charm lay on the camera. Instances like this occurred ime and again in the making of 'Lucky Boy,' as in the making of all sound pictures while the process is in its infancy. Jessel, by the sheer force of his personality, surmounted them all."

A far more accurate, yet no less charming overview of 'Lucky Boy' was offered by reviewer Wood Soanes in early March of 1929:

"'Lucky Boy' is the story of a Jewish jeweler in the Bronx. The boy doesn't want to peer through a magnifying glass for the rest of his life. He believes he is an actor in the making. In this contention he receives support from his mother and indignant lectures from his father. So he runs away, becomes a star and has his father refer to him as 'My Boy,' with accent on the 'My.'"

"During the course of the scenario Jessel sings a number of songs, most of them current hits, a Mother song being used more or less as a theme number. Of his song and talk appearances, Jessel's bit in the amateur-night performance was far and away the best. He wrote the dialogue and titles himself, and that was another mistake."

Of the "5 Song Hits 5" mentioned in the ad at left, we have two versions of the film's theme song with us --- one from Jessel's commercial 78rpm release of the tune, and the other an excerpt from the film's soundtrack itself:

"My Mother's Eyes" (1929-78rpm)

"My Mother's Eyes" (1929 soundtrack excerpt)

Curiously, the flipside of the 78rpm release version of "My Mother's Eyes" contains a tune that seems as though it was surely intended for inclusion in Jessel's film, but it's nowhere to be found in the print of the film that I screened --- nor is there mention of it in any press release. It'd be interesting if anyone can shed any light on the minor mystery surrounding:

"When the Curtain Comes Down" (1929-78rpm)

Chester Bahn, Dramatic Critic of the Syracuse Herald, wrote this magnificent, perceptive and evocative review of "The Lights of New York" in late August of 1928:

"In 1915, the Strand, throwing open its doors to Syracuse screen fans, became the city's first deluxe cinema house. In 1927, the Strand introduced the Vitaphone, becoming the city's first temple of synchronization. Yesterday, the renovated and refurnished Strand passed still another milestone of achievement with the local premiere of the first all-dialogue sound drama - Warners' Vitaphoned 'Lights of New York.' Of these three distinct contributions to the city's progress in cinematic entertainment, I am inclined to unhesitatingly award the palm to 'Lights of New York.'"

"The advent of Vitaphone more than a year ago was an omen. The Strand's current headliner may be accepted as its fulfillment, in part at least. To those who with the obvious flaws of preceding sound pictures in mind have dubiously queried 'Can the wide gap between stage and screen technique be spanned?,' Warners' primary attempt to substitute dialog for subtitle makes an affirmative answer in no uncertain fashion."

"Not, of course, that 'Lights of New York' is perfect. Even the most enthusiastic publicity purveyor in the Warner livery would hardly dare claim that. But those faults which are more in evidence are not so much the result of faulty technique as they are of faulty mechanics -- failure of a voice to register, for example. And that, I believe, is of the utmost significance."

"One of the most interesting of all speculative sound subjects has been the effect the introduction of dialog sequences would have upon tempo. A favorite assertion has been that such sequences would so retard action as to make suspense and climactic moments well nigh impossible -- that scenes would drag wearily along. 'Lights of New York' also goes far to nail that as a canard -- not all the way perhaps, but far enough to make an intelligent conclusion possible. The picture, with its liberal use of speech and its minimum of subtitle, is packed with suspense. Nor is there any appreciable loss of 'punch' where the spoken word supplements the conventional screen climax."

"The story itself is old-fashioned melodrama, done a la 'Broadway.' The plot, aside from its setting, is easy recognizable by any veteran of the Grand Opera House galleries. The dialog, introduced is, in the main, sensible. Occasionally, there are lapses, but they are not too frequent so as to annoy. From the standpoint of settings, the picture is well done, with perhaps one exception. A Central Park scene is so unreal, so obviously studio, that it reminds of the cinema's earliest days."

"Histrionically, the picture is average. Warners' publicity spotlights the name of Helene Costello, but there is little in her characterization of Kitty Lewis or in her handling of dialog to warrant it. Cullen Landis, the male lead, makes a fair impression, but he is no Conrad Nagel by any means. The best work, I should say, was done by Gladys Brockwell as Molly Thompson, and by Robert Elliot as Detective Crosby. Wheeler Oakman's heavy is cast in the 10-20-30 mold."

While we await someone to inform this department just what "the 10-20-30 mold" refers to, listen to this excerpt from the original trailer disc as spoken by Warners' player John Miljan. The scripting may strike you as either incredibly pompous or eerily wonderful, but either way you'll remember this one:

Excerpt from "Lights of New York" trailer disc (1928)

By the time Ted Lewis' "Is Everybody Happy?" was trundling towards local screens in time for Thanksgiving of 1929, Lewis himself acted as pitchman for the film --- which may or may not have had audience members firmly resolve to make holiday dinner a quick affair in order to get to their local talkie house in time for the evening show.

Like so many of the more intriguing personality films of the day, nary a frame of film seems to have survived from "Is Everybody Happy?" despite the plethora of audio that lays in wait to perhaps some day rejoin the image.

"Is Everybody Happy?" (Trailer Disc)

Until we meet again next month --

Thank You!

"Sonny Boy" - From "The Singing Fool" (1928) - Vitaphone Disc Excerpt

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The Grand Parade 12 Jul 2008 8:31 AM (16 years ago)

Seeming as though he wants nothing more than to break free of his creators, we see one of Coney Island's Luna Park lions at what amounts to his birth --- with largely Italian artisan hands forming and shaping the body that would soon become adhered to one of the park's fanciful structures. Close examination of the image (click on it!) is rewarding, revealing with startling clarity a moment, an art-form, a location and persons all lost to time.

Ultimately, the construction elements of the lion --- plaster, wood lathe and hemp fiber --- and indeed much of the park itself, would contribute to and feed the conflagration that would destroy it. A sad loss, but its best not to believe any of this would still be with us today otherwise, for the organic nature of the construction elements were akin to a clock counting down from the moment of creation --- its destiny predetermined from the first.

And so too it goes for the medium of film, so I suppose a parallel can be drawn between the two divergent forms of pleasure --- but I'll leave that to you to ponder.

While having utterly nothing to do with either Luna Park or lost cinema, the Irving Berlin tune "The Syncopated Walk" has at least the same sense of boundless ---albeit tightly coiled --- energy as our plaster Leo had, and is well worth featuring here.

Written for the 1914 musical revue "Watch Your Step," which would run at New York City's New Amsterdam Theater until May of 1915, "The Syncopated Walk" would close the first act and the effect must have been nothing short of electrifying.

Danced to by Vernon and Irene Castle, and accompanied by a full chorus of voices (which included Charles King and then partner Elizabeth Brice) and theater orchestra, the presentation must have seemed a onrushing torrent of soaring, diving and sweeping melody, words and movement.

A fair measure of that excitement can still be found in this 1915 British recording of the tune, which features Ethel Levey, Blanche Tomlin and Joseph Coyne --- members of the London company:

"The Syncopated Walk" (1915) Ethel Levey, Blanche Tomlin & Joseph Coyne

"The Syncopated Walk" - Lyrics in .pdf form

Curiously, both "The Syncopated Walk" and another tune from "Watch Your Step" titled "Discoveries" would figure in the Vitaphone score for 1927's "The Great Ginsberg" --- a fact that eluded me until now and which has been added to the original blog post featuring the lost George Jessel film. That entry, from November of 2006 (has it been that long ago?) can be reached via this link --- or those just wishing to hear the audio again can simply click here.

Now sufficiently energized, let's see what the Pathe Studio publicists had to say about their early 1930 offering "The Grand Parade," now deemed a lost film:

"Different in many respects from the cut-and-dried picture romance, 'The Grand Parade,' a Pathe dialogue production featuring Helen Twelvetrees and Fred Scott, is a story of black face minstrelry so popular 40 or more years ago. It is distinctly a new type of entertainment on the screen, for in addition to its vital, forceful drama, it presents a complete minstrel show such as our grandparents delighted to see when they were young. Wonderful music, catchy songs, spicy jokes and the glittering pageantry of Negro entertainment supplement the drama of this remarkable achievement in the field of audible films."

After all that, the film is neatly summed up in two sentences which could easily be describing an early Biograph one-reeler instead of a glittering pageant of audible film: "The story deals with a minstrel singer who wins success, but through the influence of an evil woman, sinks to the dregs, a drunken sot. He is salvaged by a boarding house slavey and she succeeds in making a man of him."

Leave it to Helen Twelvetrees to look utterly forlorn while dressed in regal garb and sitting atop a parade bass drum, but with eyebrows invariably poised in despondent arch and a mouth always at the ready to emit sobs or meek acceptance of whatever sad fate the script dealt her, Miss Twelvetrees seldom fails to disappoint.

Here's a wonderful (but sadly anonymous!) review of "The Grand Parade" by a Waterloo, Iowa newspaper writer who's had a bit too much of this sort of thing but accepts it all gamely and with the same sort of forgiving sense of humor that serves films of this vintage well today:

"After an unsuspecting movie audience has seen a pair of estranged stage actors re-united in countless plays, because of everything from a dying child to who gets the parlor furniture without the radio, the all-talkie 'The Grand Parade,' now showing at the Iowa Theater provides a theme that practically completes the list. This time, Helen Twelvetrees and Fred Scott are held together by the clutching hands of an unborn baby."

"A feature of this bill that will however be enjoyed, is the picturization of an old=time minstrel show. Fred Scott, as the great 'Come Back' Kelly, greatest star in the minstrel world, sings some dandy songs of which the best is 'Molly.' As an actor, Scott is still a good tenor. Helen Twelvetrees, as the boarding house slavey, who marries the former star after he has met a blonde bozo and the bumps in rapid succession, keeps a good supply of tears running almost continuously. She has one effective scene, when she tosses over the husband, because she thinks he has a lot to learn about being a prospective father."

Syndicated Hollywood columnist Robbin Coons discusses both voice dubbing and foreign-release versions of films in a column from May of 1930, and pulled an unsuspecting "The Grand Parade" into the spotlight:

"The screen's 'battle of tongues' chatters away with as many battlefields as there are markets for talkies. And, Hollywood continues to bombard the foreign market effectively enough to keep for talking pictures the supremacy abroad which silents held."

"Making of foreign versions either with the American cast speaking foreign lines, or with foreign actors actually before the camera is gaining conspicuously in favor here over the earlier popular trick of 'dubbing in' foreign dialogue so that the words seem to come from the lips of the Hollywood stars."

"Where 'dubbing-in' is employed, less and less is there any attempt to deceive the foreign audience into believing the Hollywood players have actually spoken their language -- perhaps because such attempts in the past have been futile. It is probable that the innovation in 'La Gran Parade' will be followed in other productions."

"This, a Spanish version of 'The Grand Parade,' has two Spanish stage actors speaking the parts played originally by Helen Twelvetrees and Fred Scott. The voice doubles appear in a prologue, and introduce the American stars who, in carefully memorized words, make brief speeches of appreciation."

"A somewhat similar appeasing of national pride is to be used in the German version of the revue, 'Paramount on Parade.' Linguistically, it will be in English as in the American version, except that Marlene Deitrich, newly arrived from Berlin, will replace Jack Oakie as master of ceremonies, and tell the audience, in German, what it's all about."

Two melodies (in English) from "The Grand Parade" as performed by vocalist Donald Novis, seem rather painless if not a bit familiar even upon first listening. "Molly" (1929) - From 'The Grand Parade'

"Alone in the Rain" (1929) - From 'The Grand Parade'

And, for a bit of Espanol period music, from 1931 comes "La Medicina del Jazz," which is as good --- if not better, than many similar, somewhat manic American and British pseudo-jazz pop of the period. Here's Senor Duran & His Orchestra ---


"La Medicina del Jazz" (1931) Duran y su Orquesta

I suspect that most readers of this blog --- of a certain age, and especially lifelong residents of the East Coast --- can relate to the curious almost palpable thrill that often arises when hearing the strains of "California, Here I Come!" For vintage film enthusiasts especially, the tune might not hold the same shimmer of gloss as "Hooray for Hollywood" or even "You Ought To Be in Pictures," but I never particularly liked either of those tunes --- and then too, 1924's "California Here I Come" spoke of a California of a somewhat earlier day than those two tunes, when the lure wasn't entirely motion picture stars and studios. No, in this instance the lure was orange groves, floral scented breezes, and the odd golden hued sunshine that attracted the likes of D.W. Griffith and his contemporaries when the last century was young.

Of course, the land spoken of in this melody is now changed beyond recognition, and East and West Coast weather patterns seem horrifically damaged and all but reversed --- but as you listen to Vernon Dalhart's (right) magnificent and utterly pure rendition of this old chestnut, see if you don't feel the same sense of longing his vocalization contains. Now, these many years later --- it's not only longing for another place, but also for another time --- a "Golden Gate" indeed.

"California, Here I Come" (1924) Vernon Dalhart

"He Sings! He Talks! He Charms!" declared ads for the 1929 talkie "Sonny Boy," and if a potential theater patron remained skeptical, the Warner Bros. publicity department had a few extra rounds of ammunition in store:

"Combine all the 'ohs' and 'ahs' of doting parents at the antics of their offspring, and the same appreciative utterances of audiences gurgling at all the child players of the screen, and you have a faint idea of the reception Davey Lee gets, and will continue to get, in his starring role as 'Sonny Boy.'"

"Davey Lee is without a doubt the greatest screen find in years. The Warner Brothers have reason to congratulate themselves. The child is natural, with none of the affectations of most theater prodigies: he is amusing and winning; he acts, talks and sings with a most ingratiating charm and a refreshing lack of camera-consciousness."

"The lines Davey is given to say are immaterial; when the youngster puckers up his face and says anything at all, from 'Kin I depend on that?' to his prayers; and when he stands right up and sings 'Sonny Boy' in a manner that one won't forget for a long time, the audience is his forever."

Forever is a long time, and audience attention would drift elsewhere and away from young Mr. Lee in a few months and never return again, but he was indeed wildly popular and seemingly everywhere --- from films to radio to phonograph records and picture books --- during the span of time that film was finding and establishing its voice.

Anything but the sentimental tear-jerker that some early talkie archeologists have tagged this lost film as (only an incomplete set of Vitaphone sound discs are deposited at UCLA although certainly full sets exist) "Sonny Boy" played out thus:

"Mary and Hamilton, Sonny Boy's parents, have quarreled and Hamilton plays to take their boy with him to Europe. Mary telephones to he sister, Winifred Canfield, to help her to retain her child."

"Pretending to be the maid, Winifred sends Sonny Boy out of the house in a clothes basket, which is carried by the detective employed by Hamilton to keep his wife from spiriting the child away."

"Winifred, at the railway station, overhears Hamilton's lawyer, Thorpe, saying that he is leaving his apartment vacant for some days. To escape pursuit which is already underway, Winifred takes Sonny Boy to Thorpe's apartment to which she gets the key by pretending to be his wife."

"Thorpe's parents arrive unexpectedly and Winifred has to keep up the pretense of being their daughter-in-law. Thorpe is called back by Hamilton and returns to his apartment. He knows Winifred's story is false, but does not learn her identity until he overhears her telephoning to Mary."

"Mary's arrival is soon followed by that of Hamilton, who thinks his wife is having a rendezvous with Thorpe, and he attacks the attorney. The appearance of Winifred and Sonny Boy soon clears up matters."

New York Telegram columnist Katherine Zimmerman attended the June 1929 East Coast premiere of "Sonny Boy" and her opinion is as surprising as it is entertaining:

"When I think of all the bravissimos that are due to be tossed at the feet of Master Davey Lee today, following the premiere of 'Sonny Boy,' the necessity for sitting down and coining a brand new adjective looms large."

"For here is the most ingenious paradox that Hollywood has handed out in the memory of your correspondent, a screen child with a sense of humor, an infant prodigy that can keep a packed house hugging itself in glee without seeking refuge once in those juvenile eccentricities known as 'cute.'"

"I must confess that as a rule I find nothing more fatiguing than a sustained seance with the genus Screen Child. But the departmental bonnet is doffed deferentially to this 4-year old gamin, who thumbs his nose engagingly at all directions and proceeds to entertain cash customers after his own fashion."

"Davey Lee has a genuine flare for comedy. He takes the stock situations and well-worn gags of 'Sonny Boy' and contrives to bamboozle you into getting a new slant on them -- the kiddie's viewpoint, so to speak. He puts his whole heart into an uproarious imitation of Al Jolson in his favorite anthem. He kids the entire 'bright doings by our little ones' situation by letting you have them with his tongue out and his nose awry. He kids the grown-ups that imperil our toddlers' nerves with fatuous baby stuff. In a word, he seems to be the answer to the juvenile film population's prayer -- another David, complete with sling and ready to avenge the disrespect that has been practiced for twenty years by celluloidia against the natural state of childhood."

"He conducts the whole picture in a mood of cheerful inanity, and the result is a thoroughly enjoyable evening. The plot, by the way, has something to do with an obliging spinster who passes off her sister's child as her own and finds herself saddled unexpectedly with a husband and a couple of provoking old in-laws."

"The writers deserve a couple of slaps for some really adult situations, and in the cast Edward Everett Horton and Betty Bronson are on the crest of the wave most of the time."

Given the fact that any exposure we may have had to Davey Lee has been via his work in "The Singing Fool" or "Say It With Songs" --- the former in which he divides his time by either being cradled in Al Jolson's arms or dying, and the latter in which he doesn't do much more save for being run down in the street by a passing vehicle and then laying paralyzed --- one truly wonders if his surviving films show him at the worst possible advantage that can befall any actor of the period, that being smothered by the presence of Jolson in the same frame and nearly ceasing to exist because of it.

Certainly, the eccentric supporting cast of "Sonny Boy," the oddly risque plot elements, and the inclusion of a full-throttled send up of his own theme song by Davey Lee serve to conjure up a strange product indeed, but every indication is that it all worked beautifully and the young performer had found, just this once, the perfect vehicle for his unique talent and presence.

I wish I could offer Lee's rendition of "Sonny Boy" here, but can't --- so we have instead something less than ideal but suited to the moment:

"Sonny Boy" (1928)

At left, young Miss Grace Rogers as she appeared in a September 1929 "Metro Movietone Revue" one-reeler that despite seeming as though it had been filmed 1927, proved popular enough to play in theaters throughout the country as late as September of 1930!

Despite her severe hairstyle --- so at odds with the bow bedecked frock --- what a voice!! Here's her rendition of "Lila" --- Give her a moment to gather steam!


And, because the tune itself is good enough to stand on its own, here's Oreste & His Queensland Orchestra giving it an injection of heat: "Lila" Oreste & His Queensland Orchestra

A reviewer of Paramount's 1929 college musical "Sweetie," as it arrived in Wisconsin in December of that year, was unduly puzzled:

"Is 'Sweetie' a burlesque of other conceptions of college life by producers or is it just another of those synthetic pictures of college as it exists nowhere in the United States? Opinion is somewhat divided among those who've seen 'Sweetie.'"

"Assuming for the moment that it is not burlesque, its components rate thus: Plot - fair, Acting - fair, Music - good, Direction - fair, and Photography - excellent. If it is burlesque, you may at your own pleasure boost the plot to 'good.' Either way the picture averages fair plus."

"Nancy Carroll is being worked hard in one light frothy picture after another, just as Clara Bow was for a time -- because Nancy's Irish face and slim limbs have caught the public eye and captured the public heart. It is this effort to capitalize on her popularity that leads us to believe that 'Sweetie' is not particularly intended as burlesque."

"Jack Oakie and Helen Kane furnish their antics to a plot that has many antique situations and Jack as usual gets a fairly fat amount of dialogue allotted to him. From some of the doings of the cast, we would suggest as a name for the college: Mendota."

Certainly, viewing "Sweetie" today can be a chore if you count yourself as one who doesn't particularly care for the one-note shtick of Jack Oakie, Helen Kane and Stuart Erwin --- but there's always Nancy Carroll, consistently fine indoor and outdoor photography and recording, and a wide variety of interesting backgrounds and settings that divert the eye during the duller stretches that frequent the film.

A selection of melody from "Sweetie":

"My Sweeter Than Sweet" -
Stanley Smith

"The Prep Step" -
Jesse Stafford & His Orchestra

"Alma Mammy" - Waring's Pennsylvanians

"My Sweeter Than Sweet" - Frankie Trumbauer & His Orchestra

Until Next Time!

"Frozen River" (1929)

"In 'Frozen River,' Rinty is Lobo, a husky, reared among wolves, a killer
with a price on his head. But he makes friends with a little boy, Billy.
It should be mentioned that Davey Lee does not take a talking part in
this picture, but patrons will be amply rewarded just to see this sweet child."


"Always 3 Good Shows" and some exceptional
artwork too. Salt Lake City, Utah - July 1929
Which would you choose?

Syndicated Davey Lee Profile & "Interview"
Benton Harbor, Michigan - April 1929

A Television Wedding
24 October 1928



A Talkie Wedding of Note
4 August 1929



"I Do Like to Be Beside the Seaside" (1909) Florrie Forde

Medley: I Dreamt I Dwelt in Marble Halls" and "Then You'll Remember Me"
(circa 1925) - Sam Moore


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Length Not Wearying 22 Jun 2008 3:26 PM (16 years ago)

While I'd be hard pressed to come up with any obvious similarities between the lone figure looking straight at you from the left --- a Coney Island sideshow performer of 1910 --- and this blog, the fact remains that one is a dim artifact of past pleasures both noble and dubious, and the other a venue seeking to keep their memory alive and to bridge the fearful distance between Then and Now.

It has been an unusually long time between the last entry and this one, and I apologize for that unhappy fact, but also must reassure the many readers who have written and inquired as to the general health of "Vitaphone Varieties" that I've no intention of closing up shop nor abandoning what has become, quite unexpectedly too --- almost a living entity of an odd sort. That said, I suppose readers may encounter a sporadic posting schedule --- but "down time" of the sort recently encountered will not be typical. Ideally, a new release every month is the most comfortable fit and I'll strive to maintain that goal wherever possible.

Before moving on, allow me to thank all those who have written with encouragement and suggestions, and the many more nameless folks around the globe who return to these pages regularly in the hope of finding something new to see, hear and experience. I can't quite promise "performing leopards and jaguars," or even "Bamboula & Doc. Hastings: Jungle Comedians," but perhaps what I can offer is something not terribly far removed after all.

News Wire Story - 14 September 1913:

"Usually he is a creature of most regular habits and imperturbable good humour, but at rare intervals he feels the need of a change. One afternoon he suddenly jumped out of the window and set off at a good pace toward the busy Place du Chatelet. He strolled into a cafe, upset the glasses of the customers, pushed over a few chairs, and after a final look around went out and swung himself on a passing motor-omnibus."

"To the consternation of passengers, he sat down in the first-class section, but when the conductor came for his fare he dived playfully out of the open window. He appeared soon afterwards in a grocer's shop, sampled some nuts, but did not approve of them, and began to pull out drawers and open cupboards."

"When the grocer appeared, the monkey threw lemons at him, then over-turned into an empty barrel and was pulled out by the feet. He retaliated by biting and scratching the grocer, who is now taking action against the owner of Bamboula."

Now that that's cleared up, we'll begin this entry proper with melody ---

An old friend visits us from mid-December of1927, making it clear he has his priorities both straight and sensible as could be:

"Ten Cents Worth of Crackers, Ten Cents Worth of Cheese --- and You" (1927)

From the odd mix of melodrama and music that is MGM's 1930 "Children of Pleasure," (a companion piece if ever there was to 1929's "Lord Byron of Broadway",) comes "Dust," performed here by the Casa Loma Orchestra.

"Dust" (1930)

A Madison, Wisconsin newspaper review of "Sunny Side Up" from December 30th of 1929:

"An excellent picture as a whole, and the most human picture we have seen this year -- that's 'Sunny Side Up,' starring Charles Farrell and Janet Gaynor, made famous by 'Seventh Heaven,' and now playing at the Strand Theater to overflow crowds."

"For the first half of the picture the action goes well and in a unified way in an atmosphere reminiscent of 'Seventh Heaven.' Then, the picture falters, stammers, and becomes ridiculous on several occasions."

"Among the particularly silly scenes is Farrell talking to the pictures of two women, because the director apparently was at a loss to show his change in emotional goal any other way. The psychological climax with Janet Gaynor in despair over the fact that Charles loves another became comedy at one show when a voice from the audience during a silent moment boomed 'That's all right old girl.'"

"Nor could the director resist an opportunity to interject the inevitable stage scenes of impromptu musical comedy, which have come to be a part of every talkie, regardless of the subject." "Although the picture runs the full two hours of the show, its length is not wearying -- testimonial to its entertainment value. Children will like it, and few adults will be disappointed in it."

Another review of the film --- this time from Butte, Montana --- and also from December of 1929, offers some interesting insight as to where color footage originally appeared in the film that now survives in a truncated, monochromatic form:

"One of the richest and most colorful sequences ever seen on the screen is the sensational 'Water Carnival' portion of the film, which is filmed in colors. The elongated sequence comprises three songs, one of which is a solo by Miss Gaynor - 'I'm a Dreamer,' a love duet - 'If I Had a Talking Picture of You,' sung by Miss Gaynor and Farrell, and 'Turn On the Heat,' a spectacular jazz number sung and danced by Sharon Lynn and an ensemble of chorus beauties."

For your listening pleasure, a1929 medley of selections from "Sunny Side Up," --- performed in a delightfully majestic manner --- heavy on the strings -- by the Kingsway Promenade Orchestra. Indeed, the only melody from the film not given nod here is (understandably) Marjorie White's Harry Lauder parody, "It's Great to Be Necked!"

Selections from "Sunny Side Up" (1929)

Syndicated newspaper columnist Dan Thomas focused upon the fragile blonde actress and vocalist Jeanette Loff, prominently featured in Universal's "King Of Jazz" in a column dating from January of 1930:

"Getting fired isn't the most pleasant thing in the world. But sometimes it turns out to be a real break after all. That's just what happened to Jeanette Loff and as a result the young blonde actress now is in line to do something really big in this motion picture racket. Jeanette was under contract to Pathe for about two years. A short time ago one of the option dates in her contract rolled around and Pathe officials decided not to exercise their option, as was the case with a good many of their players."

"Consequently, Miss Loff was faced with the prospect of looking for a new job. That took her just one day, however. The day after she moved off the Pathe lot, she parked her make-up box at the Metropolitan studio and went to work in 'Party Girl,' which Edward and Victor Halperin were producing."

"That film finished. Universal then offered the girl a five-year contract and a role in Paul Whiteman's "King of Jazz Revue." Originally, she was slated to sing one number in the picture, but her voice proved to be of such an excellent quality that the one number now has increased to four. And, if she keeps on she will have as much footage as Whiteman himself by the time the picture is completed."

"'Of course I am happy,' Jeanette exclaimed. 'Who wouldn't be with four songs in Paul Whiteman's film? I don't mind saying that I was discouraged when Pathe let me go. I hadn't accomplished a great deal over there, but I had hopes of some day doing something worthwhile. I believe know that I am going to realize those hopes, even though I had to get a new job before doing so.'"

"'I don't know exactly what I'm going to do after this picture, but I have heard a story is being prepared especially for me. Won't that be marvelous, coming right on top of the Whiteman film? I hope that the pictures aren't too close together though, because my Aunt wants me to make a trip to Palm Beach with her, and you have no idea how badly I want to go. I have never been away from the Pacific coast.'"

"When Jeanette left her job as organist in a Portland, Oregon theater to become a film actress, she was considered a great bet. Being much the same type as Vilma Banky, Rod La Rocque chose her as his leading lady in three pictures. Those were the days when Rod was getting pretty much what he wanted. With that as a start, it looked as though nothing could stop the talented young blonde."

"Something did though. What exactly, nobody knows. For some reason, big roles just stopped coming Jeanette's way and her box office value, which had been going up rapidly, started slumping off. Maybe the blame should be laid at the feet of the talkies. They did funny things to many persons out here."

"In any event, we do know that Pathe never gave Miss Loff a chance to sing. They just took it for granted that with the talkies in, she wouldn't go over so well. It was left for Paul Whiteman to discover what a truly remarkable voice she has."

An audio excerpt from the lengthy "My Bridal Veil" sequence from "King of Jazz," highlighting Miss Loff's lovely voice:

"My Bridal Veil" (1930) Excerpt

Had "King of Jazz" appeared early in the first cycle of musical films, Loff's film career might have been as bright and prolific as predicted --- but the public was fast becoming fatigued, and Loff's newly discovered talent would go largely untapped without vehicles being produced that could utilize them.


Radio might seem a natural venue for the actress/vocalist, and indeed she did appear with fellow "King of Jazz" alumni Grace Hayes on Paul Whiteman's "Old Gold" Hour in March of 1930, to again warble "A Bench in the Park," but there's little or no evidence radio required her services beyond this one-off appearance.

Loff would appear alongside Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. in the 1930 Tiffany early exploitation film "Party Girl," and with Betty Compson in Universal's forgotten 1930 frivolity "The Boudior Diplomat," but then seemed to fade from view.

Syndicated Hollywood columnist Robbin Coons --- for reasons lost to time --- turned his focus on Jeanette Loff in an entry from early December of 1933:

"Blue-eyed Jeanette Loff of the golden hair can always wonder what would have happened to her screen career had she followed her desire and made her screen debut some six years ago as 'Jan Love.'"

"Jeanette is Scandinavian by descent, her mother Norwegian and her father Danish. The family name was once Lov, and Jeanette as a child was called Jan. It was as Jan Lov that she played the organ in theaters up in Portland, Oregon, and sometimes appeared singing in theater prologues, during vacation from school. But when she came to Hollywood and signed a contract with Cecil B. DeMille, who seems to like American-sounding names, he wouldn't let her be anything but Jeanette Loff."

"As Jeanette Loff, of course, she was sentenced to perpetual ingenue roles, which is why, even though she is still Jeanette Loff, she regards her return to films after two years on the stage as a turning point. The picture is 'Mating Time,' and she plays a country girl who goes bad. 'She turns out all right in the end,' smiles Jeanette, sitting on the cream and blue davenport in her cream and blue and white apartment --- her own idea. 'But what a change for me after playing so many nice girls! And they chose me from 50 other girls tested. Do you suppose Broadway would have done all that for me?'"

"Miss Loff left Hollywood after surprising everyone by her singing in the Paul Whiteman screen revue, 'The King of Jazz.' She had remained under contract to Universal for several months afterwards, but no more roles were forthcoming. She went to New York, appeared in musical plays and with orchestras and recently came back to Hollywood, looking for more pictures. Her return was timed fairly closely with the revival of the Whiteman film, which probably has done better on second release than on its first."

In fact, everyone seemed to be doing better 'round about now, except Jeanette. "Mating Time" appears to have been scrapped long before any cameras rolled, and news (right) of Jeanette Loff's sister's 1931 wedding to one Robert Knox of Oakland, California was deemed interesting enough to be featured in countless newspapers of the day.

One can't easily imagine Loff's feelings in early 1933 --- without work, without studio, while at the same time appearing in a myriad of cinemas across the nation in the edited re-release version of "King of Jazz." It's impossible to imagine she didn't venture into one of these theaters to see herself again as she was in 1930 when success seemed so near and so certain. Perhaps it is best to leave her there, at that moment, and conjecture no further.

Perhaps due to the re-release of "King of Jazz," or not, a flurry of minor activity would mark 1934. There'd be two ventures into the two-reel format for the Hal Roach Studio -- seemingly toying with the idea of a team consisting of Loff and Eddie Foy, Jr. -- that resulted in "Benny From Panama" and "A Duke For A Day."


From the latter film, we have Jeanette Loff's rendition of "I Wake Up With A Song," which reveals that her voice was just as pleasing and adept in 1934 as it had been four years earlier --- and that despite the highly ironic lyrics:

"I Wake Up With A Song" (1934)

A bit part in an MGM film, and a couple of bottom-of-the-bill potboilers for Monogram and Showmen's Pictures Inc. would mark the end of Loff's screen career by the mid-1930's.

Her name would re-surface again in early August of 1942 --- a war-torn world away from pastel hued bridal veils of 1930.

Some sources claim her death was the result of suicide by ammonia poisoning, but details are either elusive or never made public. Hollywood columnist did refer to her death as "tragic and senseless" when otherwise cheerfully reporting that her widower, Bert Friedlob, was sporting a Lieutenant's uniform while nightclubbing a few months later --- but I suppose it's all very much left open to interpretation.

As for Jeanette's sister Irene, who stole the show in 1931 with news of her wedding? Well, in March of 1946, newspapers reported that Irene Loff received a Reno divorce from Mr. Knox on the grounds that "her husband had neglected to provide her with the necessities of life for more than one year." There are necessities of life, and there are needs. There, we leave the sisters Loff.

Oakland, CA - March of 1929:

"The Easter rabbit left a highly colored cinema egg at the T & D Theater this week, and the customers have due cause to rejoice and be glad. It is called 'a jazz revue,' and that describes it was well as anything. Backstage shenanigans, some singing, dancing and romancing by the principals, good photography and first rate sound reproduction."

"'Close Harmony' was written by Elsie Janis and brings to the foreground Charles 'Buddy' Rogers and Nancy Carroll as the two chief characters, Jack Oakie and 'Skeets' Gallagher for light comedy relief, and Harry Green for sound low comedy of a most effective sort."

"Green really steals the picture as far as laughs go with is impersonation of the harried Hebrew manager of the movie house where the events of 'Close Harmony' originate. Rogers has suffered in recent pictures by the inordinate desire of the movie makers to convert him into a tin hero. In 'Close Harmony' he is given some human traits: jealousy, pig-headedness and shy brutality. He almost becomes an average young man trying to get along the world. And Nancy Carroll, too, is most attractive disclosing charm that has hitherto been denied her by this sage."

"In 'Close Harmony,' young Rogers is a jazz band conductor in the making. He is befriended by Miss Caroll who has already achieved comparative stardom. She undertakes to be his manager and intended bride at one and the same time and use her wits to advance the boy. He rebels when some of her schemes violate his sense of justice, but all ends well."

"Close Harmony" is one of a large clutch of Paramount early talkies that survive and enjoy good health, yet remain largely unseen save for sporadic archive screenings. So it goes.

Oh, for a boxed DVD set of Paramount's contribution to the early sound era! "Interference," "The Letter," "Glorifying the American Girl," "Dance of Life," "The Virginian," and of course, "Paramount on Parade" and "Follow Thru." I suppose we've as much chance for this as it would be for a beaming Nancy Carroll showing up at your door bearing "Abie's Irish Rose" in cans --- but it's a nice thought for an idle moment of delirium nonetheless.

From "Close Harmony," two melodies performed by Jesse Stafford & His Orchestra:

"I'm All A Twitter" (1929) and...

"I Want To Go Places and Do Things" (1929)

One can't easily peruse vintage magazines or newspaper ads without some sense of wistful longing for what we deem "the good old days" and marvel at how inexpensive things seem to be.

It came as something of a reality check then to learn that if one converted the $272 price-tag of this admittedly high-end Brunswick radio and phonograph combination to that of 2008 prices, you would be looking at a cost of something in the vicinity of $3,292.00.

Likewise, when Columbia introduced it's new Double-Disc (two sided) 78rpm records in 1911, that reasonable sounding 65 cent price-tag would equate to just over $14.00 today. Double-your-music value be damned, that was a formidable outlay in 1911 and it can only be hoped that these early double-discs didn't frequently exploit the opportunity to pair one hotly popular tune with one of fleeting interest.

Such didn't seem to be the case with the January 1911 Columbia Double Disc release of two melodies ("Stop, Stop, Stop!" and "Lovie Joe") from "The Ziegfeld Follies of 1910," which played at New York City's Jardin de Paris theater from June until September of that year.

I can't vouch for "Stop, Stop, Stop!" but the latter tune, "Lovie Joe," is a forgotten delight that revels in an eccentric musical style that combines the ballad with ragtime with sly paraphrasing of classical melody.

We've two versions of this sprightly tune with us, the first a 1910 recording by prolific recording artist Arthur Collins and the second a modern re-creation by the always magnificent and much under-utilized Paragon Ragtime Orchestra which --- as always --- gets it "just right" and resists the temptation to either improve or improvise --- two elements which turn the vast bulk of all such recordings into campy garbage. No "Betty Boop" vocals here, folks!

"Lovie Joe" (1910) Arthur Collins

"Lovie Joe" The Paragon Ragtime Orchestra




The young man intently listening to a portable phonograph circa 1921 is composer and pianist Edward Elzear 'Zez' Confrey, who's compositions (often referred to as "piano novelties") would mark the 1920's with their clear, staccato, playful rhythms that seem at once familiar and yet startlingly new --- "My Pet," "Kitten on the Keys," "Dizzy Fingers," "Humorestless."

While much of his work was better suited to listening than dancing, his 1922 piece "Stumbling" rejoiced in movement of the human form, albeit awkward and untrained --- and therefore accessible to all.

A September 1922 newspaper feature instructed readers in the proper way to do "stumbling steps" (thereby ruining the inherent simplicity and humor of the melody) and informed readers that Mr. Confrey "said he got his inspiration by watching the discomfiture of a poor man who had never taken dancing lessons before stumble all over a poor young lady who had."

Labeled "A Fox Trot Oddity," the composition is the sort that once heard it can't (easily) be forgotten and seems to contain, within it, the feel and mood of the dawning years of the decade that inspired it.

Three versions of "Stumbling" are offered here, two being vocals and one orchestral --- and it's difficult if not impossible to place one above the other in terms of quality, although the deciding factor will likely be based upon your fondness of either Paul Whiteman, Frank Crumit or Billy Murray. Fans of all three will have some deciding to do.

"Stumbling" (1922) Paul Whiteman & His Band

"Stumbling" (1922) Frank Crumit

"Stumbling" (1922) Billy Murray





Newspaper readers in November of 1929, who had all they could do that year to absorb and understand a torrent of new technological wonders, were faced with yet another advance in entertainment...

"An instrument without keyboard, strings or reeds, untouched by the hands of the player, is soon to be introduced for the first time by one of the most noted orchestras in the United States."

"The instrument is called a Theremin after Leon Theremin, its Russian inventor. It is really an apparatus consisting of radio tubes and antennas and is operated by the aid of electricity. It will be played by Theremin himself when he appears as soloist with the Cleveland Orchestra here Thanksgiving night."

"The Theremin is an instrument which produces musical sound by electrical means. It has no keyboard, strings, reeds or other mechanical aids or sources of sound. It has a range of three octaves and on the lower range partakes the tone of the bassoon, string bass and other low-pitched instruments. Further up the scale, it imitates the cello, violin, flute and still further --- the human voice."

As we now know, the Theremin would never quite be taken seriously (whether justifiably or not) and is perhaps best remembered as an instrument --- like the Son-O-Vox, which would provide appropriately other-worldly atmosphere to numerous mystery, horror and science fiction productions. In the recording that follows, from 1930, the Theremin lends --- well, not much of anything, to be quite frank --- to a rendition of a pop tune of the day, "You're Driving Me Crazy."

"You're Driving Me Crazy" (1930)

Before heading out and away from this entry --- down the usual gallery of scattered sight and sound, we'll linger a moment to look back upon the aforementioned 1929 Paramount film "The Dance of Life," which never envisioned that "Glamorous! Gorgeous! Heart Breaking!" would some day aptly describe the film's sad fate --- existing as a dupey shadow of its former self. Paramount itself described the film thus in 1929 press material:

"Sound and color have been successfully combined on the same narrow strip of motion picture film and the surprisingly successful combination will be seen at the ______ Theater. The perfected sound-and-color process has been used to photograph and record a lavish stage revue in 'The Dance of Life.' The stage and performers appear in natural colors, the brilliant jewels, the gorgeous gowns, the dancing choruses and beautiful settings. Eighty dancing girls are used in the production and the sound of their steps and voices are distinctly heard. A 32-piece orchestra and the song of a soloist are packed together on a single bit of celluloid scarcely more than an inch square. The perfected system of combining sound and color on motion picture film is the work of scientists of the Technicolor Corporation, working with sound engineers of the Paramount studios. The use of this process in "The Dance of Life" is the first that has been successful enough to present to the public."

And now, as noted, to close out this entry, a selection of sights and sounds and a firm reassurance that I'll see you again soon --- likely over the 4th of July holiday weekend, so until then --- thanks for visiting!

"Who?" from "Sunny" (1926)
French Rendition by Mistinguette

"The Big Pond" (1930) French Language Release Version

"No, No, Nanette" (1930)
Gone, Gone, Gone...

Canadian Columbia Double Disc Record Advertisement

Continued...

"Singing in the Rain" and "Orange Blossom Time"
from "The Hollywood Revue" (1929)
Mr. Johnny Marvin & Orchestra

Coming Soon ---

The Return of Enigmarelle - His True Story!



###

Mountains of Manhattan 6 Apr 2008 5:27 AM (17 years ago)

From a May 1927 press release for the Gotham production "Mountains of Manhattan" ---

"There is nothing more spectacular or fascinating than the world famous skyline of New York City and the producers have taken a keen psychological advantage of this and utilized it for the background of a very strong drama."

"The title of the picture, too, is most appropriate as it applies to the towering pinnacles of concrete and steel which form the 'Mountains of Manhattan.'"

"The story deals with the rise of Jerry Nolan, who is typical of the present day American artisan. Jerry has ambitions which are fired by the skyscrapers on which he works. He studies new methods of engineering and then when opportunities present themselves, he is smart and capable enough to seize them."

"Charles Delaney portrays the role of Jerry, and he is exactly what the imagination would depict as the right type. Dorothy Devore is both daring and charming in the role of the boss builder. An old favorite, Kate Price, hits the bull's eye in every scene."

"The scenes of action photographed atop a 27-story skyscraper are the limit of nerve and daring. Not the least nervy of the company was the cameraman who placed his machine in some of the most unusual places. James P. Hogan both acts in and directs the picture, which will satisfy anyone's desire for entertainment of a different nature."

By every indication a lost film, it's unlikely that the product could ever hope to live up to it's description (at first glance seeming so intriguingly similar to "The Fountainhead," wouldn't you say?) or, indeed, the marvelous poster art depicted above. One aspect of the film not mentioned in the press release --- and one that immediately deflates any expectations of greatness --- can be found at the bottom of the print ad at the right, which reveals a key plot element: "An Irish mother adopts a Jewish orphan. See Kate Price in one of her characteristic Irish roles."

Similarly, the July 1927 Paul Whiteman recording of "Manhattan Mary" doesn't live up to the promise of it's wonderful 40 second syncopated introduction --- but perhaps this fact does indeed make the tune a happy companion to our glimpse of "Mountains of Manhattan."

"Manhattan Mary" (1927) Paul Whiteman & His Orchestra

The George White produced Broadway musical production "Manhattan Mary" was a showcase for the decidedly unique talents of Ed Wynn (co-starring with Ona Munson) and ran at the (Times Square) Apollo Theater from September of 1927 to May of 1928 --- clocking in at a then highly respectable 264 performances. The property would ultimately reach the Paramount talking screen in 1930 as "Follow the Leader," with Ginger Rogers enacting the Ona Munson role and Lou Holtz carried over from the Broadway cast.
Despite the trimming of a good deal of the show's original ten-plus melodies, "Follow the Leader" does indeed seem more a filmed stage production than anything else --- but is well worth your while should a print present itself to you. ("Follow the Leader," like so many other early Paramount talkies, survives intact but is apparently deemed valueless and therefore kept from public view or access.)

A glimpse of Paul Whiteman and band members in Central Park --- circa 1920 --- serves to usher in another tune from "Manhattan Mary," this one titled "Broadway," which would later serve as opening title music for the 1930 "Follow the Leader."

"Broadway" (1927) - Paul Whiteman

While these pages have noted that I'm not anywhere as enamored with Whiteman's fine work as the vast majority of vintage music buffs seem to be, there's no denying his impact upon the public of his day --- and I suppose if any one music ensemble served to mould and bookend the decade of the 1920's, then surely Whiteman's did. Typical of the Whiteman touch is his handling of two melodies from The Ziegfeld Follies of 1927, which are offered here next. Both should be well familiar to readers of these pages, but --- again, typically --- Whiteman can't resist modifying the arrangements to the point where the simple exuberance and melody-line inherent in the tunes is morphed into quite something else. Always more than a bit grandiose, Paul Whiteman always seemed in danger of pouncing upon something like "Happy Birthday To You" and deeming it suitable material for expansion into a 20 minute concert. God Bless Paul Whiteman.

"Ooh! Maybe It's You" (1927)
From The Ziegfeld Follies of 1927

"Shaking the Blues Away" (1927)
From The Ziegfeld Follies of 1927

Yes, there are five waterlogged musicians bobbing and struggling in the water in the photo at right to "Welcome Home Paul Whiteman" (from a trip abroad) --- and they've waggishly billed themselves as the "Submarine Unit" of the United Orchestras league. One wonders what they were playing, how it sounded, and if they survived the publicity stunt!




From a syndicated July 1930 news feature titled "Small Towners Crash Big Time Radio" (reproduced intact at the close of this post) ---

"Take, if you wish, Jesse Crawford (left.) If and when you are in New York City, you'll find Crawford and his wife at the organ of the Paramount Theater several times a day."

"Today, Jesse Crawford has his choice of dressing rooms in one of the most ornate of the film cathedrals. His income runs into thousands a week. He has an expensive apartment on Park Avenue. He was one of the first to make phonograph records of organ music, and the sale of these alone would keep him comfortably quartered. When his theater routine is finished, he can run up to a little studio on an upper floor. There he has his private broadcasting room, one of the few such in America. In this room is another organ, specially provided by the broadcasting company."

"Yet, Crawford came from an orphanage. Twenty three years ago, he was turned over to the home of Our Lady of Lourdes at Woodland, California. It was part of the routine of the orphanage that the children take a daily lesson on a none-too-sturdy piano in the practice room."

"'And I can thank Sister Antonia for my start in life,' he narrates. 'After she had taught me all the simple pieces one gives a youngster, she knew she had done all she personally could. She told me one day that I knew more than she did, and that I must go on -- I must not stop."

"'My time at the orphanage was up. I had to go out and make a living. And I turned to the piano. I started wandering on foot from town to town until I came to a little suburb of Spokane, Washington, and I got a job in a little nickelodeon. I got $5 a week, but I kept the job for three years. In those days I could just about live and eat on that, but it gave me a chance to do the practicing and study that I needed.'"

"'And it was a great chance, for I could follow the action of the pictures with music, I could learn the technique of synchronization which later came in so handy.' He quit his job and took one at $10 a week. But this theater had an organ, not a piano. He had no training in this instrument. He had no instructor. He had to figure it out for himself, and for two years he labored."

"At the end of two years, he had mastered it. Theater producers in the larger cities had heard of him, and one day he found a golden offer of $250 a week to go to Los Angeles. The asylum kid was doing pretty well, thank you."

"About seven years ago, he happened to drop in at a dance given by an organists' society. And there he met Helen -- who six months later became Mrs. Crawford. Like himself, she had struggled for years to get ahead. Since her fourteenth birthday she had been playing in movie theaters. There was a real novelty in a husband and wife doing their duets on the same organ."

"Up Park Avenue, in one of those swanky, expensive apartment belts, you'll find a tiny organ in the Crawford nursery. There, Jessie Jr. thumps and pounds to her heart's content, with her mother giving her daily instructions. One of these years, there may be the first family trio in organ playing history."

Jesse Crawford would depart this world in 1962, at a time when theater organs and organists seemed a distant and antiquated relic of another day even though a small clutch of both still clung to a handful of quickly vanishing movie palaces. To hear one, in such a theater as Radio City Music Hall or Brooklyn's Loew's Kings --- as I did, many times, as a youngster --- was to experience something I couldn't then begin to define or categorize. In writing these words now though, it's astonishingly easy to again feel the rush of warm almost living air as you pushed open the heavy padded doors leading from the lobby into the vast auditorium while the organist was at work --- and, as you walked down the sloping carpeted aisle, you'd feel the low notes of the organ (bathed in rose amber hues from the left side of the screen) reverberating in your young bones --- in your teeth --- your ears, and skull. Dizzying, disorienting --- joyous.

Selections from MONTE CARLO (1930) and THE LOVE PARADE (1929) - Jesse Crawford Organ Rolls

(Note: I've never heard a circulating copy of Crawford's organ roll transcription of "Love Parade" selections that wasn't marred by missing bytes that cause a couple of odd skips. If anyone has an intact version that they'd be willing to share, it'd be most appreciated!)

By the by, and while hardly news at this point --- I can't resist directing praise in the direction of Criterion DVD for their recent release of four early Paramount musicals that happened to be directed by Ernst Lubitsch. While there's no getting around the fact that were it not for Lubitsch's involvement these films would likely now remain out of view and out of circulation, I suppose we should be grateful that a marketing "hook" was happily attached to these four films and that allowed them to be considered as viable DVD candidates.

To Criterion's credit, although the discs are bare bones affairs --- no extras of any sort aside from well researched liner notes and optional subtitles --- the four films ("The Love Parade," "Monte Carlo," "The Smiling Lieutenant" and "One Hour With You") look AND sound simply wonderful --- and this despite numerous problems inherent in the original materials, particularly on "Monte Carlo." While Maurice Chevalier and Jeanette MacDonald might not be everyone's idea of early talkie heaven, these discs offer far, far more than just the talents of this pair. So, if your interests run along the lines of pre-code Hollywood --- or the technical aspects of early sound, or an appreciation of just how fine a product Paramount was turning out when sound was still something of a novelty, you're urged to pick up this DVD set. As always, praise and comment counts for little in the DVD world. Sales, however, counts for much. Cast your vote for more early sound product not with words, but with your purchase.

We've always time and space enough for two 78rpm melodies from "Monte Carlo" ---

"Beyond the Blue Horizon" (1930) is performed by Van Phillips and His Orchestra, with vocal by Jack Plant, as released on Columbia's French label --- and in flipping this virtual 78rpm disc over, we have: "Always in All Ways."

The fellow at right --- his impeccable appearance marred only by an uncooperative cowlick --- is Rudy Wiedoeft, bandleader and musician, who's mastery of the saxophone is a key element in his best recordings.

As with so many unbelievably talented artists of the 'teens and early twenties, recording technology was such that the product they produced could only hint at what their instruments (be they mechanical or vocal) truly sounded like.

Add to that the fact that the bulk of acoustic 78rpm records one casually encounters are often in vastly less than pristine condition to begin with, and then improperly reproduced once again --- and, well, the results are often unhappy indeed.

I'm pleased to present two recordings of the same tune --- one familiar to these pages, "When Buddha Smiles" by Rudy Wiedoeft's Californians that, lo and behold, sound remarkably fine today. One recorded for Brunswick and the other for the more humble Regal label, Wiedoeft has two quite different but equally stirring arrangements for both. Let's spend a few minutes --- or more, in 1921:

"When Buddha Smiles" (1921-Brunswick) Rudy Wiedoeft's Californians

"When Buddha Smiles" (1921-Regal) Rudy Wiedoeft's Californians

and --- before Mr. Wiedoeft and company returns to the happy land from whence they came:

"Say It With Music" (1921) and "The Sheik of Araby" (1921) and "Suez" (1922)

Perched atop one of Manhattan's concrete mountains --- about two feet above a tar roof --- are The Six Brown Brothers, circa 1919. The saxophone was their instrument of choice as well, but --- as you can see --- to see the group perform was surely a treat or at least an experience not soon forgotten. It's easy to imagine them amusing the adults and terrifying the children while performing lightly manic tunes that allowed for on-stage tomfoolery. In a way, it's easy to detect similarities between The Six Brown Brothers and such modern day musical curiosities as The Blue Man Group, although there's no doubt which group possessed genuine musical talent in the truest sense of the term. It can be supposed that one was a group of musicians with a questionable gimmick, and the other a gimmick with questionable "musicians." No matter -- here's The Six Brown Brothers performing:

"Peter Gink" (1919) and "The Darktown Strutter's Ball" (1917)

The wistful lady at right is no stranger to these pages, for recording and performing artist Aileen Stanley (1897-1982) has figured here many times over --- and with good reason, not the least of which is my personal affection for her simple and (dare I say) pure approach to recording. I suspect she holds the same place of esteem in my heart as she does for many others who appreciate and gather up vintage music. Perhaps not so much that she possessed any remarkable degree of vocal talent --- for she doesn't really, but her personality and warmth hits like the proverbial ton of bricks whenever she's listened to and, what's more, lingers too. Once heard, never forgotten.

From a Bridgeport, Connecticut newspaper of March 10th, 1926:

"Aileen Stanley, singing comedienne who closes her return engagement at the Palace Theater here today, has been booked for a tour of Australia, New Zealand and South Africa, and finishing in Sweden and France, it was announced last night by her manager, Robert Buttenuth, who accompanies her as pianist. The foreign tour will start as soon as Miss Stanley's present booking is concluded."

"She is well known in Bridgeport, and during her last appearance here, she prevented disorder in the Palace Theater by improvising songs and entertainment when the whole city was plunged into darkness by a fire in the United Illuminating Company power house. Theater manager M. L. Saunders said he regarded her as 'the greatest individual star ever to appear at the Palace.'"

"The Australian and New Zealand engagement for Miss Stanley follows her appearance in London last year, when she was booked at the same time in three different places: The Picadilly Hotel, The Kit Kat Club and the Alahambra Theater. With Walter C. Kelly, "The Virginia Judge," she appeared on the program of the Fourth of July Celebration of the American Society in London, and on June 26th of 1925, broadcast several of her songs from a London radio station."

An interesting artifact of Aileen Stanley's appearance at London's Kit Kat Club in 1925 is this promotional disc apparently distributed to patrons upon exiting, slyly reminding them that her talents could be enjoyed anytime with the purchase of a gramophone disc!

Kit Kat Club Promotional Disc (1925)

Quite of Aileen Stanley's best solo recordings, the total effect is somewhat hampered by a very worn disc, but still worthy enough to share with you. In "Broken Hearted," she relates the unexpected but all too common result in introducing a dear friend to someone who's something a bit more than just a friend.

"Broken Hearted" (1927)

And, here's Miss Stanley's January 1929 recording of a melody that would soon find memorable use in Paramount's talking motion picture "Applause":

"Give Your Little Baby Lots of Loving" (1929)

By 1937, Aileen Stanley had taken up residence in the United Kingdom and we hear from her via the syndicated George Ross gossip column, "In New York":

"For the first time since the Coronation hullabaloo ended, cables Aileen Stanley from London, Albion's night life is booming again."

"During the regal festivities, reports Aileen, members of the British nobility and their friends kept aloof at their homes during the long evenings. But their absence at the night clubs wasn't apparent, for the foreign visitors kept business humming."

"When the visitors departed, however, a sudden lull rock-a-byed the cafes into a deep slumber; and proprietors wailed and moaned in British accents. Now, at long last, says Aileen, the night life in London is on the upturn, with Dukes, Earls and Barons and their respective ladies at the ringside again."

"American talent, as usual, is preferred to domestic talent, both in the music halls and supper clubs."

"I've Got My Love To Keep Me Warm" (1938) Aileen Stanley

Seeing as we're visiting with voices familiar to us, I hasten to offer two fine --- somewhat improved --- transcriptions of the melodies that are so beautifully woven into the soundtrack of the 1929 part-talking Warner Bros. epic, "Noah's Ark" --- performed here by Nick Lucas:

"Old Timer" (1929) Nick Lucas

"Heart O' Mine" (1929) Nick Lucas

Before we approach the final elements of this particular post --- and I must apologize for letting the month of March get away from me (life has been busy for me, but in the best of all possible ways!) --- I must direct attention to some of the wonders of both image and sound that can be found, at least for now, on YouTube.

On the one hand, the greater bulk of early talkie material that survives is unavailable to the casual student of the genre --- closely guarded and kept by public and private institutions alike, seemingly unsure of the material's value (both historical and financial) yet intent upon making it as difficult as possible for these films to enjoy the second life they so richly deserve. And yet --- on so vast a depository as YouTube, there are treasures to be seen --- things we ought not be seeing --- yet, there they are.

Now, for obvious reasons, I cannot direct you to links --- lest I inadvertently aid in the swift yanking of the offending material. So instead --- use some of the same ingenuity in utilizing YouTube's simple search box (maddening though it can be) that the posters do when putting up these clips and describing them, and you might happen upon surviving fragments of Technicolor sequences from "Glorifying the American Girl," or entire scenes from "Viennese Nights," painstaking reconstructions of sound and image from the jaw-dropping 1929 musical "Broadway" and --- quite literally --- hundreds of clips from early talking and musical productions that we'd be hard pressed to encounter anywhere else without a sledge-hammer and acetylene torch.

It's heartening that so much effort is put into making this material available --- by just plain folks such as you and I --- in the hopes that it can be shared and enjoyed before one of YouTube's regular housecleaning regimes removes everything but seemingly the inane and sleazy. These efforts should, in a perfect world, suggest to the title holders that there's a far larger desire by the general public to see this material than they might expect --- and that I'm certain each and every one of them would happily dash out and buy a commercially released DVD and triumphantly hit the Delete key for each and every of their posts were that the case. But -- at least for now --- it's not about desire or history or artistic value, it's all about profits. Let's hope that the new way of thinking about early sound films that evidently has resulted in a minor flood of titles on DVD we never expected to see will continue to flourish and sweep away the cobwebs clinging to these films for many years to come.

To close this entry, a word of explanation about the following audio is in order. Now, you wouldn't think YouTube would be the best place to post 78rpm disc audio --- and, for the most part it isn't. An electric era 78rpm recording, played on a 1918 acoustic phonograph is a problem to begin with. More problems arise when the record playing on the phonograph is recorded with a video camera. It might look mighty swell indeed on YouTube --- that spinning disc and the ornate wooden phonograph --- but invariably, it sounds awful --- and that's being polite.

Happily, some YouTube folks take the high road and give these recordings their due, by preparing high quality .mp3 transfers of the discs, and then painstakingly transferring them to the video format --- enhancing the music with still images and informative text.

One such YouTube poster has a keen appreciation of music originating from early sound films, and in avoiding all the usual bands and performers we encounter ten times over elsewhere. With his kind permission to do so, here's a selection (converted to standard mp3) of some of his most interesting uploads --- and you're urged to seek him out on YouTube as well. A quick search of any of these titles will easily direct you to his home page --- which you'll spend many happy hours exploring and listening to!

Where is the transcription disc for this!?!?!
13 March 1930


Olive Shay has her moment outside of New York's Pennsylvania Station
From "Glorifying the American Girl" (1929)


Jesse Crawford & Co.
1930


Local Boy Makes Good
6 November 1929

9 July 1929


Hard to Say Which One Has More News Value
29 August 1929


Marilyn Miller and noble companion, circa 1920
Enjoy the Spring Season!
Until Next Time!

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"The Talkie Is Improving" 26 Feb 2008 3:30 PM (17 years ago)

"Before the picture business went talkie," said actress Betty Compson in late 1929, "its players seldom gave a great deal of study to their roles. They arrived at the studio in the morning, made up and went on the set."

"There, a director told them to walk through a door and appear startled. They seldom had occasion to know why they were startled, who was startling them, or what they were to do next."

"The talkies have changed all this. The weeks of rehearsal before the picture goes before the cameras, attentive study of lines, and a full knowledge of the story tends to get the player more into his part than the silent film ever did. The result is better acting, better characterizations and a more convincing story."

In mid-December of 1928, Hollywood columnist Dan Thomas had this to say of Compson's first talking picture, "The Barker," --- a part talking First National Vitaphone feature that, while having survived --- remains peculiarly elusive --- in a piece titled "The Talkie Is Improving":

"A talking picture which really is worth seeing. That was my reaction to 'The Barker,' which has just opened in Hollywood. I would rank 'The Barker' next to Jolson's 'The Singing Fool' in the way of talking screen entertainment -- and it's way, way above other 'squawkies' which have been dumped on the market these last few months. "

"'The Barker,' a story of a carnival troupe, was made first as a silent picture. Then when Warner Brothers bought First National, portions of the film were remade with talking sequences. And strangely enough, the dialogue actually added to the entertainment value of the production."

"If Hollywood's great film factories would turn out more talkies like 'The Barker,' dialogue would be almost a cinch to become a permanent fixture in the movie racket. As it is -- well, let's wait until the novelty wears off and see what happens."

Publicity material for "The Barker" allows us a glimpse at a film we can't easily experience otherwise:

"The story of 'The Barker' concerns Nifty Miller (Milton Sills,) barker for a street carnival, who's young son Chris (Douglas Fairbanks, Jr.) comes to visit him. Nifty leaves off cursing and drinking and 'gives the air' to the Hawaiian dancer (Betty Compson) with whom he has been living. In a fit of revenge she induces Lou (Dorothy Mackaill,) a show girl of easy virtue, to capture the affections of Nifty's son. They fall in love and leave the carnival to get married. Nifty becomes disgusted and goes off on a toot, leaving the show flat."

"Some days later, in a town where the troupe is showing to small business, Lou and Chris turn up. The Hula dancer is running a doll concession with small results and a weak barker. Suddenly, Nifty shows up and listens to his successor with disgust. He starts to reorganize and among other things learns that Chris is studying law in the office of an attorney, and is happy once more."

"The spiel of the barker before the tent of the Hawaiian dancer, the dialogue in the big scene where Nifty learns that the dancer is responsible for Chris' decision to marry Lou, the sounds of the fight between the carnival people and the villagers are given with such realism that one seems to be watching the actual flesh-and-blood characters."

Despite this glowing recommendation, whoever wrote the copy for the uniformly wonderful Lima, Ohio "Sigma" theater ads of the period found himself utterly stumped -- and says as much -- in the ad at the left, from December of 1928. But, he gathered himself enough to point out that audiences will Hear and Understand the players --- and that "over half the picture" was "synchronized with clear, concise talking sequences" --- which is more than can be said for some recent films I've viewed that would have benefited from closed captioning.

Fans of Dorothy Mackaill, Fairbanks the Junior and Milton Sills (?) notwithstanding, I lament not having ever seen and heard Betty Compson in her first appearance on the talking screen --- for I tend to think she'd have come off the best among her fellow players in the new medium, playing a role she had enacted many times before and would many times again. Actually, that's not entirely true. What I mean is that Betty Compson was --- almost always --- pretty much Betty Compson. Oh, she'd trot out an accent now and again, or affect an upper class mode of speech, but that brittle yet somehow melodic whip-crack of a voice she possessed always reigned supreme. No matter what the scenario or role, she always seemed ready to say something particularly stinging, or conclude even the most florid and impassioned of speeches with "ya get me?"

Here's a ripe bit of faux-elegant Compson from the 1929 First National film "The Time, the Place and the Girl" (Compson and co-star Grant Withers can be seen in a still from this film at the head of this post) --- an all-talkie which is now presumed to be lost, leaving behind only its audio.

In the first excerpt, Compson --- wealthy wife of a crooked investment banker --- is confronted by her husband (John Davidson) for nurturing what he deems a possibly disastrous relationship with the young college chump (Grant Withers) he hand picked to be his fall-guy in a phony stock scam.

"The Time, the Place and the Girl" (1929) - Excerpt 1

Withers discovers her husband's scheme, unloads the stock on Compson, and makes tracks for the coast with his girlfriend. Here, in the concluding moments of the film (which includes the picture's exit music --- "Honey Moon," by Joseph K. Howard) Compson and husband realize they've been had --- and how!

"The Time, the Place and the Girl" (1929) - Excerpt 2

If it can be supposed that Compson ever had a supreme moment on film --- an odd notion in of itself --- then surely it was in the role of Nita French, the aging and prickly star of "The Phantom Sweetheart" in the 1929 Warner Bros. all-Technicolor musical "On With the Show."

Helped along by a dialogue script that reads like a slang dictionary and a wonderful assortment of stock players elevated to leading roles, Compson shines as never before (and never would again.) The combination of the pastel-hued photography, a lush wall-to-wall incidental musical score and a clutch of memorable tunes all must have made this quite the special event for movie-goers in 1929 --- the merest hint of which can still be palpably felt while watching the ragged B&W print that managed to stagger through the decades and collapse at our feet today.

Two excerpts from "On With the Show." In the first, Compson suspects the theater manager has snatched the payroll and tagged it a heist --- and refuses to go on: "On With the Show" (1929) - Excerpt 1

As the film concludes, Compson's role has been taken over by Sally O'Neill --- and Betty realizes it's time to pack it in once and for all and face an uncertain future like the trouper she is.

"On With the Show" (1929) - Excerpt 2

An Oddity:

"'The Broadway Melody,' which came to the Capitol Theater last night is one of the best-looking and most entertaining films which has come this way for a long time. And Bessie Love, who is destined to become famous again, after a period of neglect by the powers that be in the film industry, gives the most
exciting performance that the talking pictures have yet recorded. She has a fine, deep voice which matches perfectly her odd charm of manner and pretty face. Anita Page, a comparative newcomer to the screen, and a lovely and intense lady of the best blonde coloring, if we may judge from the Technicolor sequence, supports Miss Love."

Have we been mistaken all these many years in thinking that "The Wedding of the Painted Doll" was the film's one color sequence when, in fact --- if this review is accurate --- it suggests that color was limited to the "Love Boat" tableaux?


Norma Terris and J. Harold Murray pose oh-so-prettily in this shot from the largely lost Fox Movietone 1929 musical "Married In Hollywood." (At least a portion of the film's concluding color reel survives, and has been trotted out for a fortunate few at sporadic archive screenings.) For those gathered here, we have the photo to look at --- and two wonderful melodies from the film to listen to, as performed by Louis Katzman's Brunswick Orchestra:

"Dance Away the Night" (1929)

"Peasant Love Song" (1929)

From a June 1930 newspaper profile of phonograph and radio vocalist Frank Munn:

"Life is full of striking paradoxes, and the radio world is as full of them as the more truly mundane spheres. Frank Munn, for example, who is known to the air as Paul Oliver, never knew his own mother -- despite the fact that his ballads dedicated to 'Mother' have endeared him to millions."

"The urge to express his soul in song was present during his entire childhood in the Bronx, New York, where he was born. After five years in a factory, when he was 25 years old, his friends prevailed upon him to give up his work and take singing lessons. Therefore, Frank changed from the largely manual labor of sharing in the manufacturing of turbines to the labor of singing scales."

"Two years brought him a contract with a phonograph company and financial reward. The 'exclusive artist' clause, however, kept him from broadcasting until he got a new contract in 1928. Having played center on his High School football team, sports have a personal interest for him. Chick Meehan, the well-known New York University coach, is among his intimates who call him both Frank and Paul, upon different occasions. Though he admires operatic music, he not only prefers the simple ballads he sings, but realizes they are better suited to his voice. Besides, when he sings them with his hand on his heart and all the feeling in his being, he lifts them to a higher level."

Indeed. Here's Mr. Munn lifting two melodies of the early synchronized film era to the heavens, where they likely still cling and reverberate brightly:

"Lady Divine" (1928)
Theme Song of "The Divine Lady" (First National)

"When Love Comes Stealing" (1928)
As Featured in "The Man Who Laughs" (Universal)

A trio of memorable melodies --- although receiving scant attention by phonograph companies swamped with material begging release in 1929 and 1930:

"Go To Bed" (1929) Eugene Ormandy & His Orchestra
From "Gold Diggers of Broadway" (Warner Bros.)

"I'll Still Belong To You" (1930) Leonard Joy's Orchestra
From "Whoopee!" (Goldwyn)

"Dust" (1930) The High Hatters
From "Children of Pleasure" (Metro)

It's always a pleasure to welcome back vocalist Franklyn Baur to these pages, and this time he returns with two melodies that present his voice in two decidedly different forms.

In 1927's "Calling," (with Roger Wolfe Kahn's orchestra,) Baur is in top form --- light, silvery voiced and lyrical.

In 1929's theme from Paramount's "The Cocoanuts," the timbre of Baur's voice is richer, more robust --- but somehow sadder and quite without the infectious spark apparent in the earlier rendition.

"Calling" (1927) Roger Wolfe Kahn & His Orchestra
Vocal by Franklyn Baur

"When My Dreams Come True" (1929) Franklyn Baur
From "The Cocoanuts" (Paramount)

We pause now for a personal message from William Fox, President of the Fox Film Corporation, from March of 1929:

"Gone are the days when talking pictures could hope to succeed on novelty alone. The talking picture has reached maturity -- its infant days are over. The public has a right to expect talking pictures of the same high quality as the outstanding successes of the fast-fading silent screen -- classics like 'The Birth of a Nation,' 'The Covered Wagon,' and 'Street Angel.'"

"Fox Films has achieved that goal. Fox Movietone, first in sound on film, now sounds the last word in talking pictures with 'In Old Arizona,' to be presented for the first time at the (INSERT THEATER NAME HERE.)"

"It represents the culmination of five years of perfecting talking film and twenty-five years of producing motion pictures. It represents the combined genius of two directors -- Raoul Walsh and Irving Cummings. It brings to you for the first time the voices of such screen favorites as Warner Baxter and Edmund Lowe, the unforgettable Sergeant Quirt of 'What Price Glory,' and Dorothy Burgess, star of many Broadway productions."
"What is it that makes 'In Old Arizona' so different from other talking pictures? First, the fact that it was made on location, actually screened in the open amid the natural splendors of the southwest. Previously, dialogue had to be recorded in sound-proof studios. But the Fox Movietone process (photographing sound on film) not only caught and reproduced with fidelity the voices of the actors in 'In Old Arizona' but actually filmed and reproduced the natural sounds of the outdoors: the whining of the wind, the braying of mules, the rustle of leaves. Thus, the techniques of the stage and screen have been combined in perfect harmony, the first time this has ever been accomplished."

"Against this perfect background is unfolded a swift-moving action-full romance of frontier days, told entirely in dialogue -- intelligently written and perfectly recorded. Every word of it comes to you as clear and natural as life itself."

"'In Old Arizona' has been pre-shown in Los Angeles, Portland and Seattle. In all three cities, it played to the biggest box-office receipts in the history of the theaters. In all three cities, the critics unanimously acclaimed it the last word in talking pictures."

"Seeing and hearing is believing. Come to the (INSERT THEATER NAME HERE) and see and hear it for yourself."

If that doesn't induce you to seek out the top-notch DVD of "In Old Arizona" that Fox unceremoniously tossed on the market some time back (with what looks to be Paint Shop Pro clip-art packaging design) then perhaps James Melton's soul-stirring rendition of the film's theme song might...

"My Tonia" (1929) James Melton
Theme Song of "In Old Arizona"

While we have Mr. Melton with us, perhaps we can persuade him to --- oh! No need, he hasn't budged from that microphone:

"Chant of the Jungle" (1929)
Theme Song of "Untamed" (Metro)

"Beautiful Love" (1931)
As Featured in "The Mummy" (Universal)



In early December of 1929, Chester Bahn, Dramatic Critic of the Syracuse Herald, had a surprisingly cozy and informative chat with his readers about Technicolor films:

"And today, ladies and gentlemen, let us take stock, checking the forecast set down in this column on another Sabbath morn in the good old summertime -- a forecast which was, in the lingo of newspaper craft, bannered 'Pictures In Natural Colors Will Feature Next Year's Production.'"

"This is no clinical discourse, but a serious attempt to weigh the accuracy of a prediction plus the seasonal announcements of Hollywood's major producers. As evidence of its timeliness, let me merely refer to the recent six weeks' run of 'Gold Diggers of Broadway' and employment of color in other past, present and future local film bookings."

"At the moment, color is used effectively in Irene Bordoni's 'Paris' at the Strand, and less so in 'Glorifying the American Girl' at the Paramount. Pictures with color already shown included 'Broadway Melody,' 'Fox Movietone Follies,' 'The Hollywood Revue,' 'Married in Hollywood,' 'The Desert Song,' 'On With the Show,' and 'Rio Rita.' On the immediate horizon, there is 'Broadway' Eckel-theater bound."

"And this, my friends, is just the beginning. Technicolor, Inc. which controls the process now in vogue, advises that 14 features entirely or partly in natural color have been completed and that it is expected the principal studios will make a total of 50. Eleven actually are in the making. Monroe Lathrop, Hollywood columnist, is authority for the statement that before this time next year, 109 productions will be shown in color -- wholly or in part."

"The number of Technicolor specials to be released by Warners during this season of 1929-30 totals eight. This means that more than one-fifth of their entire schedule of 35 Vitaphone productions for the current year are utilizing Technicolor."

"The productions in color or with color sequences that are headed for Syracuse include 'Cotton and Silk' (note- working title for "It's A Great Life",) 'Golden Dawn,' 'General Crack,' 'Pointed Heels,' 'Sally,' 'Show of Shows,' 'Son of the Gods,' 'The Vagabond King,' 'The Rogue Song,' 'Under a Texas Moon,' 'Hold Everything' and Al Jolson's next picture, 'Mammy.'"

"Other color features now on the way include 'Devil May Care,' 'Lord Byron of Broadway,' 'Happy Days,' 'Dixiana,' 'Show Girl in Hollywood,' 'Song of the Flame,' 'Lady in Ermine,' 'Bright Lights' and 'Paramount on Parade.'"

"And, augmenting that list are these: 'Cameo Kirby,' 'New Orleans Frolic,' 'King of Jazz,' 'Bride of the Regiment,' 'Dance of Life,' 'Hell's Angels,' 'Hit The Deck,' 'Mamba,' 'Melody Man,' 'Mysterious Island,' 'No No Nannette,' 'Peacock Alley,' 'Puttin' on the Ritz,' 'Radio Revels' and 'The Viking.'"

"At present, there are 34 Technicolor cameras in the movie colony, and those are being augmented at the rate of one a week. But since all are working night and day shifts, they really are doing the work of 68 cameras. When the producers definitely turned to color eight months ago as the result of the success of 'On With the Show,' there were only eight Technicolor cameras in operation. Since that time, Technicolor has increased its working capacity eight times in an effort to meet the demand for color."

"Hollywood itself is sold on natural color pictures, and while undoubtedly the first rush may be attributed to that ever-raging film malady, copycat-itis, the conversion actually has keen appreciation of the possibilities behind it. Which is scarcely surprising. It is not so long ago that the less alert moguls had a painful lesson when the cinema found its voice. You remember those superior comments that sound could never, never, usurp the place of the silent picture, of course!"

"Stars of five principals studios were asked for their opinions on Technicolor after having worked with it. Al Jolson, Dennis King, Bebe Daniels, Lawrence Tibbett and Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. were among those who replied, each citing a distinct advantage which color photography brings to the cinema."

"Jolson declared that Technicolor gives an illusion of the much sought third dimension. He said: 'In a remarkable way, it gives the semblance of third dimension to a picture, without its deformities -- a combination that experts have been seeking and that we have been hoping they'd develop. No longer do we have to judge the distance an object in a picture is from us by its size alone.'"

"Dennis King asserts that Technicolor enhances virility of action more than black and white photography: 'I entered a projection room in fear and trembling to see my first tests in color. I came out a convert. My work in 'The Vagabond King' convinced me that color, instead of killing virility, develops that quantity.'"

"Lawrence Tibbett, the Metropolitan Opera star, back in New York after completing his first film, 'The Rogue Song' for Metro-Goldwyn-Mater, contributes this: 'Color and music are inseparable when it comes to entertainment. You can't produce opera without clothing your singers in colorful costumes and I think that it will be found that one can't produce satisfactory musical entertainment in sound pictures without using color photography. One thing, however, spoils my interest in Technicolor at the present day. This is the fact that so many producers try to combine Technicolor scenes with scenes filmed in black and white. To my mind this is impossible. The moment the color photography ceases and the black and white scenes are shown, the picture drops several degrees in interest.' And to that opinion, I add a hearty 'Amen!'"

Careless printing of Technicolor elements --- the result of a glut of product demanding release --- would turn a process once deemed enchanting by critics and audiences alike into something akin to an unwelcome guest by the end of 1930, as audiences reached the saturation point in both musicals and eye straining pastel hued grain and blur.

When it was all too much, there was --- as there always had been, the radio. But even there, the trend for musical films was impossible to escape entirely.

Recorded advertisements, studio sponsored broadcasts, abridged versions of film scores --- and even more than a few examples of film soundtracks being piped out of the theater and into radio studios for re-broadcast to lure anyone who might still be at home (listening to free radio) into a theater and past the ticket booth --- all made it difficult to ignore and, in effect, also likely aided in the swift about-face the public gave the musical film.

As noted in these pages numerous times, the survival rate of transcriptions of radio product from this period is even worse than many of the films they promoted and, in typical irony, what does survive is invariably dull or wholly unmemorable.

There are exceptions of course, and here's just such an example --- a presumed "remote" broadcast of Ben Pollack & His Band from mid-summer of 1930. In this musical program, two Paramount films are plugged via sprightly performance of the tunes they featured: the title tune of "Let's Go Native" and "My Future Just Passed" from "Safety In Numbers." Other melodies featured in this broadcast include "So Beats My Heart For You," "How Are You Tonight In Hawaii?," "Blue is the Night," "I'm Confessing That I Love You," "Ragging the Scales," and "Betty Co-Ed." Enjoy!

Ben Pollack - Summer of 1930

And, while unlikely to figure anywhere else within these pages, here's vocalist Kate Smith's 1932 recording "A Memory Program," in which she presents a medley of sentimental ballads on the brink of falling from fashion and our collective memory, seemingly forever.

These "orphaned" melodies are always given haven here --- where, among kith and kin, they can once again find appreciative --- or at least, curious, listeners.

Vocalist Olive Kline (left) steps forth from the shadows of mid-1921 to once again offer: "The Japanese Sandman" (1921)

And, Henry Burr (below right) gives us a stirring 1925 rendition of the turn of the century melodic cornerstone, "After the Ball." While the orchestration has been tweaked a bit, Burr's voice still rings of 1892 --- and elevates the recording from the mundane to the priceless.


Charles Kaley, stage, radio, recording artist and star of Metro's 1929 "Lord Byron of Broadway" was featured in an earlier post that can be found via this link, but here's Mr. Kaley's two recordings of melodies from that peculiar and much underrated film:

"Should I?" (1929) and
"A Bundle of Old Love Letters" (1929)

It's interesting to note that Kaley's voice fares far better here than it does in the film. The playful, somewhat inventive phrasing heard here indicates that the performer's full (vocal) potential was never fully utilized in a film that surely could have used a bit of cheer.

We'll conclude this entry with a gallery of visual and musical offerings --- of no particular connection to one another other than the obvious. Look! Listen!! Enjoy!!!

Until Next Time!!!

"I'm Doing What I'm Doing For Love" (1929) - From "Honky Tonk"
The Teddy Kline Orchestra - Vocal by The Two Jazzers

"He's A Good Man To Have Around" - From "Honky Tonk" (1929)
Sophie Tucker & Orchestra

"I'm Just a Vagabond Lover" - From "The Vagabond Lover" (1929)
Harry Salter & His Orchestra

"It Seems to Be Spring" - From "Let's Go Native" (1930)
Joe & Dan Mooney, The Sunshine Boys


"Rio Rita" (1927) - From The Ziegfeld Production
The Bob Haring Society Nightclub Orchestra

"Sweetheart We Need Each Other" - From "Rio Rita" (1929)
Ben Pollack & His Park Central Orchestra


"Chant of the Jungle" - From "Untamed" (1929)
James Melton & Orchestra

"Tip Toe Thru the Tulips" - From "Gold Diggers of Broadway" (1929)
Fred Rich's Rhythmicians, vocal by The Two Jazzers


"Were You Just Pretending?" - From "No, No Nanette" (1930)
James Melton & Orchestra

"The Whip" - From "Golden Dawn" (1930)
Noah Beery & the Vitaphone Orchestra


The Blue Coal Minstrels (1931)
Featuring Al Bernard (Above)

"When Day Is Done" (1926)
The Indiana Hotel Broadcasters

More Drama Than a Ten Chapter Serial Play - Salt Lake City, Utah - 10 April 1929

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"Not Quite Decent" 3 Feb 2008 10:49 AM (17 years ago)

Joan Blondell (left) will figure in the feature item for this entry, a casual examination of the inexplicably lost 1933 Warner Bros. pre-code potboiler "Convention City," --- but we'll open this post with a glance at an earlier but equally lost title, Fox's 1929 synchronized part-talkie, "Not Quite Decent."

Directed by Irving Cummings, featuring Louise Dresser, June Collyer and Allan (pre-"Rocky") Lane, and released in April of 1929, "Not Quite Decent" was described plainly in period press material distributed to newspapers:

"'Not Quite Decent' is a talking picture in the sense that it has Fox Movietone sequences in generous amount."

"Based on the story by Wallace Smith, 'The Grouch Bag,' it tells, primarily, the story of Mame Jarrow (Louise Dresser,) a former big-time vaudeville singer who has reached her mid-forties and is still an entertainer but not of the stage -- rather, she appears in an underground speakeasy of which she is half owner."

"Mame is just as young in spirit as ever, though the wrinkles have begun to appear and the figure has lost its former perfection, but she carries on. Eventually, to the speakeasy comes her daughter (June Collyer) whom she has not seen since infancy. She recognizes her, but the girl has always believed her mother dead, so Mame lets her keep on thinking so."

"When the daughter is in the toils of a wealthy philanderer, the mother decides it is time for her to do a little mothering. She saves the girl, disillusions her with the life she is trying to lead, but all is accomplished at cruel cost to the mother."

"The close of the picture finds the girl going back home with her childhood sweater (Allan Lane,) never knowing that it is her own mother who has saved her."

If all that sounds rather cut and dried, well... it is. In an odd turn of events, we can actually learn a bit more of the plot detail via the AFI database:

"On her way to New York for her first stage appearance, Linda Cunningham (June Collyer) meets Mame Jarrow (Louise Dresser,) a nightclub singer. Linda later drops by to hear Mame sing, accompanied by her angel, Al Gergon (Paul Nicholson,) a wealthy roue. Mame gradually comes to realize that Linda is her own daughter, from whom she was separated years before by pious relatives."

"Using all her wiles, Mame attempts to keep Linda from falling prey to Gergon, and when all else fails, she sends for Jerry Connor (Allan Lane,) Linda's small-town sweetheart. Linda returns home with Jerry, and Mame sings her heart out in smoky rooms, never disclosing to Linda that she is her mother."

All in all, perhaps the advertisement (from a Logansport, Indiana newspaper) summed the picture up best:

"Bright lights dance with dark shadows when a blue singer gets the blues!"

If that wasn't food for thought enough, the reader is then presented with this puzzler: "Just what is decency? A new and compelling answer is given in this story of life on the fringe of the night clubs."

At a mere five reels in length, and synchronized throughout with a Movietone orchestral and effects score, I suppose one or even a half reel of spoken and vocalized word would qualify as the "generous amount" cited in the press release, and surely a hefty chunk of the "talking sequence" was given over to Dresser's warbling of the film's theme song, "Empty Arms." (You can be sure I tried my level best to turn up a 78rpm recording of this tune --- alas, I must admit failure, but if one turns up you can be certain it'll be offered in an upcoming post.)

A musical interlude before we toddle off to "Convention City"...



There's as much of interest in Irving Kaufman's late 1928 rendition of "Ever Since the Movies Learned to Talk" as there is in the photograph of the singer himself (at left) which, admittedly, dates from some ten years prior to the recording itself.

Enlarge the image and you'll note all manner of fussy, busy decorative details in the apartment where Kaufman then resided with his wife and infant child: the riot of patterns, the confusing attempt to hide away the fireplace with pillows and draped linens, the scroll-work on the radiator (do any of us remember seeing radiators that weren't coated with decades of peeling paint or hidden away behind grids?) and, of course, Mr. Kaufman himself --- replete with freckled visage. As for the recording, well --- few escape the biting lyrics, not even Emil Jannings or Rin Tin Tin, and its fun to match up the descriptions of performers with our suspicions of whom is being discussed. "Ever Since the Movies Learned to Talk" was the sort of tune that lent itself to numerous interpretations on record, and a variety of lyrics too --- but this is, I believe, the best of the lot.

"Ever Since the Movies Learned to Talk" (1928)

While the 1928 Osa & Martin Johnson film "Simba" likely would have gotten by on visual content alone, especially as the pair were as adept at marketing and self-promotion as they were at capturing (or manufacturing) their adventures on film, "Simba" was made available in a synchronized version as well. (One period ad refers to the sound system employed as "The Dulcetone.")

Being 1928, it shouldn't come as a surprise that the sound version of "Simba" was blessed with a theme song, and this being Vitaphone Varieties, it shouldn't come as a surprise that you can hear this theme song right here and now:

"Song of Safari" (1928) Frank Munn

While it's fashionable to despise adventurers, films and even song lyrics of this sort today, I must admit to finding it all very lovely indeed. Oh, not so much for the content that adheres to these elements even today --- but for the fact that there was a point in our history when such things were looked upon in wonder as incredibly romantic and thrilling rather than something that must be stopped at all cost. How intent we all are today in wringing out and discarding every bit of magic and fancy from our lives, save for that which is pre-approved.

Also dating from 1928, but likely familiar to readers of these pages from its inclusion in the soundtrack of the 1929 UA film "Alibi" is the tune "How About Me?," which accompanies that marvelous long tracking and trick shot early on in the film in which the viewer is first drawn into the nightclub.

If this sketchy description doesn't ring any bells, the tune will. You'll see!

"How About Me?" (1928)

In late Autumn of 2003, the Vitaphone Project's online and print newsletter lamented what appears to be the utter and complete loss of both picture and sound elements for the 1933 Warner Bros. film "Convention City":

"This was a major feature with a cast boasting many of Warner's top stars: Dick Powell, Adolph Menjou, Frank McHugh, Hugh Herbert, Joan Blondell, Guy Kibbee, Mary Astor and Ruth Donnelly. The tale goes that (the film) was so risque that it singlehandedly brought the Legion of Decency's wrath on Hollywood and that Jack Warner destroyed all prints as penance."

"This story is is unlikely. The reality is that there were many much more notorious features released at the time, and all of them survive. That every known print of 'Convention City' worldwide should have been destroyed seems unlikely. Yet, no prints have surfaced. It does not appear to have been part of Warner's television package in the 1950's, although rumors persist that it was shown on British television in the sixties."

A search of the Warner vaults yielded nothing, not even the trailer. "In 1998, John Leifert was viewing some stock footage his employer, Getty Images, had purchased. One reel contained mute 'Convention City' footage of Atlantic City establishing shots, convention train arrivals, and boardwalk scenes as the apparent background (footage) for the opening titles."

As with so many lost or missing films, the title's legend seems far greater and certainly more alluring than the reality. Or is it? Here's a reel-by-reel encapsulated view of the film. You decide.

Reel 1: "Convention City" opens within the offices of the Honeywell Rubber Company, where a heated board discussion is in progress concerning the location of the company's upcoming convention. New Orleans, Los Angeles and Montreal are all in the running --- but company chairman, J.B. Honeywell (Grant Mitchell) will have his way: "Gentlemen, gentlemen, please! The discussion is closed. As usual, I suppose I shall have to make the decision personally. Let me see, where did we hold our annual convention last year?"

The directors all reply in unison: "Atlantic City."

"And we'll hold it there this year," decrees Honeywell. "Miss Logan, see that the usual preparations are made! Gentleman, the meeting is adjourned. Oh, these weighty decisions...."

We then meet some of the main players in the film:

T.R. Kent (Adolphe Menjou) a slick Honeywell salesman who uses every trick in the book to sell Honeywell rubber products to hesitant vendors, including waterproof coats: "Now Mr. Maxwell, I want to bring to your attention the particular water-proof features of this coat, making the coat practically hermetically sealed!"

Meek Honeywell salesman George Ellerbe (Guy Kibbee) and his domineering wife (Ruth Donnelly) who is busily arranging George before the pair leave for church: "Turn around. Let me see how you look. You know, you never get that thing on straight!" she chides, referring to what must have been the most horrid, unconvincing toupee ever seen on the screen.

"Oh but darling, why do I have to wear a toupee? The darned thing's so itchy!" moans George.

A messenger boy brings word of the confirmed locale for the upcoming convention, and Mrs. Ellerbe announces she plans to accompany George this time: "You'll not miss a chance of being made sales manager this time."

We're next introduced to Arlene Dale (Mary Astor) as Honywell's sharp and shapely female saleswoman, who sadly announces to her card playing pals: "Well boys, it's breaking my heart. I can't play tonight. I just got a wire from the Home Office and I got to shoot right back East for that Sales Convention."

And, before the scene shifts to Atlantic City, we meet Frank McHugh as Will/Bill Goodwin, whose hotel tryst with his girlfriend Lulu (Barbara Rogers) is cut short by a bellhop arriving with a telegram: "Honey, I got to go to he convention. I just got time to catch the Dixie Flyer." When Lulu pouts and pleads "Oh, honeybunch, don't go leave me tonight" and wraps her arms around his neck, Goodwin pulls himself up and announces, as the scene fades out:

"Darling, the saddest words of tongue or pen are these: 'It Might Have Been.' Scram!"

We then meet Nancy Lorraine (Joan Blondell) as a young lady with, shall we say, an eye for opportunity. She and her friends are comparing notes on the various conventions scheduled for the town. One girl displays the riches yielded from a hapless member of the International Glue Company and Nancy breathlessly prattles off: "Yes, they're in town and so are the Carbon Removes of Detroit, the United Gold Miners of Nevada and the Associated Trust Company--- and the Ever Ready Bandage Company, and you'se girls lay off the lads because they belong to me!"

When word arrives that the Honeywell Rubber Company starts Monday, the girls cheer in unison and one says wearily "Thank heaven! I'm so tired of that Ever Ready Bandage Company!" An off-screen voice replies "Listen sister, if they tire you, you better leave town before the Hercules Tool Company gets here!"

So ends the first reel of "Convention City."

Reel 2: We're aboard a train speeding towards Atlantic City and as the camera travels down the length of a car we overhear bits of conversation as we pass clutches of passengers:

From a crap game: "Leave your palm up baby, let me see that nine!"

The drunkard: "I want a couple o' bottles of White Rock. Hey Porter, gimme a couple of bottles of White Rock!"

Two sets of wives, holding much the same conversation: "I told Harry I was going along." "So was Tom, but he has a fat chance of losing me." "That's just what I told Harry. I know what these conventions are."

Another pair of wives, regaling one another with their medical woes: "Go ahead, Mrs. Wickerhsam, tell us about your operation. How large is the incision?" "It was thirty-two inches around the waist, and forty-four inches from neck to ankle!"

Salesmen, telling old and familiar jokes: "And so the gentleman in the upper birth leans down and says: 'For goodness sakes, kiss her and we can all go to sleep!'"

The camera pauses before Mr. and Mrs. Ellerbe, and George is still struggling with his ill-fiting, itchy toupee as Mrs. Ellerbe drones on: "And when I say I'll go with you, I mean it! Here's one convention where you'll not come home from with a brassiere in your suitcase!" The camera moves on to Arlene Dale and T.R. Kent, the latter lamenting his unhappy marriage:

"I'm willing to give her a divorce and a nice settlement. But she'd like to catch me in the wrong hotel room so she could have some judge award me the gold in my teeth."

Arlene's personal interest in Kent seems more than casual, and prompted by her questions we learn that all T.R. Kent hopes for is to rid himself of his vitriolic, clinging wife and to land the job of Honeywell Sales Manager: "I want that job more than I've ever wanted anything and it isn't just the big money either. It'd mean that all the tough years I spent with this company finally counted for something." Arlene Dale wishes him luck, and he excuses himself to visit the gent's facilities --- where he encounters George Ellerbe. "What are you doing in there?" he asks of George.

"A haven of quiet and refuge. The only place on the whole train where my wife can't annoy me."

"How did you get away?"

"She fell asleep, the old Frigidaire!"

Reel Three: The setting is the bustling Atlantic City train station. As the Mayor delivers a long-winded, oft-repeated and wholly insincere farewell speech to departing members of the Ever Ready Bandage Corporation, Nancy (Joan Blondell) is attempting to put the final clinch on one of that company's salesmen --- by threatening him with a Breach of Promise suit. As she waves a handful of damning letters at the salesman, he snatches them from her just as his train pulls out --- leaving her with nothing except determination not to make the same mistake twice with members of the newly arrived Honeywell Rubber Company. Arriving on scene to make sure she succeeds the next time is Phil Lorraine (Gordon Westcott) Nancy's husband --- and, well, for lack of any other word, her pimp. It's made clear that Nancy's profits are shared with Phil --- and that he keeps watch on her actions.

Arlene Dale and T.R. Kent step off the train: "I want to listen to the Mayor," says Dale. "I want to see if he's changed his speech this year." Chuckles Kent, "He hasn't changed it in twenty years. I'll recite it to you on the way to the hotel."

In the background, the Mayor's florid speech drones on: "Ladies and gentlemen of the Honeywell Rubber Company, Atlantic City welcomes you with open arms. The freedom of this fair city is yours."

As Nancy canvases the crowd for likely prospects, her arm is grabbed by an impudent Jerry Ford (Dick Powell) --- who arrived with the Honeywell train. He asks Nancy "How are you babe? When can I see you again?" "You're fresh, aren't you?" notes Nancy. "Well, that's the way we all are out in Seattle where I come from," replies Jerry. Surprisingly, Nancy invites him to the Bijou Theater that night if he wants to see her again. "You a chorus girl down there?" inquires Jerry. "In a way," responds Nancy, cryptically.

The scene shifts to an assembly hall within the Atlantic City hotel where the Honeywell group is settled. J.B. Honeywell himself is addressing the boisterous crowd. As he does, his words are contrasted with shots of action which suggest that anything but business and productivity will be the order of the day for this convention:

"Friends and fellow workers! This enthusiasm warms my heart and makes me proud of this organization. First, let me say that today's session will be a short one. I recognize that we're all tired from our trip and need a good night's rest before we settle down to business. Bear in mind, members of the great Honeywell happy family, that we are assembled here in this great city to work and plan for the coming year. Of course, you will enjoy yourselves among the many diversified pleasures abounding in this beautiful resort --- but I trust that you will keep the dignity and importance of this company in mind and will draw the line between decent, honest enjoyment and - er - profligacy. It is obvious that some of us are in no condition to attend to business today. We will sing the company song and adjourn until 9:30 tomorrow morning. Rise please. Mr. Travis, will you do the honors?"

As the third reel closes, Mr. Travis (Johnny Arthur) leads the delegation in the company song:

"Oh Honeywell, oh Honeywell, your trademark brings us glory. When feet are cold, and pulse is low, Hot water bags make our hearts glow..."


Reel Four: A party in T.R. Kent's hotel room is in full swing. The radio blares forth dance music. Among the attendees are Nancy (Blondell) and Jerry (Powell.) A knock at the door announces the arrival of George Ellerbe: "My wife sent me over to tell you there's too much noise -- she can't sleep."

"Well, that's fine! Turn up the radio! Go on everybody, let's have a dance!" suggests Kent.

A browbeaten George slumps down onto a seat, where Nancy joins him. "Oh, what's the matter, Pop?" "Wife trouble." "Go away from her." "I wish I dared." "Come on, let's you and me have a drink together." "Oh, I can only stay a minute." "Oh, I can do plenty in a minute."

Nancy's gentle chiding and the drink loosen George up considerably. She plucks at the offending toupee: "You sure look cute in that door mat!" "Say, if I knew I was going to meet you, I'd have had 'Welcome' painted on it!" responds George, grinning coyly.

Jerry (Powell) spots Nancy and George, and attempts to break things up, but George announces he has to be leaving anyway and toddles off to his room and awaiting wife.

Jerry announces he doesn't feel well. "Well, no wonder after all the sheep dip you been drinking!" responds Nancy. "Come on over here and lie down on the bed." Jerry does, and the scene fades out.

Morning. Nancy is shaking Jerry awake. They're alone in the hotel room --- and her well rehearsed routine is about to be set into action. Jerry awakens, and is startled to see Nancy.

"What are you doing here?"
"You locked the door, and wouldn't let me out."
"Did you stay here all night?"
"Oh, what will mother say!"
"Do you have to tell her?"
"She'd know the minute she looked into my eyes! And she'd tell father."
"Is your father here too?"
"Yes, him and my three brothers. They're policemen!"
"Say listen, Nancy, don't cry. Now wait a minute. It's all my own fault. If I hadn't been so drunk I'd never done a thing like that."
"Oh, my family will throw me out! Oh!" (crying) "They're so strict! Father said he'd kill the man who ---"
"Would money ---??"
"Are you trying to insult me?"
"Darling, please. No, I didn't mean it that way. I meant that maybe I could --- could sort of repay you for the wrong I've done."
"Well, if you put it on that basis ---"
"Sure! Just to show you how sorry I am. Come on, now. Wouldn't you accept a little gift from me?"
"Maybe I would. I could take mother south for her kidneys. I could get her out of town before she'd tell father about us."
"How much would you need?"
"About a thousand dollars in cash."
"Why, I haven't got that much!"
"Do you want me to face my family?"
"Now what a minute, wait a minute. Now, I didn't say no. A thousand dollars? I've only got four hundred dollars. That wouldn't do your mother's kidneys any good."
"No, they're awfully big kidneys."
"Look, you stay right here. I think I know where I can borrow the money. You wait right here!"

Jerry dashes over to T.R. Kent, explains his dilemma, and asks for $600. Kent sizes up the situation at once, tells Jerry to stay put, and saunters into his room to confront Nancy.

"Good morning, small pox! I understand that you'd like a thousand dollars?"
"Is that any of your business?"
"Certainly. I'm the paymaster. Now, here's a nice, new, fresh, crisp twenty dollar bill straight from the United States mint."
"I'll take fifty of 'em."
"Shall I call the house detective?"
"He's a pal of mine."
"And the District Attorney? Is he a pal of yours too?"
"I'll take a hundred bucks."
"Twenty. Twenty, darling. That's generous -- even for conventions. Are you listening?"
"Why you good-for-nothing-rubber-goods peddler!"
"Nice day for a walk. Come on baby. Come on, sleeping sickness. You're wasting my time."
"You think you're smart, don't you?
"No, not smart -- just experienced."

As he ushers the half-dressed Nancy out of the hotel room, a shocked Mrs. Ellerbe witness the departure from the hotel corridor and storms back into her room: "George! What kind of a place is this? Disgraceful! Outrageous! Disgusting?"

"What's disgusting, dear?" inquires George.

"Oh, that Kent person had a woman in his room all night! I just saw her leave. The idea of such conduct right across the hall from me! I'm moving out. I refuse to stay another second in this -- this house of ill --"

"Now, now darling --- it may just be some lady who knocked on his door by mistake. Or something."

"Or something! Well, anyhow, I'm certainly glad I didn't let you come to this convention alone!"

"Oh, I wouldn't think of it dear."

Reel Five: The fifth reel of "Convention City" opens with a conversation between T.R. Kent and George Ellerbe, the latter still bemoaning the fact he's doomed to spend the entire convention under the hawk-eyed observation of his wife: "It's worse than being in jail! She won't let me out of her sight!"

Kent has an idea: "Has your wife any relatives that might get sick and send for her?"

"You're a marvel! Her sister Ella, in Cleveland. Oh but Ella isn't sick. The whole family's too mean to get sick."

"Forget about it. What's Ella's name and address?"

"Oh boy --- say, if she ever gets suspicious, I'm moving to Australia!"

"Relax. You're wife's practically out of town now."

Of course, Kent's willingness to secure Ellerbe's liberty isn't purely out of kindness. He knows that if Ellerbe's sterling reputation could be tarnished a bit, he'd be a cinch to land the Sales Manager job they're both in the running for. So, when Ellerbe inquires about the little girl who sat on his lap the night before --- Nancy, Kent eagerly provides him with a way to contact her.

Two new characters and players are introduced here: Patricia Ellis as Claire Honeywell (daughter of J.B. Honeywell) who is seemingly as fond of Jerry Ford as he is of her --- and the much despised Mrs. Kent, played by Shelia Terry, who is intent on catching her husband in actionable circumstances.

Although Mrs. Ellerbe hasn't yet left town to rush to the side of her supposedly ill sister in Cleveland, Nancy loses no time in hustling George to a furrier, where she is modeling an expensive full-length model: "And what a bargain! Only fifteen hundred dollars," gushes Nancy. George is appropriately aghast.

"Oh, but you can't say 'no,' you cute little cupcake! You'll break a baby's heart!"

"Well, fifteen hundred dollars is an awful lot of money ---"

"But I'm an awful sweet girl!"

A new customer arrives at the fur shop, and George's reaction leaves little doubt as to who it is.

"What's the matter? You having a stroke?" asks Nancy.

"So this is why you sneaked out of the room! I'll teach you to buy hussies fur coats!" rants Mrs. Ellerbe.

The quick thinking Nancy cuts in: "Now that the Madame is here, perhaps she'd like to model the fur coat herself?"

"Model? Oh! Oh! I beg your pardon dear! You were getting a surprise for me! And I've spoiled everything by walking in on you this way!"

George all but collapses, but gathers himself enough to vow to repay Nancy in any way she wishes: "You saved my life --- I'll see you tomorrow!"

In scenes that follow, we learn that Mrs. Ellerbe is to leave for Cleveland on the morning train, and that Jerry brags to Kent and Arlene Dale that he has a date with Claire Honeywell --- both of whom think highly of her and advise Jerry to play up to her for all he's worth.

Reel Six: It seems that T.R. Kent hasn't lost time in capturing Claire Honeywell's attentions as well, and the two went for a moonlight ride upon the boardwalk the previous evening --- not for romantic purposes, but for Kent to impress Claire with his ability and to cement the notion that he is the best candidate for Sales Manager. Claire agrees --- and tells her father as much. A meeting between J.B. Honeywell and T.R. Kent suggests that Kent will get the position:

"There are reasons why I might choose you in preference to Ellerbe. Though, as you know, he too has been with the company for twenty years and is a man of the highest moral standards!"

"Oh, the very highest, Sir."

"But he lacks your ability and determination. And then too, my daughter Claire, always speaks of you in the highest terms."

"That's very gratifying, Sir."

Kent leaves the meeting virtually walking on air --- but he suddenly suffers pangs of guilt over setting George up with Nancy, and by cooking up the scheme that resulted in his wife leaving Atlantic City on the morning train. He expresses his doubts to Arlene Dale: "Listen, if that Nancy Lorraine gets George over a barrel, I'll be responsible."

"Nothing's going to happen, his wife's out of town."

"Yes, and I sent her there. Don't forget that."

"So what?"

"So what? If I get the job as Sales Manager and George Ellerbe, who after twenty years with this company gets into a scandal, I'd have to fire him and I got him into it! I'd never forgive myself!"

"Are you George Ellerbe's wet nurse? He's over twenty-one."

"Well, I don't like it."

Kent's prophecy of doom isn't only accurate, but it's being played out that very moment up in George's hotel room --- where he and Nancy are in the midst of a game of "Catch and Kiss."

Either due to a cigarette or cigarette lighter, Nancy's frock catches fire. Although she's unharmed after being doused with water, the dress is ruined. George advises her to take it off before she catches cold. "Ain't you the one?," muses Nancy, "Just a guy what sets little girls on fire!"

"Oh, you haven't seen anything yet baby! Now don't worry about that dress. I'll get you another one --- a hundred of 'em if you want."

"How do I know you'll get me a new one?"

"How do you know it? I'm going to prove it to you babe. I'm going to have to buy you a new dress. There it goes --- out the window!"

With that, Nancy's burnt, wet dress is flung out of the hotel window --- and, as it got caught on a hook on the frock, so is George's toupee!

A knock at the door. A male figure pushes into the room. Phil Lorraine. Nancy's husband and "business" partner. The old, old scam ensues.

"What do you mean by pushing in here like this?" demands George.
"I'll tell you what I mean! I saw you come into this room with my wife!"
"Y-y-your wife?"
"I'm Phil Lorraine. Nancy's husband. You heart thief! You home wrecker!"

Nancy and Phil set George up for a financial killing.

"Phil! Don't! It's all my fault! Don't kill him! He didn't know I was married!"

"All right, I won't dirty my hands on him. Nor you, either, you dirty little double crossing --- Just wait 'till I get you in court!"

"Court! Court!" exclaims George, his eyes all but popping out of their sockets. "Oh, now wait a minute, Mr. Nancy ---"

"Huh?"

"I mean, Mr. Lorraine. Listen, we -- we got to use our heads! We got to talk this thing over coolly. Now wait a minute. Now sit down and listen to me. Do I look like a man that would break up a home?"

"Yes."

The scene shifts to the hotel lobby where another unwelcome presence is newly arrived: Mrs. Ellerbe, who flew back to Atlantic City with a vengeance after learning that her sister was in the pink of health.

Kent spots her, and begs Will Goodwin (Frank McHugh) to stall her in the lobby while he dashes upstairs to check on George. He attempts to do so with inane conversation involving a canary that sports a full set of teeth, and by asking her advice on which breed of dog makes for the best pet.

Upstairs, George and Phil Lorraine are talking cash settlements. Phil demands five thousand dollars to forget about the incident. George admits to only having one thousand on hand --- and Phil agrees to take it. George beams at having put one over. "And a check for the rest," adds Phil. George's smile fades.

Reel Seven: Kent, the Fixer Upper, arrives in George's suite with the news that Mrs. Ellerbe's arrival on the scene is imminent. Understandably, George panics. Kent instructs him to go into the bathroom and get dressed as fast as he can. He then turns on Phil and Nancy Lorraine.

"So, your name is Phil Lorraine and that is Mrs. Lorraine, your wife?"

"Yes, he's my husband."

"It's a swell act, but I've seen it before. It's the badger game." He then reveals to an astonished George and the two disgusted scammers that Phil Lorraine is actually one Frank Wilson, a con-man --- not Nancy's husband at all. Phil is tossed from the room and Kent enters the bathroom to check on George --- and finds Nancy with him.

"Oh Ted, I don't know how I'll ever thank you --- you've saved my life!" bleats a shaken George.

"I'll tell you how you can thank me. Come here. You get down in that lobby and meet your wife as fast as you can -- pretend that nothing has happened. I don't know how long Bill Goodwin can stall her!"

Before George can flee, Mrs. Ellerbee arrives. Kent hides George and Nancy behind the bathroom door and explains to Mrs. Ellerbe that he was using George's shower because his was out of order. He asks her to leave the room so he might dress. Mrs. Ellerbe consents to return to the lobby.

Once she departs, Kent instructs George: "Listen, out the window and down the fire escape. Meet her in the lobby. Hurry!"

"Oh, if I ever get out of this, I'll never look at another woman. I'll enter a monastery! But what about her? (indicating Nancy)"

"That's my department," responds Kent. George departs out the window.

"Now get your dress on and scram!" orders Kent to the glowering Nancy.

"George threw it out the window. Besides, I like it here and I'm going to stay. I want to meet Mrs. Ellerbe. In fact, I think I'll receive her in the bedroom."

Down in the lobby, Mrs. Ellerbe is rescued from Bill Goodwin's ongoing discussion of dog breeds by the arrival of George: "Well! Marjorie darling! This is a pleasant surprise! Well, well, well --- I suppose my dear little sister-in-law is better?"

"Where's your toupee?"

"Oh, well --- that's funny. It must have blown off!"

"Too bad your head didn't go with it."

Mrs. Ellerbe isn't quite done stirring the pot. She waves over Mrs. Kent from the side of the lobby, who saunters up to George and his wife in the company of two detectives. Mrs. Ellerbe directs them up to George's room where she informs Mrs. Kent "I think I've got an eyeful waiting for you."

Mrs. Kent and the detectives burst into the Ellerbe room, where they find the undressed Nancy and T.R. Kent in the midst of discussion. Camera flashbulbs pop. "This'll double your alimony, Mrs. Kent," observes one of the detectives.

"Sorry to intrude Ted," gloats Mrs. Kent, "but we'll only stay a second. Thanks, Miss, I've been waiting for years to catch him this way."

In lieu of cash, Nancy picks up Mrs. Ellerbe's new fur coat off the chair and dons it --- but things turn from bad to worse for Kent when Claire arrives at the hotel room door and Kent weakly explains that Nancy is his kid sister, visiting from Washington. Claire seems to buy the ruse, but in the lobby, Kent, Nancy and Claire encounter Mrs. Ellerbe --- who recognizes her coat on Nancy.

The remainder of the reel plays out with Kent and George attempting to untangle themselves from the worst of all scenarios. Kent insists Nancy is his sister from Washington, Mrs. Ellerbe insists Nancy is the furrier shop girl, and is keen to know why she's wearing it. Etc., etc.

Reel Eight: Despite certain inadequacies in Ted's character, Claire has fallen hopelessly in love with him --- and Ted R. Kent realizes that Claire is the express lane to the position of Sales Manager. In a comparatively sedate dialogue scene with Arlene Dale, he reveals his intentions. Dale tries to convince him not to sell his soul for a corporate position, and it becomes clear that she looks upon Ted as more than a pal and co-worker. She's in love with him. Leaving Ted to plan his triumphant and swift rise to the top, Dale seeks out Claire and encounters her in the hotel lobby --- where she plays her hand beautifully:

"Claire, just a second ---"
"I'm rather in a hurry."
"I know. I know where you're going."
"You what?"

"I know where you're going. I know all about it. Claire, please don't take him away from me. You're so young, so attractive. You can have all the men you want. You've got so much and I have nothing - but Ted!"

"You? You and he?"

"For years he's been my whole life. I can't bear to lose him. I'll do something desperate."

"Now, now, stop it!"

"You're only a child. You can't love as I do. You can't realize what this means to an older woman. Please don't take my Ted away from me."

"Married to one woman and carrying on with you and that creature this afternoon in the hall! Then he tried to get me? Four women! Four! What does he think he is, a Turk with a harem?"

Finally, the time has come for J.B. Honeywell to announce his choice as Sales Manager. With all convention attendees gathered in the assembly hall, the Chairman of the Board takes the podium. As he speaks the camera cuts between the various players in the drama --- all eager to learn who wins the prized position:

"And now, my friends, the time is ripe for me to make a vastly important announcement. In fact, most of you have been waiting to hear it ever since this convention opened. I need hardly say that it concerns the appointment of a new General Sales Manager. The choice is finally narrowed down to two candidates."

"Two candidates, whose ability, sales orders, and time of service with the company were about equal. As is my custom in cases involving a position of trust, I made a thorough investigation into the private lives of these two men, paying special attention to their -- er, morals. I delved. I pried. I studied, and I learned. Then, and not until then, I made my decision, with which I shall now acquaint you."

"It affords me great pleasure, ladies and gentlemen, to announce that our next General Sales Manager will be neither of the two men to whom I just referred. But that loyal, efficient, intelligent, moral gentleman --- Mr. William Goodwin!"

"That's me!" pipes up Goodwin (Frank McHugh,) tagging the exclamation with his trademark laugh.

The scene shifts to the train station, where the participants are leaving for home. We learn that T.R. Kent and Dale plan to wed once his divorce from the current Mrs. Kent is final --- and that George Ellerbe's future life with his wife looks to be bleaker than ever --- and that the fickle Claire has secured a position for Jerry Ford as Assitant Sales Manager.

Just before the camera pulls back and out, we see Mrs. Ellerbe and George boarding the train, and George still vainly pleading "Let me explain!"

"You alley cat!" hisses Mrs. Ellerbe to the hapless George an instant before the "End" title appears.

Now, granted this cobbled and imperfect overview of "Convention City" can't begin to even hint at the accompanying screen visuals --- but I suspect you'll agree with my estimation that "Convention City" would be a damned good seventy minutes of pre-code fun (we'll forgive that rather flat ending too certainly!) but as a whole, the film is hardly worthy of the legendary scarlet hued aura that has clung to it over the decades.

The dialogue certainly isn't especially provocative, and neither are the situations when compared to what reached the screen in "Baby Face," "Safe in Hell," and a clutch of other titles of the period. While I won't even begin to guess as to why "Convention City" vanished so completely, we do know --- via period publications, that the film wasn't on the receiving end of public wrath and outrage, and that it enjoyed a normal and healthy distribution --- from the close of 1933 into late summer of 1934, where it was playing on double bills or accompanying vaudeville presentations. Indeed, in at least one case, a theater brought the film back for a repeat run some months after the title's initial booking, indicating it was an audience favorite.

So, in the end, "Convention City" survives today only a fragment of mute stock footage and on paper --- in the form of period reviews, advertisements and dialogue scripts laboriously prepared by state censorship boards eager to find material in need of deletion. In the case of the New York State Board of Censors, "Convention City" passed with flying colors --- virtually unscathed, save for the removal of the dialogue aboard the train wherein a woman boasts of the length of her operation scar, and for Ruth Donnelly's closing description of Guy Kibbee as an "alley cat."

Until a print of "Convention City" turns up --- and that's not an impossibility, given the amount of footage that has been tossed ashore lately from sources far and wide --- we're left with nothing except the hope and expectation that we might some day have the pleasure of seeing not a historic turning point in cinema, or a victim of public opinion --- but simply a terrific adult comedy enacted by some of the best performers on the screen. Such a film as "Convention City" could only come from one studio at one point in time --- the Warner Brothers lot of 1933. As the crowning achievement of pre-code cinema comedy, the absence of "Convention City" is deeply mourned.

To close this post --- some popular music of the period --- some selections being obvious if not certain candidates for inclusion in the background score for "Convention City!"

"The Midnight Taxi" 14 Jan 2008 4:30 PM (17 years ago)

Although the approach of midnight meant quite something else to actor Ralph Graves and co-star Helene Costello in the 1929 Nat Levine produced silent serial "The Fatal Warning," the poster art detail at left will serve well to open this first post of the New Year --- a year we approach with at least some of the same odd intermingling of curiosity, fear and excitement that can be seen in Mr. Grave's painted visage.

We'll ring up 2008's curtain with a 1930 recording of "My Sing Song Girl" which was previously offered in these pages in a definitive rendition by LeRoy Shield --- but this version, by the Colonial Club Orchestra, wins points for sheer originality (and the inclusion of a bit of Tchaikovsky!)


Arriving in September of 1928, Warner Bros.' part-talking "The Midnight Taxi" was deemed worthy enough to warrant theater bookings into December of 1930 --- and would be remade by the same studio in 1937, but we focus our attention on the elusive earlier edition which remains largely unavailable for evaluation although a silent print is thought to be in the care of the British Film Institute.

Adapted from a story by Darryl Zanuck (credited as Gregory Rogers) and directed by John Adolfi, the improbable scenario is described in the American Film Institute database:

"Tony Driscoll (Antonio Moreno) and Joseph Brant (William Russell) pool $200,000 to finance a bootleg venture and take a ride together on a train. Tony meets Nan Parker (Helene Costello) on the train and conceals their money in her coat. Brant hires two gunmen to stick up Tony and himself, but the holdup is a failure, for it is interrupted by detectives looking for stolen jewelry. The jewelry is found on Tony (planted there by one of Brant's henchmen,) and Tony is arrested and taken off the train."

"Released on bail later, Tony charters an airplane and returns to the speeding train. There is a gun battle, and the police arrest Brant and his men. Tony is cleared of the charges against him, and decides to go straight, having fallen in love with Nan."

A November 1928 booking of the film in Zanesville, Ohio resulted in this prepared press release appearing in a local newspaper. Even the most naive of reader would have been unlikely to accept it as a genuine film review, but the period lingo manages to breathe life into a film we'll likely never see nor hear --- as well as revealing a couple of intriguing plot details not hinted at in the AFI synopsis:

"Antonio Moreno, known as the dashing lover, goes in for rough stuff in 'The Midnight Taxi,' as his fight with thugs on the runaway train, his fight in the nose-diving plane and other hair-raising sequences proves. Helene Costello, as the fair sleuth who naively enters the company of thieves, hi-jackers and rum-runners in their mad flight for Vancouver is attractive and resourceful. Myrna Loy recalls her late triumphs in 'The Girl from Chicago' and 'Side Street Sadie.' William Russell with Miss Loy in both plays mentioned, acts with his usual hard-fisted zest."

"The play is possessed of as many thrills and hairbreadth escapes as a dozen detective yarns in one, but it the Vitaphone which stirs the already dramatic action to a fury of raucous and strident sound. All the players who speak their lines, do so with a finish which indicates that they must have had experience on the speaking stage before the advent of talking pictures."

"'The Midnight Taxi' again emphasizes the fact that the crook can't win. It should rank among the best of the crime pictures which are so much in vogue in theaters everywhere. The present reviewer advises all sort and conditions of people to go to the Liberty Theater before 'The Midnight Taxi' scorches by."

A real -- albeit anonymous -- local review of the film from (Waterloo, Iowa - October 1928) with the unfortunate title "'Midnight Taxi Is Full of It'" adds further insight:

"One who has presumed that only Adolph Menjou can sport a neatly trimmed dark moustache, glistening black hair and ultra-fashionable clothes, while alternating in the raising of a right or left sarcastic eyebrow and still be a screen hero has another guess coming."

"Antonio Moreno does all of Menjou's polite patter and adds a lot of athletic stuff himself that makes 'The Midnight Taxi' -- a 'talkie -- a most entertaining picture, with all the necessary elements of romance, thrills and hair-raising suspense to impress any audience."

"The cacophony of sound runs the gamut from blazing pistols to the hum of an aeroplane motor -- from gangsters' shrieks to the whistle of an express about to crash into a runaway train on which are -- ah! but there's the story!"

"Helene Costello as the girl who risks everything to turn detective and recover bonds stolen from a bank where her lover is cashier, is her same picture of loveliness. Soft of voice, tender in her sympathy, and courageous in defending her lover."

Is there a more pitiable figure of the early talking screen than Helene Costello? Sister of silent and early sound superstar Dolores, daughter of famed stage and screen personality Maurice Costello --- her life spiraled into what seems endless misfortune, folly and self-destruction after 1928 --- a year that seemed to promise at least some measure of the same success in the new medium that her sister would enjoy. As female lead in Warner Bros.' first all talkie, "The Lights of New York" (although Gladys Brockwell acts rings around her and just about everyone else in the cast) it can't be said that she makes much of an impression, but then neither does anyone else for that matter.

Truth be told, although the film was a vast success for Warners, and audiences attended in droves, I tend to think the majority were well aware of the fact that "The Lights of New York" was -- cinematically speaking -- a "piece of junk," as one 1928 bluntly yet accurately described it.

Helene Costello, Cullen Landis, Gladys Brockwell, Wheeler Oakman, Eugene Pallette --- it wasn't what they were saying or how well they said it that mattered, it was that they were saying anything at all.

Following her talking picture debut in "Lights," Costello would revert to silence for the silent serial "The Fatal Warning," and then, for all intensive purposes, would end a career that began at Brooklyn's Vitagraph studio when she was but a mere child, with 1929's "Show of Shows" where she confidently steals the screen from her sibling Dolores (seeming rather wan and clumsy here) in the musical set piece, "Meet My Sister." It's so joyful an eight minutes of musical film, and the actress is so --- well, so very young and alive and lovely in this sequence, that it's almost painful to contemplate just how far Helene would plunge from this happy pastel-hued pinnacle.

Helene Costello's 1929 marriage to actor/director and supremely oily figure Lowell Sherman was deemed "All Over Now" in news wire stories by mid-1932 --- but not until Lowell savaged the actress in the courtroom, with charges that she maintained an extensive library of "naughty books" (two of the many volumes Sherman brought into the courtroom as evidence were stolen from a table, one title being "The Memoirs of Fanny Hill," suggesting these books were anything but the sort of pornography Sherman claims so shocked him and "moved his secretary to blush") and was a hopeless alcoholic too.

To be sure, there were high times aplenty in the Sherman household --- with a "secret room" constructed to hold all the liquor left over after the Sherman-Costello wedding, a stash which was regularly replenished --- just as it would be in nearly every other Hollywood household of the day.

But, newspaper readers were much of the same breed they are today --- and it was the headlines connecting Costello to "Naughty Books and Drinking" which glowed in neon hues above all, despite the rather tame details behind them.

Lowell Sherman's secretary (the one who blushed) was one Maury Cohen, and his testimony revealed perhaps the real reason Sherman opted to so damage his spouse: "The secretary told of the actress calling Sherman 'a ham actor' and a 'lousy performer, and worse' and of how she tossed highball glasses at him." Sherman himself would ruefully admit that Helene had called him 'a fat old man' and told friends he was 'about finished in pictures.' (One can easily envision Sherman's eyes eagerly scanning the faces of those present in the courtroom for displays of disbelief and shock at Costello's wild claims, and likely finding none.) Although Helene Costello would win her divorce (and a $32,000 settlement) what she really needed was to get away from it all.

Then as now, diversionary tactics work best when a celebrity (or non-celebrity for that matter) is embroiled in something especially unpleasant, so Helene packed her bags and left for Cuba (points for originality, if nothing else!) and as the wire photo at right suggests, remodeled herself dramatically by the time it was announced --- some seven months after her divorce from Sherman --- that she was again a newlywed:

Havana, Jan. 23, 1933: "Their secret wedding exposed just six days after the ceremony, Helene Costello, screen actress, and her latest husband, Arturo Del Barrio, film producer, are formally 'at home' here today. They will remain in Havana until Spring, they have announced, and then will sail to spend Holy Week in Italy. Both admitted that they had been engaged about four years ago, that the engagement has been broken because of 'extenuating circumstances.' The marriage of Miss Costello and Lowell Sherman, ended in a divorce last year. Her previous marriage, to John Y. Regan, a childhood sweetheart, ended in the same manner."

A bit of celebratory music seems in order here, so we offer two tunes (both featured in the Metro musical "Cuban Love Song") which may have well been heard and danced to by Miss Costello and her new husband. Music, Maestro?

"Cuban Love Song" (1931) Ruth Etting - "The Peanut Vendor" (1930) California Ramblers

A few placid months passed before Lowell Sherman would indignantly rise up again --- somewhat feebly this time -- and file suit against Helene, seeking to have her endorse a government income tax refund check for $490.43 in his favor. Oh, how she must have laughed!

All but abandoning her film career, whether willingly or not, Costello also remained out of sight in newspaper pages until tongues began to wag in June of 1935 that all was not bliss in the Del Barrio & Costello union:

Hollywood, June 13: "Helene Costello denied she and her husband, Arturo Del Barrio had separated, although friends disclosed she had not heard from him since he visited John Barrymore some weeks ago aboard the actor's yacht in Havana harbor. A recent Barrymore statement said Del Barrio was to finance a picture the brothers-in-law would make in Cuba."

Three months later, a far happier news item would appear, heralding what was hoped to be a comeback for Helene --- while prematurely burying Helene's father Maurice by some fifteen years.

Costello's role in "Riff Raff" was minor in the extreme, and save for a bit in 1942's "Pride of the Yankees," which Hollywood columnist Jimmy Shields ruefully noted "took two minutes to film," that was the end of movie stardom for Helene.

Throughout the late 1930's and early 1940's, Helene Costello's name would be seen in numerous news items similar to the one at left from May of 1939 --- charged with driving while intoxicated --- and during this period her marriage to the Cuban Del Barrio would end and she'd take up with one George Lee LeBlanc, (described as an "artist and sculptor") with whom she'd have a child --- a daughter, Deidre, in February of 1941.

Only one year later, Costello would file for bankruptcy, listing debts amounting to $2,758 and total assets of $205.

Interestingly, four years later --- when Warner Bros. was celebrating the 20th Anniversary of sound films --- the Helene Costello of decades past could be seen in newspapers once again, as in this syndicated filler piece at the right, wherein the only point of interest seemed to be the long hours spent at the studio, and not the technique nor mechanics of the landmark process.

No matter --- Costello was fading fast. Some accounts cite alcohol, others claim drugs or both. Among the news items on New Years Day of 1948:

"Helene Costello Loser in Battle for Daughter"

Los Angeles: "Film actress Helene Costello lost a court battle for temporary custody of her six year old daughter, Deidre. Superior Judge Byron J. Walters ruled the child should go with artist Lee LeBlanc, her estranged husband. Their divorce trial is scheduled for April, at which time a permanent custody ruling will be made. The child has been cared for by Miss Costello's sister Dolores, who became the legal guardian two years ago when LeBlanc was in the maritime service and the mother was recuperating from a health breakdown. Judge Walters ruled that Miss Costello was 'not a fit and proper person' to have custody of Deidre, as her husband charged."

Los Angeles, June 1, 1951:

"The late actor Maurice Costello, who died penniless last October 29th, left his two daughters $1 each, his will disclosed today."

The document, filed for probate in Superior Court, was handwritten and dated July 27, 1916. The daughters are Dolores Costello, former wife of John Barrymore, and Helene Costello."

Maurice Costello left the remainder of his estate of $221.55 to the Motion Picture Relief Fund, which had supported him for years."

And finally, the inevitable ---

Hollywood, January 29, 1957:

"Helene Costello, who once earned $3,000 a week starring in films with the late John Barrymore, is dead at 53, a victim of pneumonia in a state hospital. Officials said she was committed to Patton State Hospital in San Bernardino last week for narcotics addiction. She was admitted under the name 'Adrienne Costello.'"

"Death came Saturday. Few at the hospital realized that she was the fragile beauty in Hollywood films in the late 20's. As late as 1942 she was still playing character parts and appeared in "Pride of the Yankees." But illness, financial problems and the heartbreak of unsuccessful marriages had taken their toll."

"Later, she got jobs as an extra in the studios where she had once been a star. In 1947, however, she said that she was 'too destitute and too ill' to work when she went to court seeking support from her fourth husband, artist George Lee LeBlanc."

"Her previous husbands were John Regan, actor Lowell Sherman and Cuban sportsman (?) Arturo Del Barrio. Miss Costello was the daughter of matinee idol Maurice Costello and the sister of Dolores Costello, who was with Helene when she died."

Predictably, most if not all of the published obituaries for the actress failed miserably, opting to highlight her downfall and barely hinting at her long and distinguished career --- and mangling the facts when it did. (Helene's only pairing with John Barrymore was a minor role in "Don Juan," and in "Show of Shows," in which they only shared billing.)

Helene, like Dolores, grew from an awkward child romping about the sunlit Vitagraph sets to a lithe and attractive young woman --- perhaps lacking whatever spark audience fancy sometimes caught hold of and embraced, resulting in true stardom --- but certainly on par with countless other actresses of her day.

In the end, no matter her personal demons, it's simply doubly sad that her send-off didn't rise above the mire into which she had fallen, but that's Hollywood. That's life.

At the very least, negligible though her contributions were to the first all-talking film, "Lights of New York," her name and face would escape the jeers forever connected to co-star Wheeler Oakman and his "Take him for a ride" line reading.


Gloom Chasers? We got 'em!

It's probably best not to question the advisability of serenading a huge polar bear with jazz, but the furry fellow seems as curious as we are about the faux Ted Lewis get-up on the clarinetist. This is, or was, "The Better 'Ole Orchestra," and while I'd dearly love to know what they were playing, we'll have to use our imagination --- and hope that those cage bars are good and sturdy.

A frequent melodic visitor to these pages is "Dardanella," and here it is in a new and rather enchanting guise, courtesy of Bob Haring's Velvetone Orchestra, circa March of 1928:

"Dardanella" (1928)

A remarkable piece of 1926 music, titled "Static Strut" --- performed by Paul Specht's Georgians, pictured left. As you listen, click upon the image to enlarge it, and let your eyes play across those beaming faces for a jolt of frivolity that connects with the music so perfectly. Then too, in lovely quality images of this sort, it's always fun to take notice of small details --- the variety of watch-chains, lapel pins, the woolen cap removed and held while the photo was being taken --- small elements of daily life now lost to time and fashion. (The unusual opening --- a mock radio station ID, indicates that this was, indeed, a Columbia recording.)

"Static Strut" (1926) Paul Specht's Georgians

We lurch backwards two years, to 1924, for the next offering. As entertainment, you won't find much --- but as a historical record of what can be supposed was the general public opinion of early radio listening, it's priceless. Whistles --- noises --- crossed frequencies (a rendition of "O Solo Mio" is interrupted by minstrel comedians of the most pathetic sort, a banal 1924 pop tune --- "My Hindu Hoo-Doo, Who Do You Love?" and finally, the final moments of a boxing match!"

"Tuning in on the Radio" (1924)


The Better 'Ole Orchestra is back --- and tempting fate even further, they've brought a dainty dancer with them to further confuse and irk our game polar bear friend --- but alas, he has eyes only for the top-hatted clarinetist.

Nearly one year ago, an earlier post featured the 1915 melody "The Ladder of Roses" in a discussion of the Hippodrome musical production "Hip-Hip Hooray."

The tune, a personal favorite of mine, is worth presenting again --- this time in an alternate version, by Prince's Band, from 1916. Be forewarned, it's an utterly infectious arrangement! At the conclusion of the recording, a fragment of the 1915 vocal version is added as musical homage to that forgotten musical stage production --- and to that fact that we're still together one year later! As to what happened to The Better 'Ole Orchestra, well... let's just hope the expected didn't happen after all.

"The Ladder of Roses" (1915) Prince's Band

"So come along, it's not far away,
let's spend a happy day
in that beautiful world...

And pass away the gloomy hours,
amidst the sunshine and the flowers...

For it's a land where all is new,
wonderful gardens too,
Joy waits for all far up above!

So let's climb up the ladder of roses,
and we'll soon reach the garden of love."






Bonus Audio:

"Under the Honey Moon" (1919)
The Coney Island Jazz Orchestra


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"Ill-Assorted Companions" 30 Dec 2007 2:55 PM (17 years ago)

As whatever celestial clockwork mechanism that propelled 2007 is about to wind down to a sputtering and decidedly anticlimactic halt, this lull seems an opportune time to explore items old and new --- before venturing into whatever unknown territory the new year will bring.

Enviably oblivious to life as it is in 2007, Alice White (left) is as unavoidable a presence in the realm of the early talking film as Al Jolson --- and it's rather interesting to discover that opinions of her appeal were as divided in 1929 as they are now, when she's discussed at all, that is.

In a syndicated newspaper piece dating from August of 1929, writer Dan Thomas puts it out there in a profile that could --- with little alteration -- serve adequately today to describe some of the dubious talents we inexplicably embrace today.

"How does she do it? She can't act and she's dumber than all get out! Those, and a few more things even less complimentary, have been whispered around Hollywood about Alice White for the last year. And when Hollywood folk start putting somebody on the pan, they can be brutal."

"But, while the knockers were thinking up new reports to circulate about Alice, this young actress was forging ahead until now she is one of the biggest stars on the First National lot. For a while, even the First National executives didn't hand Alice very much. In fact, they thought so little of her that they allowed her contract to expire about a year ago. Then, the exhibitors set up such a howl for more Alice White picture that she was brought back and given a new contract -- at $100 a week more than she had been getting."

"Alice has even been called high-hat. That, along with a number of other accusations, is untrue. Alice's only trouble is that she rose to stardom too rapidly. She felt that she should assume the airs of a star but she didn't know quite how to go about it. Then, directors tried to drive her and she became stubborn, thereby acquiring the reputation of being temperamental."

"If the truth were known, this blonde actress at heart is still just a kid. And once you penetrate her film star exterior, you see that kid. Until she came into pictures, Alice never knew any of the luxuries of life. As a result, once she started tasting these luxuries, she wanted to go to the very top of the cinema pinnacle so that everything she desired might be hers."

"Until recently, I was numbered among those who wondered how Alice got by. Then one day I spent the greater share of an afternoon talking to her and I knew. Film audiences penetrated her makeup --- saw the real girl, and liked her --- a thing blind Hollywood could not do."

"This youngest of stars, who three years ago was an unknown script girl, is almost pitiful in her desire to succeed. She tries so hard to do what is right that she often oversteps herself and does the wrong thing. Alice's latest film, 'Broadway Babies,' firmly established her as a star of speaking films. She couldn't dance or sing so she learned how to do both for this picture. Studio officials also wanted her to take elocution lessons, but the star showed her superior wisdom by refusing to do so."

"'I don't think audiences want me to speak very correct English,' she told me. 'They want to hear me talk as any young American girl would talk, so I am going to keep right on speaking in my natural manner. I have tried to be natural in everything I do, and I think that's why fans like me. So why should I spoil it all by learning to speak correctly?'"

Sometimes, even I'm at a loss for word or waggish comment --- and at such points, music is best hurriedly brought forth.

Here are two tunes from Alice White's 1929 First National success "Broadway Babies," performed here by the California Ramblers for the Edison label, in the last days of that company's life:

"Wishing and Waiting For Love" and "Broadway Baby Dolls"

From this vantage point --- so distant to 1929, perhaps the most enjoyment that can be had in watching Alice White in her surviving early talkies is that she's so utterly unlike the vast majority of her peers. There's neither forced raucous demeanor, nor transparent attempts to appear cultured and refined that just come across as creepy --- no, she's simply herself: good, bad or indifferent. Mostly indifferent. Never seeming to quite connect with her surroundings or co-stars, or even fully understanding the lines she's speaking for that matter, Alice White defies the odds and manages to charm rather than repulse or dismay, and that's no small feat.

One critic --- I can't recall who --- said something to the effect of "Miss White grimaces and clumsily closes one eye to give the impression she's sly and crafty, and in doing so appears to be neither."

I ain't so sure about that, folks!


Before presenting a selection of exceptionally fine tunes before moving on to our next item, it should be mentioned that many of the recordings featured in these pages can be found on what I deem to be one of the best web sites of its kind, Glen Richards' "Hot Dance and Vintage Jazz Pages," a beautifully designed, carefully documented and lovingly presented selection of music that's made to order for any of my readers. I'm including a permanent link to Glen's web site on this blog's sidebar, and gently urge you to visit. Once you do, you'll return time and again as I have.

Edwin McEnelly and his Orchestra are up first with "Spanish Shawl," a late 1925 recording that may well prompt you to seek out those castanets you have tucked away and to do something you've never thought of doing until now.

The tune "Cryin' for the Carolines" (from 1930's "Spring is Here") has been a frequent visitor to these pages --- in renditions both awful and fine, but here's one of the best --- if not the best. Count on Johnny Marvin to put it over just right --- and dig that fiddle midway thru!

The 1929 First National Dorothy Mackaill vehicle "Children of the Ritz" may have fallen off the twig into that land of oblivion that all missing films happily if uneasily reside in --- but we have the film's theme song with us, "Some Sweet Day," and it's performed here by Bob Haring's Velvetone Orchestra precisely as it was first set down into grooves in February of 1929.

Two ethereally lovely sides of a 78rpm disc by Gus Edwards & His Orchestra, dating from August of 1926, both of which pack a mighty wallop of precisely what brings you here:

"I'll Fly to Hawaii" and "Crying for the Moon"

Jack Pickford, Marilyn Miller and a pair of nervous canines are seen here aboard a steamship circa 1927 or thereabouts, and while Miller's Warner Bros. film version of "Sally" hadn't been thought of yet, we nonetheless pause a moment to revisit an old topic and, I suspect, to lay it to rest as well --- that of the seemingly absent musical number "After Business Hours," which is heralded on at least some sheet music editions for the film but which is absent from surviving prints.

Two "Vitaphone Varieties" readers almost simultaneously wrote to point out that while the number is absent from "Sally" as a performance piece, a fragment of it survives in existing prints as incidental music in the film's elaborate background score (an oddly constructed one at that, given the fact it also makes use of "What Will I Do Without You" from "Gold Diggers of Broadway" and even Jolson's signature "I'm In the Seventh Heaven".)

Indeed, "After Business Hours" can be heard at the film's 40 minute mark, in which it serves as scoring for a throwaway bit of chorus dancing at the "Elm Tree Inn" setting and a portion of the comic business between Joe E. Brown and elderly Jack Duffy navigating his way up to his precarious seat at the club.

Clifton Webb (right, with Miller) helpfully points out that an audio fragment of "After Business Hours" as it survives in "Sally" today may be heard here, but the question still remains of course as to why a scant minute or so of music would warrant sheet music publication. My guess is that it wouldn't, and that an extended performance of the piece was either excised from prints shortly before or after the film premiered or, given the bedraggled condition of "Sally" today, the footage was simply lost somewhere between the storage shelf where the film lay for decades until what remained was thought worth saving --- even in such an imperfect format.

"After Business Hours" (soundtrack fragment)

Many thanks to Jessica (of San Francisco) and John R., for helping to unravel this bit of niche musical film history mystery!

A medley from the stage incarnation of "Sally," by Joseph C. Smith's Orchestra (recorded in late 1921) which artfully blends "Look For the Silver Lining,"
"Whip-Poor-Will," and "Wild Rose")

Motion Picture News described the lost 1929 Fox film "The Sin Sister" thusly: "Ill-assorted companions marooned at a trading post in the North. A small-time vaudeville dancer (Nancy Carroll) invades the frozen spaces and meets the son (Lawrence Gray) of a wealthy family who has been stranded with bad companions." While we may never know why Anders Randolph seems so upset with a bear-skin rug, or why Josephine Dunn (left) seems so ill at ease with a cigarette holder, we can lament the fact that this is just one of countless late-silent/early-sound Fox films that have vanished.

To be sure, we have many a transitional period (of silence to sound) gem from that studio with us --- and some have even ventured forth out of enforced seclusion onto DVD, such as those released in conjunction with the massive "John Ford at Fox" set which arrived on the market in time for the holidays. While the full $299.99 set seems destined to serve as a corporate gift and will sit upon many an executive office's shelf, we regular folk were gifted with a fine selection of John Ford's work which may be had individually or in smaller sets. While I'm apparently one of the very few that believe that John Ford's legend far exceeds his reality, I nonetheless grabbed at the "Ford at Fox: John Ford's Silent Epics" set --- although mostly for what I consider one of the finest examples of the 1928/1929 transitional period, "Four Sons."

Inexplicably, Fox has torn away the film's original magnificent synchronized Roxy Orchestra Movietone music and effects score from "Four Sons," --- it's not even offered as an alternate audio track, and replaced it with what I feel is a very poor new one indeed. Oh, the new score sounds just fine --- clear, bright and even rich in spots, and it's a certainty that the composer studied the original Movietone soundtrack closely --- but in the end, the new score fails miserably.

The original score was so tightly interwoven into the action upon the screen that "Four Sons" never seemed so much a silent film as merely a quiet one --- with the score serving to bridge sequences, underline them, counterpoint them and highlight them so skillfully that the thought of "Four Sons" image without its' soundtrack seemed unthinkable.

The new score neatly proves not only what tremendous and lasting damage can be done to a silent film fitted out with an inappropriate score, but also how easily an early synchronized film can be transformed from a visual and aural period symphony into quite something else.

The most riveting and perhaps the defining moment of "Four Sons," when the dying pleas of a soldier on the fog shrouded battle field for his "little mother" is heard on the original Movietone soundtrack amidst almost complete silence, is shattered here by the careless and inexplicable handling in this presentation. Although we see the characters on the screen lift their heads and eyes towards the distant dying utterance, this supreme moment when the art of silent cinema co-existed beautifully with the new sound technology goes unmarked and unnoticed in the busily bland new score, turning a moment in screen history that unfailingly caused the small hairs on the back of your neck to rise into -- well, nothing. Just nothing.

The saddest aspect to all this, like much of the recent late silent and early sound product arriving on DVD, is that it always seems to just miss the mark of perfection, or always seems as though costs, effort and enthusiasm were cut or lacking in in the most ill advised spots. A million dollar image restoration and a hundred bucks spent for scoring and research, it would seem. I just don't get it. Are there no students of film history in the employ of the major studios? Someone to suggest that something isn't right --- or to boldly say "No! You'll ruin it!?" Whereas Warner Bros. (with the problematic but well intended DVD release of "The Jazz Singer) celebrates and luxuriates in their studio's contributions to the birth of the talking film, Fox --- which was as much a player in the technological leap as Warners', ignores and all but shuns it.

For films of this period being released to DVD, it's pretty much a one shot deal. No second chances --- at least in our lifetime. What lands on the store shelf BECOMES the film as it will be seen, studied, explored and understood for years and years to come. We're taking in gold and churning out tin. Not even tin --- just plastic.

A few audio fragments from the original Movietone synchronized version of "Four Sons," which now serve only as examples of what has been lost:

The Village Birthday Fete for the Little Mother: Here, amidst hand clapping and shouts that accompany a traditional folk dance, the audio level of the score rose and fell in volume as the image cut between the dancers and conversation between characters within the walls of a house.

The Dying Solider: (See above for description)

The New World & Conclusion: The Little Mother arrives in New York City and struggles to make her way to her son aboard the subway ("My New York" is used here as scoring) --- she finds herself helplessly lost on the dark, rain-slicked streets of the city. The original score interpolated bits of "The Sidewalks of New York" and "Give My Regards to Broadway" here to counterpoint the character's despair and confusion--- and, when a helpful NYC policeman comes to the woman's aid, the score reflected this (listen for "Yankee Doodle Dandy") and transformed the terrifying city landscape, by this action -- both heard and seen, into HOME for the new arrival to these shores. No such thought or care is evident in the new score and indeed, it would seem that the old woman is more lost than any of us expected, for the new score suggests she's arrived in 1948 New York instead of the city of 1928!

In the end, all this hot air on my part counts for nothing, for the damage to "Four Sons" has been done and likely won't ever be remedied. But, as cinema history is being mangled before being tossed onto the heap that is the DVD retail market, there needs to be some cautionary words spoken --- even if they sometimes can't be heard above the din of self-congratulation and back-slapping emanating from some DVD production companies.

We'll clear the air here --- and usher out this entry along with the old year --- with some melody, plain and simple.

Here, we have eighteen minutes of a transcribed 1929 "Brunswick Brevities" broadcast --- in which the Colonial Club Orchestra, vocalists Billy Murray and Walter Scanlan, and xylophonist Harry Brewer are featured. Among the melodies heard: "My Fate Is In Your Hands," "On the Woodpile," "Nola," "Shut the Door -- They're Coming Through the Window," "If I Can't Have You," "I'll Close My Eyes to the Rest of the World," "Nobody's Using It Now," and as announcer Norman Brokenshire hopefully suggests, "Oh, you'll recognize the rest."

See You on the Flipside of 2007! - And Thanks For Visiting!

"Auld Lang Syne" (Mechanical Music Box)

"Auld Lang Syne" (1910) - Frank C. Stanley

"Auld Lang Syne" (1931)

"Spin a Little Web of Dreams" (1933)

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A Yuletide Frolic II : Sinners' Holiday 16 Dec 2007 3:11 PM (17 years ago)

Greetings of the Season!

For this entry, it's all about music and imagery --- and we'll set aside observation, analysis and criticism for the long winter days ahead.

Some interesting items are planned for the coming weeks and months --- including a feature-length examination of the infamous and seemingly lost 1933 pre-code scorcher "Convention City," so stay tuned!

Don't try to explain the image at left --- I can't either! Likewise, for this free-form entry, don't try to connect up the images with the audio and commentary --- just let it roll over you and enjoy this holiday offering, dear readers!

We'll begin with two magnificent recordings by Ben Black & His Orchestra dating from August of 1927, the incredibly lush and melodic "Moonlit Waters" and an odd re-working of the solemn and familiar "Going Home" tricked up in evening clothes and appearing here as "Sailing On." The rustle of silk, highly scented floral arrangements, and the shuffle of feet across a polished ballroom floor countless evenings ago can be palpably felt in these two recordings.

"Moonlit Waters" (1927) Ben Black & His Orchestra

"Sailing On" (1927) Ben Black & His Orchestra

Similarly, the image that comes to mind in the following 1927 recording of "At Sundown" by Lynn Cowan's Loew's State Theater Orchestra is that of Mary Eaton as Gloria Hughes in Paramount's "Glorifying the American Girl" --- sitting at a dingy dressing room table between performances, eagerly opening a much battered and multi-labeled parcel from the boy she left behind in her quest for fame. The chirpy melody is heard on the film's soundtrack --- in stark contrast to the wistful and bittersweet expression that plays out on Eaton's face as she examines the simple gift of an inexpensive mirrored jewelry box.

"At Sundown" (1927) Lynn Cowan's Loew's State Theater Orchestra

I'm continually surprised by just how diverse the readers of these pages are --- an incredible cross-section of geographic locations, careers and specific interests, yet all sharing one common interest and somehow finding their way here for information and entertainment. Truly gratifying!

One such reader is Australian resident Phillip Sametz who, with his Sydney based dance band "The Mell-O-Tones," has an incredible knack for replicating period tunes and performing them via live, recorded and broadcast venues.

Performing vintage melodies "straight," with little or no elaboration and quite without the often horrendous touches that transform similar attempts into well-meaning but misdirected high camp, The Mell-O-Tones are a tonic.

"Mona" (Happy Days-1930) - Vocal by P. Sametz

Seeking more? Visit the Mell-O-Tones official CD link! Thanks to Phillip Sametz and Martin Buzzacot for allowing this worthwhile endorsement!


Rudy Vallee's 1928 rendition of "Let's Do It" (a tune inexplicably dropped from both stage and screen versions of Irene Bordoni's starring vehicle "Paris") is wonderful late jazz-age nonsense, so it's only appropriate that Vallee is given the equally nonsensical billing of "Frank Mater" on this Harmony 78rpm disc recording.

"Let's Do It" (1928) Frank Mater

And, now's as good a place as any to welcome in Frankie Marvin (Johnny's brother) and Ed Smalle for as fine a rendition of "Caressing You" as you're ever likely to hear --- anywhere, at any price. (Stock up now!)

"Caressing You" (1929)

An entire post could easily be devoted to Alice White --- and soon shall be --- ("Alice White Forges to Fore in Films Despite Hollywood's 'Anvil Chorus' That She's Dumb and Unable to Act!" screamed one August 1929 article, proving that public taste hasn't changed all that much) but in the meantime, let's gaze at Miss White as she gazes back at nothing in particular, and listen to one of the featured melodies from the sorely overlooked 1930 "Show Girl in Hollywood," performed here by Ed Lloyd & His Orchestra:

"I've Got My Eye On You" (1930)

Another familiar --- but somewhat more focused, female personality of the period, Zelma O'Neal, steps forward now... and it's best to let her have her way and offer a musical plea from the 1929 Radio film "Syncopation," otherwise known as:

"Do Something" (1929)


"Six hundred gorgeous costumes were designed and produced by the wardrobe department at MGM in less than a month for 'The Hollywood Revue,' by a force of 150 seamstresses."

"'Every costume for the revue was manufactured on our own lot within 30 days,' said Joseph Rapf, head of the wardrobe department. 'All the material was purchased here with the exception of a special, transparent rubberized material which could not be found on the coast.'"

Here's Teddy Joyce and his Penn State Recorders, boldly proclaiming --- despite Miss Crawford's gray shroud of a costume ---

"Gotta Feelin' For You" (1929)

--- and, while the microphone and glass tubes are suitably hot, here's Jesse Stafford and His Orchestra to more than do justice to a tune Helen Kane introduced in the 1929 Paramount film "Sweetie":

"The Prep Step" (1929)

Organist Milton Charles, a familiar name and dour face to these pages, provides the music in the next two 1928 covers of tunes featured in Jolson's "The Singing Fool," while the vocals are provided by Ned Miller --- and they so effortlessly transport the listener to a moment in time that the effect is somewhat startling:

"Sonny Boy" (1928) and "There's A Rainbow 'Round My Shoulder" (1928)

Call Davey Lee back to your knee before he scampers away to the witness stand to help convict you of murder (in "Say It With Songs")
Mr. Jolson, and instead let's have a go at another rendition of "Sonny Boy" that has a beautiful, Christmas-like motif about it. Our musicians are Bob Haring & His Velvetone Orchestra, folks:

"Sonny Boy" (1929)

There's something about the female vocalist on the next two recordings --- credited here as "Virginia Lee," which more than reminds me of the young lady ("Dottie Lewis") who performs "I Ain't That Kind of Baby" in the wonderful 1927 Vitaphone short "The Night Court." Hmm....

Here, Miss Lee performs two Vitaphone related melodies, "I'd Rather Be Blue Over You" (from "My Man") and "Who Wouldn't Be Jealous Of You?" which was deftly handled in a 1929 one-reel short by that wonder child herself, Baby Rose Marie.

"I'd Rather Be Blue Over You" (1929) Virginia Lee

"Who Wouldn't Be Jealous of You?" (1929) Virginia Lee

For those who can't get enough of "I'd Rather Be Blue," and don't mind a male vocalist in lieu of Fannie Brice or Virginia Lee, here's another perfectly adequate 1929 rendition by:

Vincent Richards and His Dance Orchestra


Harmony, close or otherwise, looms large in this next clutch of melodies! First, two selections pay homage to the legendary Ziegfeld stage production of "Whoopee!" --- featuring selections that, for a variety of sad and peculiar reasons, didn't make it into the 1930 Technicolor screen version.

The first, a so-lovely-it's-almost-painful rendition by Ruth Etting --- and then, Bob Haring's Velvetone Orchestra (The Colonial Club Orchestra in disguise) returns for a medley featuring "Makin' Whoopee," "I'm Bringing a Red, Red Rose," a mere flash of "Come West Little Girl" and then, the always magnificent Vaughn DeLeath puts over "Love Me Or Leave Me" before the roof is blown off by an orchestra reprise that apparently tossed the needle off the record too! Fine, fine stuff here...

"I'm Bringing A Red, Red Rose" (1928) Ruth Etting

Medley from "Whoopee!" (1928)


From early March of 1926, we have an early incarnation of The Revelers and a new recording technology that allowed for not only electrical recordings of superb fidelity, but also somewhat (35% to 50%!!) longer recording time. Here, we have Franklyn Baur, Ed Smalle, Elliott Shaw and Wilfred Glenn providing the vocals --- and, supplementing the Brunswick Orchestra, Frederic Fradkin and Rudy Wiedoeft.

"The Merrymaker's Carnival" (1926) - Side One and Side Two

Included: "Schon Rosmarin," "Just One More Waltz With You," "Saxema," "My Bundle Of Love," "Lolly Pops," "The Prisoner's Song," "I Love My Baby" and "In My Gondola."

Let's maintain a pseudo high-brow motif for a moment longer, and usher in two similarly refined recordings before knocking over the crystal vase at our elbow and being forcibly removed:

"Deep Night" (1929) Bob Haring's Velvetone Orchestra

"My Love Parade" (1929) Smith Ballew & His Orchestra


The supremely melodic 1928 tune "Lila" may be familiar to early sound fans who've seen little Grace Rogers perform it in a Metrotone one-reel subject included on the DVD release of "The Broadway Melody," but if you've yet to discover it --- or have avoided it owing to Master of Ceremonies Harry Rose, here's something just as good (and less cringe inducing):

"Lila" (1928) Tony Young's Ramblers

Likewise, 1928's "I Just Roll Along" may forever be linked in the minds of readers with The Foy Family's Vitaphone short subject, but that doesn't mean the melody wasn't deftly handled elsewhere --- and here's Irving Kaufman (with The Okeh Melodians) to prove just that!

"I Just Roll Along" (1928) The Okeh Melodians

Did someone say "Ted Lewis?" No? I thought not. I'll send him away while we listen to two tunes from his lost 1929 Vitaphone feature "Is Everybody Happy," but you've got to back me up, guys... (I was about to say "he swings a mean cornet," but thought better of it. Ok, ok...)

"I'm The Medicine Man For the Blues" - The Yaban Radio Orchestra, vocal by Billy Murray

"Wouldn't It Be Wonderful?" - The LaPalina Broadcasters, vocal by Irving (yes!) Kaufman

Nothing says "Christmas" more than Al Jolson or Hawaiian guitars --- so while Lois Moran and Mr. Jolson busy themselves, we have two absolute corkers of early talkie tunes --- which defy logic and instead lend themselves beautifully to the plaintive strains of the Hawaiian guitar and unique interpretation of virtuoso King Benny Nawahi:

"Under A Texas Moon" (1930)

"Singing in the Bathtub" (1929)

If you sunburn easily and don't care for pineapple, here's The Paramount Rhythm Boys giving the first tune a skillful once-over (which was apparently lifted intact to serve as main title music for the 1930 Ruth Etting Vitaphone short "Roseland!")

"Under A Texas Moon" (1930) P.R.B.



To close out this holiday edition of "Vitaphone Varieties," --- four exceptional recordings.

"Dust," performed here by Bernie Cummins and The Hotel New Yorker Orchestra, is from the 1930 Metro film "Children of Pleasure," a perfectly wonderful and woefully overlooked showcase for actor Lawrence Gray who, himself, is rather wonderful and woefully overlooked, come to think of it.

"Dust" (1930)

Two unapologetically sentimental melodies --- one a standard, the other all but forgotten (from RKO's 1929 "The Vagabond Lover") --- but both mighty powerful.

"Together" (1928) Arnold Johnson & His Paramount Hotel Orchestra

"The One in the World" (1929) Ed Lloyd & His Orch.


And, lastly, we close with another rendition of the same tune that opened this frolic, "Moonlit Waters," performed here by an old friend to these pages --- Franklyn Baur, accompanied by The Columbians.

Present and Unaccounted For 24 Nov 2007 3:30 PM (17 years ago)

While we'll never know what was being said or heard when the wonderful snapshot to the left was taken, let's see if we can't replicate a bit of their vibrant good cheer for this entry --- a small assortment of items originally slated for the last post ("Crystal Girl") but dropped owing to the length of the feature story.

Before straying too far off from the topic of the previous entry --- that of the lost 1929 First National film "Paris" --- now is as good a time as any to mention Irene Bordoni's other 1929 film appearance, in the Warner Brothers revue "Show of Shows" and the topic of missing or deleted footage from this mammoth production.

A much earlier post from November of 2006 ("Neither Here Nor There, But...") detailed a bit of footage missing from surviving prints of "Show of Shows" in the form of a spoken introduction to the Georges Carpentier, Alice White and Patsy Ruth Miller sequence, but what else is absent from the print commonly seen today?

I've long been puzzled by the inclusion of the melody "Believe Me" in the film's lengthy finale sequence and the fact that this tune was featured as the companion piece on Irene Bordoni's 1929 Columbia 78rpm recording of the languid ballad she performs in the film, "One Hour of Love," a sequence that effectively stops the film not only cold, but quite dead. Was this the best Warners could come up with to feature their vivacious (and highly paid!) performer? As it turns out, it would seem we're only seeing half of her contribution to "Show of Shows" -- and what's missing is a trademark Bordoni eye-rolling and mildly suggestive performance of --- that's right, the tune "Believe Me."

A number of period newspaper publicity placements for "Show of Shows" allude to the fact that Bordoni performed not one but two "typically Parisian" numbers, and at least one studio provided "review" of the film provided to local newspapers tells us outright that "Miss Bordoni appears with ten pianists and ten ladies dressed as Bordoni," which gives us some suggestion as to how "Believe Me" was presented.

While very badly reproduced, we can see Bordoni (clad in the same gown we see in her performance of "One Hour of Love") and her pianist, Eddie Ward --- and while difficult, one can see the forms of those aforementioned ten chorus girls (wearing identical gowns and Bordoni-style wigs) along with the murky outlines of the ten pianists too.

It's easy to visualize the sequence (likely originally in Technicolor) as a sparkling and sly mood-lifter after the meandering "One Hour of Love," and the sequence's original inclusion neatly explains why "Believe Me" is reprised during the film's finale. What isn't so easy to figure out is if this sequence is missing from current prints owing to the elements being too far gone for printing when the highly imperfect current black and white print was prepared, or if the sequence was snipped out following initial runs in key cities before it was farmed out across the United States. For all we know, the sequence may well exist in a as yet undiscovered print --- as well as in audio Vitaphone disc elements for the film that haven't been fully evaluated for content.

The clever and unusual ad for "Show of Shows" at left from a February 1930 run in Oelwein, Iowa presents another puzzler --- and one not as easily figured out as Bordoni's case.

Midway down the column, there's mention of a feature spot for comedian Lupino Lane titled "Spring Is Here," which it can be supposed had nothing to do with the studio's forthcoming screen version of the Rodgers & Hart production. A scan of period reviews, advertisements and publicity placements all turn up blanks on this one --- leaving only this intriguing mention as a hint that yet another decidedly interesting segment might be absent from the gargantuan --- equally despised and admired --- 1929 screen revue.

The tune "Believe Me" turns up --- with much the same orchestration utilized in the finale of "Show of Shows" in the 1929 Technicolor two-reeler "Hello Baby!" which starred Ann Pennington (also curiously absent from "Show of Shows") --- but whether there's any connection or not is something best left for someone with far better cinema detective skills than I.

That said, here's Miss Pennington's vibrato vocal of "Believe Me" from the aforementioned 1929 short subject (which, remarkably, survives in its original hues!)


"Believe Me" (1929) - Ann Pennington and Chorus

Another 1929 all-Technicolor First National film, "Sally," which starred Marilyn Miller and Joe E. Brown is still with us today --- and also seems to have a bit of mystery about it in the form of the song depicted at right in sheet music issued for the film.

"After Business Hours (That Certain Bizness Begins)" doesn't turn up in the film's elaborate incidental background score (at least not that I could ascertain) and yet appears to have been filmed and dropped from prints at some point. Indeed, the only logical spot in the film for the number to have appeared would have been in the first reel --- at the Times Square Child's restaurant where Miller's character is first seen, working the dinner shift.

As a curiosity item, here's a transcription of the melody lifted from the sheet music, along with a sampling of the lyrics.

"Every morning, just at ten, all the busy business men,
are so busy with their stocks and bonds.
Now and then they make a sale, while dictating lots of mail, to a lot of stenographic blonds."


"But in the evening, when they need relaxation,
dictation turns to syncopation!
After business hours, that certain bizness begins."

"It's like the sunshine after the showers,
and you're on needles and pins.
Why even Mister Babbitt, who has a conscience,
gets the whoopee habit and wants his nonsense,
That certain bizness begins!"

"After Business Hours" - Transcription



Maurice Chevalier's beaming smile seems as justified today as it did in 1929 when "The Love Parade" first glowed, drifted and scampered across talking picture screens, for it has been announced that Criterion will be releasing this equally technically impressive and charming title in February of 2007 --- along with three other 1930-1932 Lubitsch musicals, "Monte Carlo," "The Smiling Lieutenant" and "One Hour With You." No word as yet as to any supplementary material or extra features, but as with any Criterion product, it's a fairly safe bet that they'll go that extra mile which some other DVD companies always seem to inexplicably just fall short of doing.

Let's face it, a DVD release of a silent or early sound film is invariably a "one chance to get it right" kind of event, and when a release is lacking either in presentation or technical elements, we're stuck with it --- superb, good, bad or indifferent.

Jeanette McDonald doesn't look to be especially refreshed so much as --- well, just downright odd in the window card at left, but the following medley of tunes from "Monte Carlo" performed by the New Mayfair Orchestra in 1930 gets it just right:

Medley from "Monte Carlo" (1930)

Buried deep within an earlier post comes this two part medley from "The Love Parade," recorded on the British "Broadcast" label --- well worth reviving here:

"The Love Parade" (1929) - Part 1 and Part 2

And, to round out this miniature Lubitsch 78rpm tribute, here's Jeanette MacDonald singing the title tune from 1932's "One Hour With You."

"One Hour With You" (1932)



It's easy to get lost in the far away make-believe world of early musicals, where pastel hues radiate prettily and every line of dialogue seems a music cue. Therefore, it's important, especially for so rabid a student of the genre as I, to step back and away from the evidence left behind every now and again, and try to view these films and the time in which they were created not as an early sound film buff --- but as a the jaded, skeptical resident of 2007 that the great majority of us are. Sometimes, artifacts of the period accomplish that task for us.

The ad for Warners all-Technicolor "On With the Show" (the title exclamation mark comes and goes) at right for an early August 1929 screening in Charleston, West Virginia seems a treat for the eye --- what with all the hyperbole about Technicolor and the lively graphics --- but scan down to the bottom and we're not so much swept along as deposited with a thud: "Special Midnight Show For Colored People Only."

Depressing? Very. Wrong? Certainly. But, such was the world at one time. What, I wonder, was this midnight audience's reaction to Ethel Waters chumming it up with Louise Fazenda? Somehow, it makes Waters' intentional bump into Fazenda's posterior with her prop laundry basket just prior to her performance of "Am I Blue?" seem not only right, but well justified --- and how that audience must have loved it!

Early musicals are often cited for being hopelessly static --- and while this tends to be (I believe) a sweeping exaggeration based purely on the slim number of titles readily available for evaluation for so many years, the statement holds true for much of "On With the Show" --- only it's not as noticeable perhaps owing to the all the movement crossing the frame, or moving towards and away from it. Indeed, there are few more visually busy early musicals than "On With the Show" that can be brought to mind. Oddly, Ethel Waters' rendition of "Am I Blue?" (and later, "Birmingham Bertha") suffer not one bit for even if the camera were swirling about her, she'd hold us stock still in her gaze --- right where she wants us, and right we find ourselves upon every viewing. It's a riveting moment in early musical film history.

"Am I Blue?" (1929) Ethel Waters

"Am I Blue?" (1929) Nat Shilkret & Orchestra


To wind up this comparatively brief post --- before offering an exit gallery of images of the period --- a selection of audio, that includes requests from readers as well as items that didn't make it into earlier entries. (Many thanks to readers who have submitted audio --- your submissions will surely, in time, be given proper presentation in these pages!)

From what must seem like almost a mascot film for these pages by now, here is Winnie Lightner's beautifully acerbic spin on love and marriage from "Gold Diggers of Broadway," plus a cinema organ & vocal rendition of an old standby...

"And Still They Fall in Love" (1929) Winnie Lightner

"Tip Toe thru the Tulips" (1929) C.A. Parmentier

Two 1929 78rpm sides from "Show of Shows" by Dick Robertson and Orchestra. "Lady Luck" is the winner here, I believe.

"Lady Luck" and "Singing in the Bathtub"

From "Lord Byron of Broadway" (MGM-1929) we have The Revelers step up to the microphone for a cheery rendition of:

"The Woman in the Shoe" (1930) The Revelers


While offered elsewhere in these pages as an instrumental version, the theme song for the 1929 Harold J. Murray and Norma Terris Fox film "Married in Hollywood" gains immensely with the addition of vocalized lyrics --- and while a bit watery in the sonic department, if you're as fond of the melody as I am, you'll enjoy this 78rpm version by Larry Holton's Boston Society Orchestra all the more.

"Dance Away the Night" (1929)

Useless trivia: "Dance Away the Night" can be heard as part of the scoring for the 1934 Paramount Popeye cartoon "The Dance Contest." Odd, if nothing else!

By the by, no matter if your interest is in musical films, animation or just vintage cinema in general --- Warner Home Video's 4 disc "Popeye the Sailor: 1933-1938" is a stunning example of restoration and presentation that no reader of these pages should be without. (That, and "The Jazz Singer," of course!) I know, I know but... hey! Quit throwin' them tomatoes!

Until Next Time!

Mr. John Barrymore
"Show of Shows" (WB-1929)


"Dangerous Nan McGrew" (Paramount - 1930)


Promotional Item
"Gold Diggers of Broadway" (WB - 1929)

"High Voltage" (Pathe-1929)
The blurb says it all...

Small town cinema with big city attitude:
The magnificent Ironwood (Michigan) 1929

Wonderful home-grown ad graphics
Oakland, California - 1929

"The Fourth Clown"
Hal Roach Studios - 1929

"Not Quite Decent" (Fox-1929)
A Lost Film

"Our Dancing Daughters" (MGM-1928)

Herald - "On With the Show" (WB-1929)


"Thunderbolt" (Paramount-1929)
"Thunderbolt will go through an iron wall to see her..."

Post-Thanksgiving Toy Ad
27 November 1929
(A distant day when we actually manufactured toys
for our children in our own country!)


###

"Crystal Girl" 22 Nov 2007 5:34 AM (17 years ago)

"A moonbeam, a June beam - a rare Tiffany gem!

A flower, a bower, a new rose on the stem!"

So go the lyrics for the elaborate "Crystal Girl" production number depicted left, which served to kick off a series of Technicolor musical revue sequences in the now lost 1929 First National motion picture "Paris."

Directed by Clarence Badger, and starring stage legends Irene Bordoni and Jack Buchanan, "Paris" is one of a maddening clutch of missing (the term "lost" seems unduly gloomy and hopeless) musical films of 1929 and 1930 that would, were they still with us, serve to document a number of stellar stage performers of the 1920's at their peak --- before age, shifting public tastes, drastically changing musical forms and motion picture production codes would alter these personalities forever --- leaving us instead with later film work that, in most cases, barely hints at the qualities that so captivated audiences.

Fannie Brice, Ted Lewis, Sophie Tucker --- and, in this instance, Irene Bordoni, can all be seen today in later film work, but none of which has that beautiful immediacy --- that spark --- that captures these souls just as the twenties would fade out and the decade-long party was declared over, done with and which by the mid-30's would seem so distant as to appear a waking dream.

"Paris," which would serve as the screen debut for the films three leads --- Bordoni, Buchanan and Louise Closser Hale --- isn't a sought after or yearned for title in the way that, say, Brice and Tucker's "My Man" or "Honky Tonk" is --- and this is puzzling, for while "Paris" transfers the 1928 stage production and two of its stars to the screen virtually intact, the Brice and Tucker films were manufactured to create some sort of screen character in which the performers could utilize their special talents. "Paris," on the other hand, is pure and, it would seem, undiluted direct-from-the-bottle Bordoni, who merely stepped from the stage to the screen with nary a hiccup, dragging her hit Broadway success with her. Certainly, I'd rather all three films were available for evaluation --- but if I had to make the awful and impossible decision of choosing one to be discovered in a Glasgow cinema basement or an Arizona cave, it would be "Paris" --- if just for these reasons.

The stage production of "Paris" enjoyed a 195 performance run between October of 1928 and March of 1929 at New York City's Music Box Theater, with composers and lyricists Cole Porter, E. Ray Goetz, Walter Kollo, Louis Alter, Bud Green, Harry Warren, Roy Turk and Fred E. Ahlert providing the musical elements. (The fact that Porter's "Let's Do It - Let's Fall in Love" was the shows break out hit likely accounts for the fact that the production is generally --- but mistakenly --- thought of as a Cole Porter solo flight.)

By the time the stage run closed, film rights for "Paris" had been secured --- as well as cast members Irene Bordoni and Louise Closser Hale --- the former who was signed by Warners for $10,000 a week ("for three weeks") for work in both "Paris" and their forthcoming revue "Show of Shows."

While the stage version of "Paris" could be described as an intimate three-act musical comedy set entirely in a Paris hotel, the vision for the film version was to expand outward. The hotel setting was preserved for the production's book portion --- but Bordoni's revue performer character would be depicted in her element, neatly providing ready-made flash, color and spectacle for the film's Technicolor sequences.

Three of the stage production melodies would be retained (including Porter's "Don't Look at Me That Way") but, regrettably, the hit "Let's Do It" was dropped in one of those frequent head-scratch inducing decisions that dot many of the early sound film stage to screen transitions.

In full production by late summer of 1929, the Warner/First National publicity mill begins to churn, and we join newspaper readers, many of whom are getting their first glimpse of Irene Bordoni and --- for all, news of this forthcoming Vitaphone "rainbow of melody" due out just in time for the 1929 holiday season.

"Irene Bordoni, international singing comedienne, who will soon make her screen debut in the talkie version of her own stage play, 'Paris,' was born on the island of Corsica in Ajaccio, the same town where Napoleon first saw the light of day. Her great grandmother was the sister of Millet, the artist."

"When she was a youngster of 13, she disobeyed her mother and instead of coming directly home from school without loitering, she pranced into the Theater Varieties, in Paris, and asked the manager for a job. Thanks to her piquant beauty she landed one immediately in the chorus -- with a salary of what was equivalent in our money to 50 cents a week."

"One day during rehearsals, a quiet dignified little gentleman sat in the back row of the theater. He sent for the little Bordoni and asked her how she liked her work. She was radiant with enthusiasm which turned into excitement and surprise when he told her that she was far too pretty and talented to remain in the chorus long. He soon found a speaking role for her and she progressed rapidly. The quiet and discerning gentleman who discovered Irene Bordoni was George Halevy, the noted French writer."

"Before long, the name of Irene Bordoni twinkled brightly in electric lights in the various capitols of Europe. She had learned to sing prettily and she had the happy faculty of selecting musical numbers which were destined to be outstanding hits. Broadway producers were beginning to offer tempting contracts that called for English songs. In a short time she was not only able to speak English creditably, but what is infinitely more difficult, could sing English songs with as much charm and gusto as she did the French."

"In America she scored an instantaneous success in "Miss Information" a (1915) revue featuring Elsie Janis. Following this she was besieged with offers and she appeared in a number of successful American revues with Raymond Hitchcock, Sam Bernard, Alice Delysia and other stage notables. Her popularity grew and she became the star of her own company, appearing usually in an American version of a spicy French farce in which she sang songs both in English and French. Among her successes are "Little Miss Bluebeard," "Naughty Cinderella" and most recently, "Paris.'"

First National's ten reel, part-Technicolor screen version of "Paris" premiered in early November of 1929 and can be seen being booked into theaters as late as July of 1930, casting some doubt on the oft-repeated comfortable and easier to digest mantra that the film, like so many of these early musicals, were mild but quick hits in big cities and complete and utter flops in small towns across the country --- opening and closing within days, virtually run out of town by irate citizens.

Utilizing a rather worn but serviceable set of Vitaphone discs for the European export version of "Paris," along with printed scenarios and dialogue scripts, we can --- with some difficulty and a good deal of imagination --- "see" and hear the film today in an admittedly imperfect manner, but likely the only one we'll ever have.

In Excerpt 1, following the opening title theme, we are introduced to the stalwart Massachusetts icon of virtue, Mrs. Cora Sabbot (Louise Closser Hale) --- president of the Woman's Purity League, which is closing its weekly meeting in her New England homestead. Also in attendance is her son Andrew (Jason Robards) and his intended, Brenda Kaley (Margaret Fielding.) The members of the Purity League are reciting the group's motto: "Fighting for good with all our price, and may there be naught for us to hide --- and may peace and purity with us abide."

Mrs. Sabbot informs the League that her son Andrew is about to leave for Paris to study Architecture, and waves aside warnings from club members that Paris is a "very wicked city" by assuming a regal stance and reassuring the club (as well as herself) that "I'm sure my son will never forget that he is a Sabbot!" Fade-out.

"Paris" - Excerpt 1

Fade-in. In Excerpt 2, two months have passed and the location is now a plush hotel in the city of Paris, where hurried last minute preparations are underway to furnish a suite of rooms in a style befitting New England Purity because --- you guessed it --- Mother Sabbot is about to arrive to visit her son, and Andrew has some news to break that requires the appropriate setting. We are introduced to Harriet (Zasu Pitts) maid and confidante of the Parisian revue performer Vivienne Rolland (Irene Bordoni) as she tells Andrew "If anybody had told me two months ago, that Miss Vivienne would ever consent to marry a man like you -- and promise to give up the stage -- why, I'd have said they were crazy!" Andrew is equally skeptical of his good fortune when Harriet reminds him that "Miss Vivienne said she wouldn't consent to marry you unless your mother consented."

Andrew argues, "But she must, Harriet! She must! Don't you understand, that's why we are doing this, to please mother. We've got to make this place look as much like her Newton Center home as possible --- so now hurry up or we won't be ready to receive her when she arrives tonight."

"Paris - Excerpt 2"

Mother Sabbot arrives at the hotel, much the worse for her steamship and rail journey ("I'd be all right if the ocean would only calm down!" "Oh, that train, I don't believe it ran on the rail more than two-thirds of the way!") --- and with, much to Andrew's surprise, Brenda Kaley in tow.

Adding to Cora Sabbot's discomfiture is the monocle Andrew now sports ("This is the thing in Paris") and news of his alliance with Vivienne Rolland. Andrew offers some champagne or brandy as a reviver but Mrs. Sabbot recoils: "Judas! I suspicioned that you have been tempted to wallow in champagne and brandy! No! Liquor has ever passed my lips. No matter what I suffer, I will never make myself unconscious with alcohol!" And, as for Andrew being romantically linked to a French actress, "Since the first Sabbot stepped off the Mayflower onto Plymouth Rock, there has never been a disgrace in the family! You can't act this way without being ashamed in your heart -- Sabbots don't do such things! Oh Andrew, it is a complete degeneration of your moral fibre!"

Andrew weakly attempts to defend his actions --- and Vivienne too: "I adore Vivienne and I want to marry her. If you'd only get used to the idea it would be much more pleasant all around." Cora Sabbot will have none of it. "Get used to the idea of a Sabbot bringing home a french actress? singer? dancer? A what-not who doesn't speak our language?" Andrew counters, "Vivienne speaks English. How do you think I got to know her so well?" Mrs. Sabbot knowingly muses, "I've always understood the French could do a great deal with gestures."

"Oh mother, how can you form an opinion of Vivienne before you have seen her?"

"When I do see her, I'll tell her what I've told you: That I will not consent to this idiotic marriage!"

In Excerpt 3, reel two opens --- and Guy Pennell (Jack Buchanan) who is Vivienne Rolland's revue co-star, enters her hotel suite to await her arrival. Seating himself at her piano he sings one of the numbers from their revue, "The Land of Going To Be," and is soon joined by Vivienne who catches the melody from outside the rooms, takes it up and concludes the song with him at the piano.

"Paris" - Excerpt 3

We learn, without much surprise, that Guy has his own romantic intentions towards Vivienne and does his best to persuade Vivienne from leaving Paris and the show --- as well as him, but for Vivienne the path of duty is clear: "I don't want to take him away from his home, his family. He loves Paris, yes -- for a little vacation, but to live happy he must be at home in Newton Center. He is one hundred percent 'Must-you-choose-its'."

Guy departs, and in Excerpt 4, we hear a fragment of a telephone conversation between Andrew and Vivienne in which the pair exchange lovebird pleasantries and Vivienne is informed that the time has come to meet Mother. A frenzy of activity follows --- Vivienne must change into what she deems a suitably puritanical outfit -- while the actress barks commands at someone (who, it isn't clear --- save for the fact that his knowledge of French is nil) and is then comforted by her maid Harriet, who advises her "Now, now, don't get yourself all of a twitter. She will think all the more of you for keeping her waiting." A knock at the door! "Harriet. They have come. Please say that I will be very quick --- if I don't die!"

"Paris" - Excerpt 4

The meeting of Vivienne Rolland and Cora Sabbot is underlined by the fact that Mrs. Sabbot is still suffering the effects of her ocean and rail journey, and still refuses brandy. "But of course she doesn't like brandy," offers Vivienne, "I mean, she's a good American that respects the law."

Mrs. Sabbot pulls herself up. "I don't need Congress to say what's good for me and what isn't it!"

"Of course, you were surprised that Dede (Vivienne's pet name for Andrew) wants to marry with me?"

"Surprised is a mild word."

"Ah, but love is the biggest surprise of all. Yes, my life is very different from the life of you. But I have nothing to be ashamed for - nothing that can make Dede shame of you."

"Well, personally, I should be slightly ashamed to appear in public in a pound of spangles, two strings of pearls and a feather tail."

"Oh me, I don't like that costume either! First the manager want only the pearl and the feather, no spangle at all!"

Cora Sabbot faints dead away, and when she is revived, she finds herself in the company of Guy Pennell too --- who slyly plots to charm Mrs. Sabbot out of her shell and thereby warm her to the notion of her son's marriage --- even if it means losing Vivienne for himself.

Mrs. Sabbot is convinced to take a bit of nourishment --- tea, rich cakes --- but when Guy's order arrives --- raw oysters and sardine sandwiches, the poor woman faints away again the trio panics in an effort to revive her --- first with ammonia, then with a burning feather held under the nose, and finally by virtually force feeding her a massive dose of brandy. The old girl instantly springs back to life.

"Ah! You see? She is pretty already!" observes Vivienne. "Oh, I'm so glad that you are well again!," offers Andrew. And, as Guy slides an arm around her shoulders, "You did give us a fright. You see? In the future, always apply to good old Doctor Pennel!" The woman, clearly besotted with the dashing young actor, smiles radiantly, reaches for the brandy --- and three sets of hands scramble to bring it to her. End of Reel Three!

The first half of the fourth reel of "Paris" enacts what was commonly cited some of the film's most memorable non-musical elements, that of the transformation of Cora Sabbot --- with the aid of "medicine brandy" -- from a monstrous Puritan to that of a flirtatious coquette, a plot device which would be reworked and utilized with equal success in the 1934 Warners musical "Dames." Upon learning that the "medicine" was provided by Guy Pennell, Cora becomes even more a firm believer in modern scientific wonders: "If I had known what a splendid medicine brandy was, I would have taken it long ago. It's growing quite warm, isn't it?"

Mrs. Sabbot is invited to attend that evening's performance of Vivienne and Guy's revue, and the invitation is extended to Brenda Kaley as well. Mrs. Sabbot demurs, "Oh, I don't know... Brenda is so very young." Replies Guy, "If she is as young as you look this minute, she must have come to France in a go-cart." Purrs Mrs. Sabbot, "I'm afraid you're a very bad young man."

Fretting over her plain togs in the company of Parisian theater-goers, Vivienne and Harriet outfit her in a glittering cocktail gown with jacket ("But where is the cocktail that goes along with it?" asks Mrs. Sabbot hopefully) and she is soon poured into a taxi and whisked to the theater.

In Excerpt 5, the second half of the reel switches to Technicolor for the opening number of the revue, "Crystal Girl."

Excerpt 5

"Crystal girl - you are brighter than a pearl,
shedding light upon the world - like an iridescent pearl!
A moonbeam - a June beam - a rare Tiffany gem,
a flower - a bower - a new rose on the stem!
Crystal girl - setting every heart a-whirl,
winding like a silken curl - all around the world!
Forever and ever we pray that you may shine,
Crystal girl - you are so divine!"

In Excerpts 6 and 7, the Technicolor revue sequence continues with Vivienne Rolland's performance of "Don't Look at Me That Way," and one of Guy Pennell's two solo turns --- this one being "Miss Wonderful," a tune written especially for the film which enjoyed moderate success and which would be utilized in a number of other 1929 and 1930 Warner and First National films either as incidental background scoring or as a specialty number as in the famous 1930 one-reeler "Bubbles." Irene Bordoni and Jack Buchanan, Ladies and Gents...

"Paris" - Excerpt 6 and Excerpt 7

"Paris" reverts to monochrome hues for the dialogue sequence that follows, in which we learn that Cora Sabbot is a woman transformed -- due largely to the company of Guy Pennell and constant dosing of medicinal brandy. Motoring about Paris during the day --- nightclubbing the evenings away. Andrew, Vivienne, Brenda and Harriet are all equally dumbfounded by the change.

"I think she's gone out of her mind, Miss Rolland," says Harriet. "It was broad daylight before she got in last night. And her eyes! They were so wild! And her face was so red! And, she had been out alone -- with Mr. Pennell!"

"Well? Was it not better to be out all night with an actor than in with him?'

"And now she is talking of renting a flat so she can have more freedom. A flat over Harry's American bar!"

When we next see Cora Sabbot in the company of Guy Pennell, the pair are merrily imbibing spirits and -- much to Andrew's horror --- shooting dice on the hotel room floor while discussing Cora's racetrack winnings of 20,000 francs on a horse named Hot Lips. Guy Pennell waggishly recites: "There once was a lady called Sabbot. Whatever she'd want she would grab it. Everything you would think - from a man to a drink - a most reprehensible habit."

Vivienne takes Guy aside and lets him have it: "Oh Guy, what you do to Madame Sabbot? What you do? Listen, this business has got to stop. You have helped to make her human all right, but she is human enough now! You are finished with her -- completely. So now where you are concerned, it is over!"

Guy plays his ace. "Now look here, I've grown rather fond of Cora. Haven't you noticed it?" A disbelieving Vivienne asks, "You expect me to believe that you are in love with Madame Sabbot?" "Well, you want to marry her son and go to Newton Center, don't you?" counters Guy.

Incredibly, Guy and Cora announce their engagement --- infuriating, horrifying and nauseating Andrew -- and he turns on Vivienne, precisely as Guy anticipated he would:

"You'll never set foot inside that rotten theater again. You're through with the stage right now, and all its low associations. You'll never sing love duets with that despicable clown again. You're the future Mrs. Andrew Brayle Sabbot. That's what's more important."

Vivienne Rolland has her spotlight speech: "I am an actress, yes. My family was not very rich, not very grand, but they were decent people. We are not Mayflowers. But my mother and aunts and grandmother and great-grandmother --- they were nice women. NOT VAMPIRES. You say I must draw a line, well --- I have. And it is at Cora where I draw it." The scene ends with Andrew being tossed out of Vivienne's room -- and Vivienne slumping into her chair in tears.

Arriving at Excerpt 8, we're now at the bottom half of the seventh reel of "Paris," and the film returns to the Technicolor hued theater, for a duet between Vivienne and Guy of the song "Somebody Mighty Like You," sung here in French.

"Paris" - Excerpt 8

In Excerpt 9, which directly follows "Somebody Mighty Like You," we're presented with the film's title tune, "Paris" --- which is sprightly and memorable enough to transcribe here, as the lyrics are rather difficult to ascertain (and partially in French) in the surviving disc audio:

Chorus: "Oh Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle, Pour quoi?
You never go away - never go away, Pour quoi?
Vivienne: "I like the way you Mademoiselle me, completely, so sweetly"
Chorus: "We know what you want, know what you want to say!"
There's no other town, no other town so gay!"
Vivienne: "There is no one can even compel me - to stray from-
away from..."

All: "Paris, Oh where do they run to
when they want fun - to Paris, Paree!
Paris, they go for for the wine in, women and wine in Paris, Paree!
How how those beauties 'Qu'est que c'est' you -
How those cuties 'ooh-la-la-la' you -
Paris, where never a baby gives you a 'maybe' in
beautiful gay Paree!"

"Paris" - Excerpt 9

Excerpt 10 offers Irene Bordoni's rendition of "I Wonder What Is Really On His Mind?," while in Excerpt 11, we have another solo turn for Jack Buchanan in the form of "I'm a Little Positive Looking For A Negative," --- an eccentric toss away piece of song and dance, we'll tag this one as to be generous.

"Paris - Except 10 and Excerpt 11

A stinging exchange between Vivienne and Guy as the latter exits: "It's a good thing you are leaving the stage to marry Cora Sabbot, you were awful tonight." "Is that so? I thought you were more wonderful than ever. Well, I must make my table reservations. I have a supper engagement. Bye-Bye!"

In Excerpt 12, Vivienne Rolland performs an original medley written for the film in which she laments the fact that Paris has become so Americanized, and that even an old chestnut of a French melody ("My Souvenir") is now being performed with a Yankee air about it. She then points out Al Jolson's influence too, and in one of the film's brightest musical moments, sings "It All Depends On You" (from 1928's "The Singing Fool") in French as Al Jolson would --- replete with a "Mammy!" tossed in for good effect. Whether or not a black-face effect was utilized is mercifully unknown -- but, oh!

"Paris" - Excerpt 12

The Technicolor revue concluding segment opens with a chorus reprise of "Crystal Girl" and "Miss Wonderful," and then Bordoni returns for a vocal reprise of "The Land of Going to Be," which segues into "My Lover" (which ends with a remarkably effective and difficult vocal note by Bordoni) before morphing into a final reprise of "Paris" which wraps up the glittering finale with the entire ensemble massed upon the gigantic First National soundstage.

"Paris" - Excerpt 13

Vivienne returns to her room to find a massive arrangement of white roses from Guy, but when she learns that they are intended for Cora --- well, she decides to find out once and for all to whom his true affections are based. She instructs Harriet, "Go and get me some of those smoke pots that we use in the banquet scene --- you know!" "Smoke pots? What do you want with smoke pots?," asks an incredulous Harriet. "Oh, never mind but go and get them and be careful that nobody sees you. Go on!"

Harriet fetches the pots. "Good, now we will see who Mr. Guy thinks of first. Cora or me!"

The action here is unclear, but it would appear that after alighting the smoke pots in the wings and dressing room, panic ensues and instead of being rescued by Guy, Vivienne is scooped up by a fireman instead and brought outside, --- while Guy, clad only in his underwear and a top-hat, "rescues" a chorus girl in an enormous hat and another fireman is seen rescuing a girl wearing nothing "but a cake of soap." Some of the film's original dialogue survives in this sequence.

"Paris" - Excerpt 14

Andrew and Brenda arrive at the theater amidst the crowds that gathered to witness the non-fire, and it is clear that his attentions have now been firmly switched to the Newton Center local --- helped along by his sudden intolerance of all things French and un-puritanical, including Vivienne. Clearly, Guy's scheme has worked --- precisely as planned, save for one last key element, which unfolds as we listen to Excerpt 15 --- and read some of the dialogue originally contained within the film's closing scene --- set in Vivienne's hotel room, where Guy stands behind a dressing screen awaiting delivery of clothing, with a comfortably drunk Cora Sabbot in attendance as well.

"Vivienne, I wonder what Andrew will think of all this?" asks Guy. Replies Vivienne, "What he thinks makes no never mind. I have broken my engagement."

"Am I to understand you are jilting my future step son?"

Pipes up Cora Sabbot, "It seems as if you are losing everything at once. First Andrew -- and now I'm taking Guy away from you."

"Oh don't worry," responds Vivienne, "clowns are easy to find." The hurtful words, the events of the evening, and the thought of Guy marrying Cora finally get to Vivienne -- and she collapses in a faint.

It's now we learn the startling truth about Guy's plot!

Cora: "Poor child, she has been under such a terrible strain."

Guy: "Cora, what can I do? I simply can't tell Vivienne the truth -- that we framed this up merely to make her jealous. It's gone too far!"

Cora: "Guy, I know Vivienne loves you, and you've got to make her see that you love her. Kidnap her - hit her on the head - Anything to bring her to her senses."

A French accent voice from the sofa: "Ah, don't worry --- I never lost them. Ah, you have given yourselves away very nicely, my friends."

Vivienne and Guy embrace --- Cora beams happily, and the pair pull the not-so-monstrous woman to them as the film concludes, the end titles rise up --- and the exit music follows.

"Paris" - Excerpt 15 and Except 16 (Exit Music)

Yes, I know what you're thinking. The New York Times wasn't entirely satisfied with what they termed a "wobbly ending" either, but the review was largely positive save for an example of the public's slowly rising impatience with extended musical sequences that halted the plot --- sometimes for the length of an entire reel:

"As it so often happens the producers have outdone themselves in color and costumes to lend to the picture the cachet sumptuous or lavish. This, however, is responsible for halting the narrative, and one is only reminded that it still exists by periodical close-ups of Mrs. Cora Sabot. True, there are songs from Miss Bordoni during these colorful outbursts, for which the technicolor process is responsible, and they are well rendered, but even while Miss Bordoni is performing in these stage passages, one begins to wonder what has happened to some of the other characters and also what Cora Sabot is going to do next. It is quite obvious that these colored portions are stealing laughs from the show and, taking everything into consideration, one prefers the merriment to the pastel shades, at least as they are introduced in the raiment or a regiment of dancing girls and exotic scenery."

Time magazine found the whole affair to their liking, with their only annoyance being focused upon the below-par Technicolor print their reviewer had the misfortune to see --- a common problem that plagued the early musical output due to the Technicolor lab's inability to maintain quality while rushing to fill print orders.

"Irene Bordoni has given about 400 performances of 'Paris' on the stage. Since the director of a picture can retake parts he does not like, Paris as a talking film may be as good as the best performance of the 400. The sound device records satisfactorily one of the few female voices which can render U. S. songs with a French accent and remain bearable. The middle-aged stage comedienne Louise Closser Hale even makes funny the cinema role of a Newton Centre, Mass., matron who loses her inhibitions after one drink of cognac. In spite of occasional blurred color sequences, Paris is about as effective as the photograph of a musical comedy can be. Best shot: Zasu Pitts as a maid."

Although impossible to judge by ravaged sound discs and not so much as a surviving frame of footage, "Paris" apparently looked and sounded quite good --- with any of the imperfections that may have existed in "On With the Show!" and "The Gold Diggers of Broadway" having been largely eliminated. Studio generated publicity was anything but modest: "The summit of achievement in natural color photography is to be seen at the _____ Theater, when Irene Bordoni stars in 'Paris,' a First National picture adapted from her phenomenally successful stage play of last year."

"The Technicolor process has taken the motion picture world by storm within the last few months. Some of the most spectacular scenes of 'Paris' have been made by this process. They are dazzling; they are gorgeous; and they are superlatively beautiful. Thus, the screen has taken another long step forward in its task of holding the mirror up to Nature. For here at least is Nature in her own varied hues, faithfully reproduced and even intensified as a background for sparkling comedy and moving drama."

The 1929 film musical "Paris" certainly didn't serve as a mirror held up to Nature --- but as a mirror reflecting popular taste and modes of melody, comedy, dancing, fashion, stage presentation, choreography and even morality --- it was likely the one of the brightest and truest reflected visions of a decade that was about to exhale, collapse and wither away forever. Films like "Paris," and others of the day are more --- oh, so much more than mere movie musicals. They can educate and entertain equally --- and on a myriad of levels, no matter what your preference or area of study. Often scorned and sneered at as much as they are revered and praised, they are --- in the end, captured images and sounds of us as a people. Those titles that are lost, missing or merely mislaid are deserving of lamentation and attention as much as any precious historical document --- maybe even more so.

"I have a Land of Going to Be,
a castle in the air...
In the corner of my secret garden,
where each hope is a flower so fair.
And there, some day, I'm going to see...
my dreams at last come true.
But until then in my Land of Going to Be,
I'll be waiting, just waiting for you!"

And so, we wait. And hope.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Bonus Jazzy Audio Excerpt!
Incidental Scoring Fragment - "Miss Wonderful"

"All Star Radio Revue"
December 25th, 1926

26 May 1926


4 November 1929

12 March 1929

The First All-Technicolor Musical Film


A Chesterfield, Pennsylvania Theater Manager
informs prospective audiences that
"Paris" is "60 per cent Natural Color"
27 March 1930


The Crystal Girl herself, Irene Bordoni
Chicago railway station - 1929


###

"Dancing the Devil Away" 7 Nov 2007 7:28 AM (17 years ago)

Terrors, both real and imagined, hold sway in this entry, so pull up your collar --- steady your trembling hand as you reach for a flickering candle --- and let us furtively amble down the darkened hallways of other days.

"See and Hear Spook Music!" was one of numerous print lures used to publicize the 1928 Warner Bros. film "The Terror," which holds the honor of being the first sound horror film with dialogue --- and the sad distinction of also being a lost (and much sought after) film as well.

From prepared press releases distributed to newspapers at the time of the film's release, and from scattered local reviews, we can gain an impression of the lost film with some sense of immediacy:

"In 'The Terror,' mystery thriller at the __________ this week, the opening titles are announced by a masked man in formal dress with the admonition that no one is to leave the theater until the picture is finished. This warning was totally unnecessary because after 'The Terror' began, the fans could do little but grip their seats."

"Black shrouded death hovers throughout the picture while the audience shudders and shivers. Flickering lights, ghostly shadows, strange murders, knives flashing in dark places, shrieks and screams, guns blazing out of darkness, dead bodies falling, appalling situations, a treasure hunt sheeted with deadly angers --- and, throughout, spine chilling touches of human comedy!"

"There are no subtitles. The characters introduce themselves, and the plot is carried along through voice and action throughout the play --- and successfully too, for in 'The Terror' the realization is brought home as to the possibilities of the Vitaphone. There is none of that delay or slowing up of the action, for which there was criticism of the talking pictures when first introduced."

"In this picture, thrills run rampant. Peculiar happenings like screwing men's heads to their bodies and holding spiritualistic seances in the dark, are but a few of the highlights of horror." "The story is set in an old house called Monkhall, which is being used for 'rest cures' for the insane, and which is infested with toads, the harbingers of death --- and tells the story of a maniacal murderer, a Mr. O'Shea, who has eluded police and whose crimes are always marked by devilish ingenuity and characterized by mutilation and horrible violence. An old doctor, played by Alec B. Francis, is the proprietor of the place, and by some mysterious influence he is compelled to stay there with his daughter, played by May McEvoy. Then, one character after another is introduced into the scene, while leaving the impression that each is more weird in 'get up' than the one immediately preceding."

"As with all mystery stories, the tale is made up of a succession of queer happenings. Edward Everett Horton in the hero's role is fine in such situations and through the constant use of the Vitaphone, his portrayal is colored more effectively than it would be in the silent drama."

"As an example of the added effectiveness obtainable through the Vitaphone, director Roy Del Ruth cites the weird effect secured through a hidden pipe organ whose uncanny interruptions of scenes is one of the many factors injecting a creepy feeling into the play. In the silent drama, the weird effect of the organ's playing would be put over only by the registration of the physical reaction of the player's fingers upon the keys and by written titles. In this Vitaphone production the weird melodies of the organ break into the tense dialogue of the actors, thus setting them on the quest of the cause of the mysterious music and make everybody in the audience eager to tiptoe after."

"Other scenes, such as the sound of a falling body in the darkness indicating that violence has been done, the sudden slamming of a door with no one near to slam it, mysterious rapping, shots, and shrieks, all become dynamic through the Vitaphone." "The fine recording of the Vitaphone cannot escape mention, and it must be said that 'The Terror' gains much through continuous use of it. However, the audience is altogether much too absorbed in the idiotic laughter of John Miljan and other blood-curdling events to notice such details as that. The thrills persist even to the finish. As the final scene fades, one can still hear John Miljan's voice ringing out that the man in the seat next to you may be 'The Terror!'"

The 1929 First National film "The House of Horror" would be director Benjamin Christensen's final entry in his trilogy of spook house films made for the studio between late 1928 and mid-1929, being preceded by "Haunted House" and "Seven Footprints to Satan." Of the three films, only "Seven Footprints" is known to have survived intact, albeit disconnected from its Vitaphone discs.

Of the three films, this final entry appears to have most fully utilized the Vitaphone process in terms of being peppered with dialogue sequences. "Spooks Speak Spooky" sagely observed some print ads, while others played up the film's comic and fantasy elements:
"It's a hair raiser! Vitaphone takes you right inside this spook-packed house - into the eerie cellar - up into the ghostly garret - you'll hear noises that will send your heart right into your mouth! You'll see things that will scare the laughs out of you!"

In "The House of Horror," Chester Conklin and spinster sister Louise Fazenda are summoned from the general store they own in Ohio by a "mystery man" (William Mong) to visit their miserly reclusive Uncle Abner (Emile Chautard) in New York City, at his dilapidated old sprawling mansion, filled to the rafters with the product of a lifetime of antique collecting.

Upon arriving, Conklin and Fazenda are found to be just two of six people also summoned to the home by the mysterious figure --- and with cast assembled, the story (concerning a missing diamond) and parade of visual and aural horrors ensues.

Unlike the previous two old dark house films, the First National publicity machine barely sputtered this time around and the film fared poorly at the box office too, although not unexpectedly at a time when the by-now familiar trappings were up against far more spectacular and innovative films offering music and Technicolor.

A rather forlorn newspaper publicity placement from August of 1929 opts not to profile the director, cast, plot or even the Vitaphone: "Hollywood dealers in antiques probably sighed with relief when 'The House of Horror' was completed on the First National lot, and the big vans began delivering the hundreds of rare pieces of art and furniture that had been rented for use in that picture."
"The story of this new mystery thriller which features Chester Conklin and Louise Fazenda, is laid in an old New York antiques shop belonging to a miserly collector, and as a consequence a number of great rooms had to be filled to overflowing with antiques. No studio property room, even one so well equipped as that as First National, could supply such a demand, so the antique shops of Hollywood were raided and rented, in some cases almost completely, and the stocks moved to the big stages."

No grasping about for publicity hooks was needed a short two years later when Universal's "Frankenstein" reached the screen, although it's fascinating to explore the ways in which the film was promoted to audiences that, while no stranger to horror cinema, had still never encountered something quite like this offering.

From the start, Karloff's lumbering monster was an object of pity in ads, described as possessing "every sensation known to man except the love of a woman, and he lived in misery and died in shame. A fiend or a fabled monster --- or a soulless wretch with a mechanical brain?"

The clever ad at left thinly disguised itself as a feature story, perhaps causing a few bleary eyed morning news readers to spit-take their morning coffee before catching on to the gentle ruse by the end of the second paragraph.

One constant in most print ads was a re-working of the spoken announcement that begins the film, and then as now, any warning that suggests the consumer might not be suitably fit for the product is surefire bait.

"A Friendly Warning: If you have a weak heart and cannot stand excitement or gruesomeness, we advise you NOT to see this production. On the contrary, if you like an unusual thrill, you will find it in 'Frankenstein.'"

Likewise, if you're seeking a superb blog overview of all things Frankenstein... and one that's beautifully written and as carefully constructed as the hapless title creature itself, by all means hasten to "Frankensteinia," scribed by Pierre Fournier. It's one you'll bookmark.


Precisely how to market Fox's 1930 science-fiction musical-comedy melodrama puzzled many heads both at studio and local distribution levels, and more often than not the film's very "neither fish nor fowl" nature was found to be the best hook of all.

"It is described as a radically different type of motion picture. It has plenty of mystery, but it is not a mystery like that of 'The Bat.' It is pack with thrills, but not like those in 'The Big Trail.' It is not a back stage story. It is not an underworld drama. It is not a musical comedy although it has both music and comedy. Well, what is it?"

"To tell you too much about it would rob you of half the pleasure of seeing it, so you'll have to 'Just Imagine' for yourself. When the Fox studios started to make it there was deep secrecy. Gradually, the news leaked out as to the nature of this new undertaking. The wise ones shook their heads. 'Just Imagine' will never click with audiences was their verdict. 'It's too different' was the consensus." "When the picture opened in Los Angeles, great crowds who had heard about this new idea in movies thronged the theater. Its success in Los Angeles has been repeated in cities elsewhere the length and breadth of the country. 'Just Imagine' has become a hot for two reasons: Its novelty and its comedy."
A jolting bit of prophecy was provided by Robbin Coons in his syndicated "Hollywood Sights and Sounds" column:

"New Yorkers of fifty years hence may draw down from the dusty shelves where forgotten movies rest, a quaint roll of celluloid dated 1930 and labeled 'Just Imagine,' and gather en masse to ascertain what prophetic powers, if any, were possessed by a certain trio of showmen of our day, the Messrs. DeSylva, Brown and Henderson. Should this transpire, that future audience will see on a screen a musical comedy conception, by 1930 prophets, of what their life, customs and dress would be."

I imagine it would please Messrs. DeSylva, Brown and Henderson that 'Just Imagine' has been making the rounds long before the studio that produced it ever thought of reluctantly tossing it on their cable schedule once in a great while, and that the film's post-1930 appeal --- while not always precisely anchored to the film's intended virtues --- guaranteed that the film would survive not only mishandling and maltreatment, but survive to entertain exactly the audience cited in the columnist's vision.

Here, Abe Lyman's California Orchestra offers 78rpm renditions of two melodies from the film, skillfully arranged for dancing --- be it in your gleaming airship or three room flat. "An Old Fashioned Girl" served as the title theme in addition to being vocalized by John Garrick, while "Never Swat A Fly" remains one of the film's high spots --- performed by Marjorie White and Frank Albertson.

"An Old Fashioned Girl" (1930)

"Never Swat a Fly" (1930)

On the same day, February 16th of 1928, that newspaper readers were learning of the death of Broadway star and vaudevillian Eddie Foy (see previous post, "A Ghost That Walked" for details) another widely syndicated story doubtless caught the attention of readers, for it seemed just the sort of juicy Hollywood scandal story that held as much lurid promise then as it would today:

"Film Writer Found Dead! Girl Quizzed! Hollywood Scenarist Dies in Apartment After Taking Actress to Show and Dinner --- She Summons Physician. Doctor Refuses Certificate - Demands Autopsy!"

The unfortunate young corpse was that of Reginald ("Reggie") Morris, reportedly 34 but apparently a young looking 42 --- and while news reports only cited his current employment at Fox and his recent screenplay "A Girl In Every Port," his career was a long and varied one --- with some forty odd film appearances beginning in a string of Raymond Griffith comedies in 1917 (he'd form a long and close bond with Griffith, and would supply the story for Griffith's 1926 hit "Hands Up!) and working in numerous one and two-reelers and ultimately features for many studios of the day, including Christie, FBO and Triangle.

By the 1920's Morris had graduated to director as well as screenwriter, and he helmed a number of comedic short subjects for FBO with coy titles, such as "The Beloved Rouge," "Peter's Pan," "She Troupes to Conquer" and "The Chin He Loved to Lift."

While Reginald Morris is a barely remembered today, the "Girl Quizzed!" figure in the story is a fondly recalled girl indeed, especially among Laurel & Hardy's legion of fans --- although she herself would suffer an untimely and needless death just three years after Morris.

If you've seen actress Linda Loredo at all, then you probably did just as I --- as a supporting player in the 1931 Laurel & Hardy two-reeler "Come Clean," in which the boys gallantly rescue a mean-spirited would-be suicide victim (the always grand Mae Busch here as "Hollywood Kate") who returns their favor by disrupting their comparatively blissful domestic life and enraging their easily inflamed wives --- Gertrude Astor and the aforementioned Loredo.

Although Linda Loredo had appeared in the a 1927 Jack Hoxie serial titled "Heroes of the Wild" and a 1928 Columbia film "After the Storm," a Hobart Bosworth vehicle described as a "happy combination of the virile action of the sea and the vehement love of youth," she wouldn't find her unique niche in Hollywood until the advent of the talkies, which allowed her to utilize her bilingual Spanish-English abilities in the foreign language release versions of a number of early sound Hal Roach short subjects which starred Charley Chase, Harry Langdon and Laurel & Hardy.

After completing work in the Spanish language version of "Chickens Come Home," (in which I find her actually more effective as the suspicious wife enacted by Thelma Todd in the domestic version --- nobody could glower with more hellfire and damnation than Loredo!) the dark and lovely petite actress was given the role of Mrs. Laurel in "Come Clean" --- which would mark her final screen appearance.

Shortly before her first film for the Roach Studio would be released (late 1929's "Great Gobs," a Charley Chase comedy)
both Linda and her sister Maria were either at loose ends or the clients of an over-zealous and wildly imaginative publicity agent, for they both loomed large in a widely syndicated newspaper feature story that explored the supposed psychic connection between identical twins.

According to the fanciful piece (in which someone inadvertently swapped Linda and Maria's names beneath their pictures) the young girls of Mexican heritage are, we're told, "twin Arabian girls," and furthermore that...
"Superstitious minded folk of their own race came to believe the pair were endowed with some strange power which enabled them to read each other's thoughts" and that the girls were so "perfectly matched" a pair that "Linda and Maria were so attuned that often one seemed to know the thoughts that were passing through the mind of the other twin."

This, despite the fact that Linda's name appeared in newspapers just a few months earlier in connection with far more sobering details than matched Arabian Twins --- the death of actor, screenwriter and director, Reginald Morris.

According to newspaper accounts of February 1928, when officers arrived at the Morris apartment, "they found the writer lying on the floor beside his bed, clad in pajamas."

"Miss Linda Loredo, screen actress, had summoned Dr. J. Krahulik and said that the writer had been suffering from acute indigestion. Miss Loredo was in the apartment, police say, and was crying when police entered. She said Morris had been suddenly seized with severe pains and expressed the belief that he was suffering from indigestion, an ailment to which he was subject." "The actress told police that she and the writer had attended a theater earlier in the evening and had gone to a restaurant before going to the latter's apartment. She said that Morris had eaten a ham and egg sandwich, pickles, olives, and had drunk several glasses of milk. Dr. Krahulik, who knew Morris, refused to sign a death certificate until after an autopsy had been performed."
As it turned out, and so often does --- even though newspaper follow-ups for this type of story were as notoriously absent then as they are now when no scandal or mystery seems forthcoming --- Reginald Morris was simply the innocent victim of a fatal heart attack. Or was he?

Mused one Hollywood columnist at the time, "Is there a cinematic jinx? I don't know, but since fox released 'The Play Girl,' (a 1928 Madge Bellamy film for which Morris had supplied situations) these mishaps have occurred: Reginald Morris, gag man, died of acute indigestion. Tom Rafferty, electrician, tumbled from a loft perch and was instantly killed on the set. Rudolph Berquist, cameraman, was fatally injured while en route to location. Madge Bellamy, star, married Logan Metcalf and separated in less than 100 hours." As for Miss Loredo, could it have been a cinematic jinx by proxy --- or merely falling victim to that ever moving finger of death which silently glides past each and every one of us with each passing day?

We pause while you peruse other-worldly matters such as this, and offer up a bit of soothing music to calm any jangled nerves that may be present.

The theme song for the otherwise silent United Artists film "Ramona," a mid-1928 starring vehicle for actress Dolores Del Rio has long since outlived the film it once accompanied, and even managed to survive a decade or so of syrupy lounge-music renditions to stand as a sweetly simple melody with equally pretty lyrics.

Two renditions, a stark but effective presentation by Ruth Etting --- and the other, a wistfully vocalized offering by Gene Austin, accompanied by Nat Shilkret & the Victor Orchestra.

"Ramona" (1928) Ruth Etting

"Ramona" (1928) Gene Austin

To follow up on a previous blog entry in which the 1929 Paramount part-Technicolor production "Redskin" was discussed --- and with which various 78rpm recordings of the film's theme song were offered, I had lamented the fact that the commercial recording of the theme song by vocalist Helen Clark (who was also called upon to warble the tune on the film's synchronized music and effects score --- part of which accompanies the film's recent DVD release) couldn't be found in time to accompany the piece. Courtesy of George Moore, friend to these pages and its author, we now correct that omission.

Here then is Helen Clark (pictured left) and her commercial recording of the theme song for "Redskin," which is happily just as rich and vibrant as her contribution to the film soundtrack. The somewhat dodgy sonics are regrettable, but this is one of those cases where something is infinitely more tuneful than nothing.

"Redskin" (1929) Helen Clark

"Sometimes I'm Happy" (1927) Charles King & Louise Groody

And, to accompany that same post's mention of the 1930 RKO musical "Hit the Deck," here's an offering from that title's 1927 stage incarnation --- the lovely tune "Sometimes I'm Happy," performed two of the show's Broadway cast members, Louise Groody and Charles King. Yes, the same Charles King who'd find himself torn between Anita Page and Bessie Love on the talking picture screen in just a couple of years.

No matter how clever we think ourselves to be in hauling the 1930 Warner Bros. (once) All-Technicolor film "Golden Dawn" across the coals whenever the decidedly surreal film is mentioned, the fact remains that 1930 audiences and critics were similarly rolling their eyes too when the film first bowed. A review from a local Oakland, California newspaper:

"'Golden Dawn' is a formula story of life in the jungles with the handsome white warrior falling head over heels in love with the beautiful fair-skinned tom-tom belle. It turns out that she is a white girl who has been raised native by an evil woman. This is not a particularly new idea in the theater, and Warner Brothers make no special attempt to inject novelty. Their bid for fame is on the strength of the cast and the melodies, with an occasional dip into the hootchie-kootchie, disguised as religious dances. 'Golden Dawn' is a pleasant but uneventful picture. Its grief is never very poignant -- its melodrama never very exciting -- and its romance quite passive. Yet withal, it passes the time affably, contains some picturesque scenery and Miss Segal photographs better than she has on her previous screen visits."

Of course, the film can only be seen at a serious disadvantage today (hold the wisecracks please!) owing to the fact that the title exists only without its original Technicolor hues, and in scanning period reviews and publicity placements it was the color element that seems to have captured the fancy of viewers --- serving almost as a visual diversion from the film's flaws and weaknesses. Much was made of the unusual lighting effects employed in the film --- odd tints that played across the faces of the performers as reflected light from the settings in which the various scenes were enacted, an element that's not even hinted at in surviving prints, it should be noted. True, even with prismatic effects intact its doubtful "Golden Dawn" would be elevated to a much higher plateau than the one on which it resides, but gosh --- wouldn't I love the chance to be proven wrong!

Two melodies from "Golden Dawn" when it played upon Broadway's Hammerstein Theater stage for 184 performances between November 1927 and May 1928, performed by Mike Markel & His Society Orchestra --- recorded in December of 1927.

"Dawn" (1927) and "We Two" (1927)

Arriving on screens in February of 1930 after entering production in late 1929, Metro's "Lord Byron of Broadway" is, I believe, is as oddly fascinating a film as it is generally overlooked and underrated. Based up a novel by Nell Shipman (which MGM purchased the rights to in January of 1929) it's really the only early musical in which the lead character is not only an anti-hero, but a thoroughly deplorable one at that --- using and abusing people around him with chilling ease throughout the film, and utterly unconvincing when his supposed redemption arrives moments before the film's fade-out.

With a cast largely composed of Broadway exiles (some theaters simply advertised the film as having "An Eastern Cast") chief among them Charles Kaley as the title figure and Ethelind Terry (star of Broadway's "Rio Rita") its not difficult to see why the film fared poorly outside of key cities, despite the care and expense lavished upon the film --- which, for all it's shortcomings is a beautiful and polished object to behold --- a film I've long considered to be among the best photographed and recorded of all the early screen musicals.

Charles Kaley. Where did he come from? Where did he go? Why did he, as reported in Louella Parson's syndicated column, win the plum role out of "sixty, count 'em - sixty" other actors who were tested? We learn of Kaley's background via a personality profile by Hollywood columnist Robbin Coons ---

"The talking screen's newest recruit from the ranks of phonograph recording artists is Charles Kaley, with a face like a collar ad and a likeable personality in spite of that. Kaley, who used to play around movie lots when he was with Abe Lyman's orchestra here a few years back, never thought of going into the movies, although his handsome face might have made him a leading man as good as any the silent screen had known. For some reason or other, the movies did not interest him, and he went on, living his own musical life."

"When the screen found its voice, however, that was a different matter. Not that he was then a veteran of the stage, or a finished actor, for his whole legit experience was obtained as a singing juvenile in Earl Carroll's Vanities, except that for the past two and a half years he has been a master of ceremonies in Chicago theaters." (Ed- At Chicago's Granada theater.) "Kaley, vacationing here this summer, was invited to take screen tests, and as a result received several talkie offers, but he was still under contract in Chicago. Still, the talkies appealed to him -- five shows a day, day in and day out, back in Chicago, constituted a grind of which he was getting tired. So, eventually he settled the matter by buying his Chicago contract. It cost him $15,000 -- but he says it was worth it."

We pause here, at Kaley's entry into talking pictures, to explore a bit of the performer's early recorded work.

Before signing with Abe Lyman's California Ambassador Hotel Orchestra in 1923, Kaley was vocalist for Joe Kaysor's Orchestra --- house band at the Crystal Palace Ballroom in Benton Harbor, Michigan.

Charles Kaley emerges on phonograph records in 1923 and would record with Lyman, Ben Selvin and others --- as well as being a featured solo vocalist, between that year and 1928. A selection of Charles Kaley's work from this period:

"No No, Nora!" (1923) with Abe Lyman

"Mary Lou" (1926) with Abe Lyman

"After I Say I'm Sorry" (1926) with Abe Lyman

"Blue Skies" (1927) with the Knickerbockers

"Dancing the Devil Away" (1927) with Don Voorhees

For at least one reviewer of "Lord Byron of Broadway" in Charleston, West Virginia, the film seems to have proven frustrating --- having all the necessary ingredients for a truly fine screen musical, but woefully lacking in the story department:

"A cast composed mostly of stage stars presents entertainment at the Capitol theater this week that is rather worthwhile. 'Lord Byron of Broadway' presents a new star in the person of Charles Kaley. The picture includes most of the features that producers evidently deem essential in present day talkies: catchy tunes, elaborate choruses and views of the dressing rooms backstage. The plot concerns a song writer who gets most of his ideas for tunes from others while he capitalizes upon their emotional impressions by employing them in his songs." "The tunes are as good as any being turned out by the movie studios today. The chorus scenes are elaborate and novel in certain respects. The singing is good. The story? Better see the picture yourself to determine that."

In what can't help but be seen as a case of life imitating art, Kaley's personal life before, during and after his bid at screen stardom reads like an early draft of the film.

We learn that Kaley had at least two wives before entering talkies, one being Alfelda Kaley (left) who cheerfully told anyone who'd listen in December of 1930 of the beating she received at the hands of a businessman following her divorce from Kaley.

Three years earlier, Kaley was married to minor Broadway actress Hannah Williams, but their marriage was annulled. Interestingly, Williams rebounded from this disappointment in top form, marrying bandleader/composer Roger Wolfe Kahn (son of the renowned Otto Kahn) in February of 1931 before skipping out on him (and his family's vast fortune) to marry boxer Jack Dempsey in 1933!

Kaley would be romantically linked with "Lord Byron" co-star Gwen Lee before and during the filming, but with his exit from Hollywood, Kaley formed his own orchestra and after a brief stint on the radio in the early 1930's, he retreated to Reno, Nevada --- where he'd more or less make his home for the rest of his life, first as a featured vocalist for other bands and then as bandleader of his own in that town's various entertainment venues --- including an extended stint with Sammy Cohen and His 14-Piece Orchestra at Reno's "El Patio Ballroom." Cohen, billed as "Movieland's Musical Maniac" at the El Patio, had appeared in small roles in numerous silent and sound films, most notably "What Price Glory" in 1926 as "Private Lipinksy."

Wisely or not, Kaley can be seen in December of 1936 as the new groom of Leah Sewell after being wed in Las Vegas, with the bride bringing along a bit of history of her own after having been a central figure in a "wife-swapping" case during her marriage (her third) to a Beverly Hills millionaire two years earlier. Kaley knew his onions, it would seem.

But, so did his new wife --- and one month later, newspapers announce that Kaley would partake in a second annulment when he wife admitted they had separated. "Business connections which I have here are the main reason," explained Leah Sewell, "I have property holdings here and I am the head of a large oil company left by my father. I cannot leave. There is nothing sensational about our separation. We remain very good friends and I hope we always shall."

Despite the marriage being annulled in April of 1937, Kaley wouldn't budge. Understandably. Remarkably, he staged what the press accurately described as a "sit down strike" in the pair's palatial home. Kaley is quoted as saying:

"I sat down after we had a squabble to regain that certain something which we both had felt when we eloped to Las Vegas. I meant to prove her charge that she was a 'kissless bride' was wrong. If she had showed up I'd have kissed her, even while I was sitting down. But she checked out."

All that is probably best left to personal interpretation of the event, but it was all to no avail. Sewell moved on, and Kaley returned to the happy hunting grounds of Reno.

Charles Kaley fades from view in the press at this point (he does rate fleeting mention as musically supporting the Andrews Sisters during personal appearances of the singing trio in San Francisco of June 1941) but rematerializes in December of 1948 in the double-take inducing piece at the left from a Reno newspaper, which is meant to be waggish but which can't help but paint a picture of an older Kaley as a somewhat pathetic figure indeed --- entertaining at Reno's "Villa Sierra" club, and making use of time between sets to gulp whiskey and canvas the patrons for possible life insurance sales.

Remarkably, the notation at the bottom of the column reveals it to be a paid advertisement for the Villa Sierra club, but the mind boggles at what possible inducement the piece was thought to contain to entice new patrons!

Whiskey and life insurance sales doesn't appear to have done any harm to the seemingly indestructible Kaley, for he not only flourished in Reno --- but also married and fathered a son. Our last glimpse of Kaley is in January of 1956 --- where his band (still billed as "Charles Kaley & His Orchestra") was packing them in at Reno's Riverside Nightclub.

Mr. & Mrs. Kaley can be seen as Reno registered voters for the next few years, but Kaley would pass on in Santa Clara, California in September of 1965. In retrospect, "Lord Byron of Broadway" was but a minor footnote in Kaley's eventful life, but --- in retrospect, MGM did indeed make the perfect choice in selecting Kaley out of sixty other candidates to enact the title role of the much maligned early musical.

Two selections from "Lord Byron of Broadway," as captured on commercial 78rpm discs in 1930:

"Should I?" (1930) Arden & Ohman Orchestra

"The Woman in the Shoe" (1930) The Hotel Pennsylvania Orchestra

To conclude this post, we have another example of an early musical receiving the serial treatment in nationwide newspapers --- this time around the subject being "The Desert Song," in which the film's entire scenario was neatly and thoroughly detailed in three wordy installments. To the left is the first entry --- with the final one offered a bit further down in the exit hallway of this entry.

"The Desert Song" (1927) Nat Shilkret & Orchestra

"One Alone" (1926) Don Voorhees & His Orchestra

Lastly, to usher readers out of the main auditorium that is these pages, Leo Reisman and his Orchestra go to town on an exceptionally fine rendition of:

"'Cause I Feel Low Down" (1928)

Poster Art for "The Gorilla"
(First National - 1927)

Linda Loredo as Mrs. Hardy, rides the
whirlwind of destruction arising from the installation
of a new radio in the Spanish language version
of "Hog Wild" (MGM-Roach 1930)

"The Desert Song"
Newspaper Serialization
June 1929



Cedar Rapids, Iowa - March of 1928

A Ghost that Walked 30 Oct 2007 3:49 PM (17 years ago)

In February of 1928, theater audiences in Kansas City, Missouri were visited by old friends whom they once knew as a family of entertainers --- but folly, fate and whim had long since broken this family apart.

While Eddie Foy could be seen upon the stage, his eldest son Bryan was in Hollywood --- working feverishly to refine and adapt the new Vitaphone talking picture process in his role of notable film director --- and Foy's remaining six children could be seen and heard as mechanical shadows on the talking picture screen in early Vitaphone output --- this at a time when the process was finding its way and beginning to emerge from its infancy and fast gaining confidence.

Two years earlier, in 1926, the sad and not entirely unfamiliar plight of the Foy Family was thought interesting enough to warrant exposure in print via a syndicated news story:

"Eddie Foy, for fifty years the most celebrated clown on the American stage, and the proudest father in the profession, is watching with tear-dimmed old eyes the fall of the curtain on his greatest production."

"For more than twenty years his success in the theatre has shared the laurels with his fame as the devoted daddy of the Seven Little Foys. But now, harmony no longer reigns in the famous Foy family. The seven little Foys, old enough to fly from the nest, have flown... and the flight of the Foy children is tinged with bitterness and the once concordant clan is a house divided against itself."

The events of 1928 --- both on the Kansas City stage and on the Vitaphone screen --- will be visited in this entry but, to be best understood, other places and earlier days must first be visited.

Born Edwin Fitzgerald Foy to Irish immigrants Richard and Eileen Hennessy Fitzgerald Foy in the New York City of 1856, Eddie Foy is believed to have first professionally performed before an audience a mere four years after the end of the Civil War --- at a benefit performance for the Chicago Newsboy's Home in 1869 at the age of fifteen. His performance was striking enough to result in numerous offers for similar engagements, and the next seven years were spent learning his art and honing his talent. In 1876, Foy was engaged by Chicago's "Cosmopolitan Vanities" and by 1878 the performer had teamed with a partner named Thompson to tour the then still wild central West of America with Emerson's Minstrels in which Foy participated in blackface sketches, songs and acrobatic dances.

It was during this touring period of the West that Foy is thought to have formed friendship with the legendary Doc Holiday, to have encountered Wyatt Earp and to have been present --- or at least nearby, when the altercation at the OK Corral took place!

Perhaps seeking the comparatively normal confines of big city theaters, Foy departed Emerson's Minstrels and returned to the variety stage after having played in nearly every major United States city. Foy's popularity led to his engagement with the Kelly & Mason Co. and a role in "The Tigers," a vehicle with which he toured the country.

In the years that would follow, Foy would be included in the casts of some of the most successful and elaborate musical comedies that toured the States and abroad, including "An Arabian Girl & 40 Thieves," "Jack in the Box," "Over the Garden Wall," "Ali Baba," "Off the Earth," "The Earl and the Girl," "Cinderella," "Sinbad the Sailor," "The Strange Adventures of Miss Brown," and "Hotel Topsy Turvy," which had a run of over 150 nights at New York City's Herald Square Theater.

During this period of rising fame, Foy would be twice wed to actresses --- Rose Howland in 1879 and Lola Sefton in 1886, and twice widowed. In 1896, he'd wed yet again --- to Madeline Morando, "a famous danseuse from Italy" and it would be with Madeline that his famous offspring would arrive:


Bryan in 1896, Charley in 1898, Mary in 1901, Madeline in 1903, Eddie Jr. and Richard in 1905, and Irving in 1908.

On December 30th of 1903, events of that day would forever link the senior Foy name with a catastrophe that would receive global attention. The setting was Chicago's Iroquois Theater, "the newest, the largest and as far as human power could make it, the safest theater in Chicago," where Foy was appearing in "Mr. Bluebeard," the theater's premiere dramatic production.

The second-act of "Mr. Bluebeard" had just gotten underway at 3:15PM, with a matinee audience of 1,900 comfortably caught up in the musical comedy. We'll allow contemporary newspaper accounts to take up the narrative here...

"The accounts of the origin of the fire are conflicting, but the best reason given is that an electric wire near the lower part of a piece of drop scenery suddenly broke and was grounded. The fire spread rapidly toward the front of the stage, causing the members of the chorus, who were then engaged in the performance, to flee to the wings with screams of terror. The fire in itself up to this time was not serious and possibly could have been checked had not the asbestos curtain failed to work."

The gauzy scenery quickly nourished the small flame into full blown fire which spread upwards and outward instantaneously. As the audience nearly rose as one from all parts of the theater to hasten for exits, Foy rushed to the front of the stage with the flames roaring above his head. As burning embers fell about him, he yelled out to the audience --- pleading with them above the din not to give way to panic. The comedian, in his tights, smock and wig, stood a grotesque figure amid the blazing scenery and his appearance apparently arrested for a moment the mad scramble for doors. He urged the orchestra to play and eight girls on the stage, at his direction, went into a dance. Foy cried out for the asbestos curtain to be lowered. It descended about halfway and then stuck --- creating a workable flue through which a strong draft was moving, aided by the doors thrown open in the front of the theater and behind the stage.

"With a roar and in a bound, the flames shot through the opening over the heads of the people on the first floor, and reaching clear up to those in the first balcony, caught them and burned them to death where they sat. Immediately following this rush of flames there came an explosion which lifted the entire roof of the theater from its walls, shattering the great skylight into fragments."

"It is believed that the explosion was caused by the flames coming in contact with the gas reservoirs of the theater, causing them to burst. Will J. Davis, manager of the theater, said after the catastrophe that if the people had remained in their seats and had not been excited by the cries of 'fire!' not a single life would have been lost. This is, however, contradicted by the statements of firemen who found numbers of dead people sitting in their seats, their faces directed toward the stage as if the performance was still going on."

The death toll would reach 602, marking the event as the most fatal single building fire in U.S. history --- a distinction as yet mercifully unmatched.

When the fire started, Foy entrusted his son Bryan, then aged six, to the care of a stage hand, and when he at last was forced to leave the stage he rushed out into the frigid Chicago streets via the stage door --- frantic and uncertain whether or not the boy had been carried out to safety. He found the future film director safe with the stagehand he had deposited him with.

As the 20th Century slowly gathered momentum, Foy enjoyed a near continual string of Broadway successes and road tours as he raised his growing family in nearby New Rochelle, New York. "Piff! Paff! Pouf!" in 1904/05, "The Earl and the Girl" in 1905/06, "The Orchid" in1908, "Mr. Hamlet of Broadway" in 1909, "Up and Down Broadway" in 1910 and "Over the River" in 1911.

Here, Billy Murray performs the melancholy and decidedly odd melody Foy introduced in 1904's "Piff! Paff! Pouf!," a composition which bemoans every performer's greatest fear --- the show that closes:

"The Ghost That Never Walked" (1904)

Serviceable though Murray's vocal is, it lacks the characteristics that made Foy so unique and memorable. Slight of frame and build and incredibly agile, it was --- however, Foy's expressive face and voice that so delighted audiences. Naturally prone to talking from one side of his mouth, Foy possessed an unusual speech impediment of sorts that resulted in a softly sibilant "sh" sound to be attached to his words. "Let's go to the store" would emerge as "Letsh go to the shtore," and this oddity fast became his trademark --- one unique among performers of his day, but one which would later turn up with some regularity almost exclusively (curiously!) among sportscasters and country-western singers, where it's presumably a cultivated affectation.

By 1910 Foy had hit upon the idea of forming an equally unique trademark --- one that would result in the formation of what would become a wildly successful performing gimmick --- Eddie Foy and the Seven Little Foys, and by 1913 the act had not only caught on but flourished, with a near unending stream of bookings ahead that would last nearly a decade.

So popular were the troupe of father and children that they'd be featured in a 1915 two reel Sennett/Keystone short subject that would play in theaters around the country for the next three years.

Titled "A Favorite Fool," (the survival status of the film is unknown at this writing) it was described thus in a 1915 press release:

"Foy is a 'Son-of-Rest' on a farm when the Widow Wallop's Circus strikes town. He knows naught of the seven little Wallops when he proposes marriage to the widow and is accepted. Romance is assailed by the knowledge of the family he has acquired and he runs away. Later, he learns that a browbeating ringmaster who has ousted the widow from the show is a villain and that the show really belongs to her. Then he returns with the papers proving ownership, casts the ringmaster into a lion's cage and takes possession. A tornado releases the villain and he cuts the ropes that hold up the tent, which falls on Eddie Foy, the Seven Little Foys, and Polly Moran. They poke their heads through the rain-soaked canvas and the curtain falls on one of Mack Sennett's most laughable farcer, 'A Favorite Fool.'"

Foy is also thought to have appeared in the 1918 Sennett/Paramount two-reeler "His Wife's Friend," but all period mentions of the film detail the performers only as including Charlie Murray, Wayland Trask and Myrtle Lind suggesting Foy's contribution would have been limited to an unbilled cameo if indeed he appeared in the film at all. Certainly, the unexpected early death of his wife Madeline in June of 1918 (pneumonia) casts serious doubt.

The Fort Wayne News and Sentinel editorial page thought enough of her passing to allow this unusual and passionate entry:

"We note in the press dispatches an account of the death of Mrs. Eddie Foy. Prior to her marriage to the accomplished Foy, this estimable woman was an Italian dancer. It is not recalled that this paper ever heard of Mrs. Foy before the announcement of her death, yet in the short account of her life carried by news services announcing her demise, there is that which awakens a genuine feeling of respect. Yet, no tribute is paid her beyond the simple statement that she married Eddie Foy in 1895, was still married to him at the time of her death, and was the mother of his eleven children."

"There is something about that statement that is so completely at variance with the usual record of stage marriages that it rather gets us. An Italian dancer marries a comic opera star and stays married to him until her death twenty-three years later! Amazing! And she bears him eleven children! Marvelous! So cynical have we become concerning stage marriages that we are prone to look upon them as no more genuine than stage money, and in reality a sort of concealment cloak for liaisons. Yet, here we have this whole theory upset by a couple from whom we would least expect it. No doubt those who were familiar with the rough clownishness of the Eddie Foy of the stage smiled and shrugged their shoulders when they heard years ago that he had married an Italian dancer, coolly calculating that such a union would endure anywhere from three to six months."

"Yet, it endured until death did them part, and that they lived happily and lovingly together we have eleven testimonials that cannot lightly be set aside. For those who do not love do not hold such evidence of love."

"There are many of us, perhaps, who have never particularly cared for the rough horseplay of Eddie Foy, but if in future it is again our fortune to see him on the stage, it is possible that we shall view him differently, and in his capers and antics detect a merit we had not seen before and never would have seen but for this story of his married life."

"After all, it is the Human and the Real that make their appeal to our sympathies, and if upon the program of each theatrical performance we attended the life of each actor appeared, we may be sure that many a stage "villain" would be greeted with salvos of applause and many a "hero" hissed and hooted."

A 1919 press announcement carried details of additional film involvement that appears to have evaporated, stating that the Foys would trek to Denver, Colorado to begin making a series of two-reel comedies to be known as "Foy Fun Films" in collaboration with newspaper cartoonist George McManus, and that Foy had signed a contract with the National Film Corporation for the pictures, which would be directed by Albert W. Hale.

As the 1920's dawned, vaudeville theaters, the railway lines and hotels would be primary lodging for the successful family as they toured the country in a number of routines that would tie song, dance and comedy to a topical theme. Titles of such routines included "Making Movies," "The High Cost of Living," and "Slum Where in New York."

In April of 1922, news services announced that "Bryan Foy, son of Eddie Foy, is no longer one of the 'Seven Little Foys.' Bryan has a bent for writing and is now at the Fox studio in Hollywood turning out a laugh now and then."

In time, Bryan would continue to turn out more than laughs, and more than now and then --- and, ultimately, the laughs would be heard coming from the screen as well as the audience.

News of Eddie Foy's marriage to one Marie Reilly in January of 1923 reached newspaper readers via a series of light-hearted items in lieu of formal announcements ("Foy Family Under New Management") or upbeat human interest feature stories, but beneath the surface there would be growing resentment towards the new bride on the part of his children that would have a devastating effect upon the family both privately and professionally.

The Foy Family, as celebrities of their day, were both courted by and exploited by the press in ways that haven't changed at all with the passage of time, save for methods employed.

As reported in a feature story about the family's difficulties: "When Eddie Foy announced to his children that he had married pretty, young Marie Reilly, of Dallas, Texas, this information was greeted with a lack of enthusiasm which amounted to mutiny."

Mutiny indeed. By 1924, the Foy children departed the family act and struck out on their own, neatly deserting their father professionally and forming their own vaudeville act which was frequently billed as "The Foy Family: Chips Off the Old Block," leaving no doubt as to precisely which block they emanated.

To be fair, Foy's advancing age (68 at the time of this marriage) and frail health suggested the time had come for retirement, but such notions were wholly repugnant to the performer and he gamely attempted to find work as a "single" (often to no avail) when not plugging self-penned scripts at producer offices. Worse fortune quickly followed, when (through a convoluted series of legal events) the elder Foy's funds and home were legally granted to his children and (if the bulk of reports are to be believed) both he and his wife were ousted from the family home altogether and left near penniless --- living in a small modest old house across town from the home he had built and raised his family in.

As with all matters of this sort, there is the truth as it is known, and the truth as it really was. We'll never know the precise details -- and nor should we, I suppose. What can't be denied however was that Foy and his wife were left in considerably reduced circumstances while his children lived comfortably and securely.

A 1926 feature story is especially revealing and, for all the melodramatic tone, does appear to largely ring true.

"'It's to the grave together,' sang Eddie Foy and the Seven Little Foys in one of America's most famous vaudeville acts. 'It's to the grave together and we don't give a damn how we get there.'"

"But the little Foys got tired. Papa Foy will be 82 years old in March. There are only a few more years to go with him at best. But, youth is impatient and the little Foys could not wait those years. They bolted from his company, left him to shift for himself and sought their fortunes in various lines of show work, taking with them only the name which he had glorified."

"'The Foy Family,' the four younger children call themselves on the vaudeville circuit. But the title is a misnomer. There is no longer a Foy Family. There are only fragments, torn apart, scattered in self interest, of the group that for fifteen years amused all America on the vaudeville boards. Charles, the second of the little Foys, is in vaudeville by himself, and two others, Bryan and Richard, are in the movie business in Hollywood."

"Eddie Jr., Mary, Madeline and Irving, the younger four, are home. Their big house on Weyman Avenue (in New Rochelle, NY) is valued at more than $50,000.00 . Its great drawing rooms and red tiled fireplace and its commodious kitchen were built for a large family at Christmas time. The place welcomes all comers --- except for Eddie Foy, with whose money it was built."

"The earnings of Eddie Foy's 57 years on the stage have all gone into the hands of the Seven Little Foys, and Eddie must get along as best as he could. The mother of the little Foys traveled with the company while her children were growing up. Eddie Foy deeded all the property to her because he believed that she would take better care of it than he could. When she died, no will was found, and New York law gave the estate to the children with only a life interest for the father. The children moved into the big house leaving only a little old frame house for Eddie and his new wife, which they refused to accept."

"A year ago, in 1925, Eddie made one last venture for the favor of Broadway. He opened in a play called "The Casey Girl," in which he had provided roles for all his children. After a tryout in the provinces, the play closed and Eddie had lost $18,000. The children scattered to various new vaudeville engagements and Eddie went back to the little old frame house he initially shunned."

"After 57 years, the American public had turned him down. Everybody knew it but Eddie. The walls of his little house are plastered with reminders of his past glories. Eddie finds that he must keep his faith in his past triumphs if he is to live out the years that remain to him. He receives visitors with pitiful eagerness. They provide an audience for the famous Foy humor, the old time Foy grin, whose laugh-provoking power ha drawn thousands to the theaters in America and abroad. 'I'll get back on Broadway,' he says, 'I've still got my fare.' And the absurd corner of his mouth twists upward in the old grin though his eyes peer wistfully out from their network of wrinkles."

"Eddie Foy is afraid that something will be said to hurt his children. 'There's been no trouble. They have a right to the money under the law, and I want them to have it. I'll get along somehow."

"Every morning he goes into New York City. The taxi drivers at the New Rochelle station and the ticket seller are used to the sight of the shabby old brown overcoat on the hunched little man who climbs aboard the city train and alights again in the late afternoon. At the Lamb's Club, where he has been a member for 31 years, kindly men from the legitimate and the variety theater stop a moment to chat with him. He makes appointments with producers and stars, and proffers the script of the play in which he hopes to return to the footlights."

"But ever night he turns toward home again, his head drooping, his shoulders slumped. If he meets an acquaintance, the old Foy grin flashes across his face and he is once more the harlequin, giving life the laugh, refusing to let the song die on his lips."

"His young children in the big house are very busy these days, with the multitudinous engagements of successful variety artists home from tour. 'No,' says Madeline, 'there hasn't been any trouble with Papa. It's that woman. He's all right. Yes, he has plenty to live on, and they have that cute house, really nicer than this, easy to keep warm.' She glances about the octagonal drawing room with its grand piano and its luxurious trifles. 'Sometimes we send him some money, but we won't let that woman get a cent if we can help it.'"

"The present Mrs. Foy has nothing to say, except that she loves Eddie, and means to stick to him. 'Of course,' echoes her husband, the grin flickering about his lips. "Marie will stick. But she'll be repaid. I'm not a has-been yet. I'll be back on Broadway yet, and how the people will laugh. Oh, how they will laugh."

Fate would allow Foy to hear that laughter once again. Remarkably, he embarked on a stage comeback in early 1928 in a comedic feature sketch entitled "The Fallen Star," which was warmly received by audiences despite their attention being swiftly diverted by talking pictures in other theaters --- talking pictures that included two Vitaphone shorts featuring his six children titled "Foys for Joys" (which parodied talking pictures) and "Chips Off the Old Block," which may be seen on the newly released three-disc DVD release of "The Jazz Singer."

Future entertainment and radio figure Goodman Ace (then dramatic critic of the Kansas City Journal-Post) obtained what would be the comedian's last interview --- Foy succumbing to a fatal heart attack the following morning in his hotel room. This beautifully written piece is offered here largely intact:

"'Quit the shtage? Who? Me? Shay, I'll fall over into the orchestra pit firsht!'"

"Eddie Foy drew himself to some height as he made that boast in that famous "shishing" way he had of talking. I had just asked him if this were his farewell tour. Something within him seemed to glow all over. He threw his head back, cocked it to one side, winked his eye determinedly and hurled a challenge at death."

"That was at 8:30 o'clock. At 10 o'clock I saw him again, although he didn't see me --- ambling slowly over to the hotel clerk. A long overcoat which came almost to his neck and seemed to weigh down his shoulders, and a derby which sat straight up on his scraggy head, lent pathos to the figure."

"The clerk called out some friendly greeting. Eddie Foy's hand pointed shakily to something in his box behind the clerk's desk. 'I'm a shick man tonight,' he quavered. 'What's the trouble Mr. Foy?' the clerk asked. 'Gashtritish,' was the reply, and he moved away slowly. I followed him with my eyes until the elevator carried him away to his last night's sleep. Away from the theater he seemed a broken old man, a pitiful contrast to the star of Broadway who had only an hour or so before had shaken his head and decried the present day stage."

"'No sir, young man, the stage today is going backward. There are no plays. There are no players. I could walk on into any musical comedy today, unrehearsed, without any preparation, and make any of the so-called stars take a back seat.' He recalled name after name - stars of his day - play after play - hits of his day - and they seemed to come out and surround him as he spoke of them. And Eddie Foy, huddled in his corner of the dressing room before the make-up table, surrounded by these ghosts of another day, seemed like a king; king of his memories."

"He slipped quietly and slowly into an old faded pair of trousers, a clumsy pair of shoes, an old, soiled blue shirt, and as a finishing touch placed a battered straw hat on a corner of his head and looked at himself reflectively in the mirror. He was made up for the old stage doorman part he was playing at the Orpheum - a sketch called 'The Fallen Star,' in which an old doorman who once knew the applause of Broadway gives friendly advice to a young quarrelsome dancing team. 'I like it better than anything I have ever done,' Eddie Said after a moment. 'I could go on doing it for the rest of my life.'"

"And so, it has come to pass that Eddie got his wish - he played the sketch the rest of his life. We both agreed the little vaudeville act, while not as pretentious as the glittering musical plays in which Eddie made Broadway laugh for 50 years, was till a most suitable vehicle for this famous stage character - we both agreed it was the sort of thing that would carry on - even as Eddie carried on for so many years."

"'Why isn't there a legitimate theater opening tonight in this town?' he almost shouted in his cry against the stage and its present condition. 'Here you have a town of more than 500,000 people and not a single big stage show they can go to see. Where are they all --- all your people tonight --- in the movies! Ten cent theater goers, that's what we have today.'"

"'He had risen. His battered old straw hat had slipped down over his eyes. His hands were raised in a trembling gesture. He voice shook and his eyes were wet. He towered over me as if daring me to defend my generation. He waited a moment and I turned my head away."

"'But I bow out gracefully,' he said in restrained calm, after a minute or two. 'I bow out - I bow out - I bow out,' he mumbled it to himself as he reseated himself in his make-up chair and forced that famous grin of his into action, as if apologizing for his sudden outburst. It was then that I asked him if this really was a farewell tour."

"He sat up, pushed the old hat back on a corner of his head and looked over at me in defiance. 'Quit the shtage? Who? Me? Shay, I'll fall over dead into the orchestra pit firsht.'"

"And now Eddie Foy is dead. His challenge made in that little dressing room was heard and accepted. But Eddie had his way. He did not quit the stage. He was there and bowed out - bowed out gracefully - the Fallen Star."

Foy's death received global notice and countless heartfelt press eulogies by columnists who recalled the comedian as he was in another - happier - day, and of the sheer delight afforded by seeing the elder Foy accompanied by his seven small charges engage in a whirlwind performance of skilled comedy, song and dance --- all set to a gentle tempo that had long since been replaced by jazz. The actor's funeral and burial was a suitably elaborate and widely attended affair, but among those present were the seven who mattered most, his children --- all of whom would eventually share the same burial plot, along with their mother, in New Rochelle, New York as death gradually claimed the children.

In viewing the Foy children's one intact Vitaphone short (the other one is still awaiting discovery of its sound disc element) "Chips Off the Old Block," it's beautifully simple to sense that beyond the pedestrian comedy and music of this much abbreviated rendition of their stage performance is an incredible amount of history and talent --- although perhaps not much of the enthusiasm that there once was in an earlier day --- but these are performers who, quite literally, had spent a lifetime upon the stage, and it shows.

Despite what can most charitably be described as plain looks, Madeline and Mary may first strike the viewer as a hoot ripe for derision when they break into their introductory melody "I Just Roll Along," joined by brother Richard (who bore the most striking resemblance to his father) behind them providing musical accompaniment on the ukulele, but when they begin their dance, and the full orchestra joins in, the invisible spark that differentiates professionals from amateurs suddenly ignites and within those now antiquated vocal harmonies, steps and mannerisms a decade of work upon the vaudeville stage can be not just seen, but palpably felt.

Joined by siblings Charles, Eddie Jr. and Irving for a fast bit of nonsense ranging from wheezy old jokes, acrobatics, specialty dancing, melody ("Bye Bye, Pretty Baby" and a bit of "Miss Annabelle Lee") and two unexpected bizarre and surreal elements provided by the use of grotesque false teeth sported by Eddie and a gruesome recital by Madeline, it's all over before it seems to have barely begun and you're left not quite knowing what you've seen except that you'd like to have seen more or that it lasted longer --- and, generally speaking, that's not typical of the great bulk of Vitaphone shorts of this period.

Following a flurry of activity as the 20's closed and the 30's dawned, Charles would go it alone in vaudeville before entering theater management as would Richard, Eddie Jr. would make his mark upon the stage (Ziegfeld's "Show Girl" in 1929,) while Madeline, Mary and Irving would continue on the vaudeville stage until the early 1930's, using the old reliable "Chips Off the Old Block" billing. However, the fact that something seemed missing with only half the siblings present didn't escape audiences or reviewers.



As described in a Madison, Wisconsin review from early June of 1931 of the vaudeville bill at the RKO Orpheum:

"BERT NAGLE: Ideal act for kids and grown-ups. Something different. Human animals cavorting about the stage and in the aisles. Good dancing. Good act. Big hand from audience. ROXY LA ROCCA: Harpist. Old Timer. Good. Uses all the old classical standbys, but relieves act by considerable clowning and audience-appeal stuff. Good hand from audience. MADELINE, IRVING AND MARY FOY: Three of the seven grownup children of the famous Eddie Foy. Outside of sentimental appeal to old vaude goers, act offers very little. They make you feel comfortable and at ease, because they are so at home on the stage. Fair hand from audience."

When you've spent a lifetime upon the stage, and you're losing applause to animal impersonations and harpists, the time has come to -- as the Senior Foy once said -- to bow out, bow out, bow out. And, professionals that they were, they did.

All of these long ago events, names, places, resentments, squabbles and displays of the human condition matter little today, and even less in the grand scheme of things --- but, they ought not be forgotten either, especially when this family managed to individually and collectively entertain countless numbers of our ancestors. To visit the Foy Family is to visit our past and to re-live past pleasures and resurrect the ghosts that surround us all --- unseen, unfelt but with us nonetheless.

A 1928 78rpm disc recording by vocalist Harry Richman contained two songs which, in an odd way, touch upon two aspects of this family saga. Upon one side is "I Just Roll Along" the melody featured in the Foy children's 1928 Vitaphone short subject, and on the other, in high contrast, the theme song for the MGM Lon Chaney feature "Laugh Clown Laugh" the lyrics of which seem to neatly encapsulate the elder Foy's fall from fame and sad demise. This is one instance where Richman's always over the top performance seems not only fitting, but utterly and precisely right. A bravura performance.

"I Just Roll Along" (1928) Harry Richman

"Laugh Clown Laugh" (1928) Harry Richman

There's something tragic yet heartening in learning that the big, finely appointed New Rochelle home with grand piano, octagonal drawing room and "luxurious trifles" that caused so much unnecessary heartache is no more --- and that marking its former site is the Eddie Foy Park, upon which can be found this plaque --- dedicated to the entertainer by his children.

Until Next Time!
###

Random Pages from a Family History

18 February 1928


February 1924

1911


San Antonio, Texas - March 1918

Alberta Lea, Minnesota
January 1929


San Antonio, Texas
March 1927


February 1923


Iroquois Theater Fire in Progress
December 30th, 1903


Stage of the Iroquois Theater - Aftermath
December 1903


January 1916


LaCrosse, Wisconsin
April 1922


The Family Foy
Right to Left:
Irving, Richard, Madeline, Mary, Richard, Eddie Jr., Charles, Bryan and E.F. Sr.

Eddie Foy's Dancing Shoes


Sheet Music - Theme Song for "Laugh Clown Laugh" (1928)


Rest after Toil, Peace after Pain
The Foy Family - Together Forever
Holy Sepulchre Cemetery - New Rochelle, N.Y.


###

"Sweeping the Clouds Away" 22 Oct 2007 8:01 AM (17 years ago)

The first anniversary of this blog arrives on October 24th, and I couldn't let the occasion pass without prefacing this entry with a few personal thoughts and observations.

First and foremost, is my gratitude to you --- the reader. Your support and encouragement speaks volumes for the topics discussed here, proving what I always felt from the first --- that the films and personalities of the early sound motion picture era could be, and are, as much a topic of interest as the silent era that preceded it and the "Golden Era" of Hollywood that would follow it.

Although the number of visitors to these pages is a source of immense satisfaction, I can't say as I'm wholly surprised that --- as of this writing --- over 40,000 individuals have found their way here either to be informed or entertained, or to discover a chapter in film history that had been largely relegated to the shadows and odd corners in decades past.

It's a credit to the artists and creative minds behind the material in these pages that I've noted visitors from just about every country on earth --- and have been contacted by students, archivists, researchers, private collectors, and surviving relatives of numerous long deceased and sadly forgotten entertainers who have had fragments of their career revived, examined and celebrated here. No matter the purpose of their writing, the one constant element is their surprise and gratitude in finding information they couldn't find elsewhere --- the small human facts that bridge the insurmountable distance between the past and present. Invariably, I close my replies with "Thank you for taking the time to write." In this instance, thank you for taking the time to read.

Perhaps some day the information gathered here will find its way to a publisher's desk and be given the chance to survive far longer and reach further than this tentative electronic medium allows. Then too, someone may decide to pull the plug on this venture tomorrow. Whatever the case, it's my pleasure to aid these distant voices, names and titles in doing what they were created to do --- and still yearn to do --- to entertain.

The DVD release of Al Jolson's "The Jazz Singer," the sales ranking of which is doubtless dropping the jaws of studio heads (and doubtless prompting inquiries of "why haven't we thought of releasing this stuff before?") may well serve to spearhead future DVD release of material that didn't previously seem to warrant attention. As always, money talks --- and if there's money to be made, well... you know how it goes.

There's little additional praise I can add to the uniformly glowing reviews (discounting the inane opinion piece disguised as a review published in the increasingly impotent "Entertainment Weekly") the 3-disc DVD package has received, except to make a special point of applauding the efforts of George Feltenstein of Warner Home Video, without whom the project likely never would have developed and evolved into the loving tribute to the birth of the sound film that it is.

Although most copies of the DVD package (including my own) contain two maddening but ultimately small errors in the form of one reel of "The Jazz Singer" being out-of-sync with the accompanying Vitaphone audio (some may argue ruining one of film film's most exhilarating and memorable sequences --- Jolson's first return home to visit his parents) and one of the surviving Technicolor reels from Warner Bros.' 1929 "Gold Diggers of Broadway" (which contained the "Tip Toe thru the Tulips" number) being swapped for a pretty but leaden ballet sequence from MGM's 1930 "The Rogue Song," I urge all outraged parties to consider what we felt our chances were of seeing any of this material, so beautifully presented, a mere ten years ago. In all, these errors (unusual for Warner Home Video and likely to be remedied by the company) are the merest of speed-bumps on a monumental first step forward toward re-introduction of this vintage material.

From "The Romance of Al Jolson," a syndicated feature story that appeared in newspapers in November of 1927:

"After his first hardships in New York, Jolson got what he has described as a precarious foothold in vaudeville of the smallest time. "

"'I recall how I came to black up vividly,' said Jolson recently. 'While I was unable to employ a regular dresser, I had an old Southern Negro with me occasionally. One night, this old semi-dresser of mine said to me while I was playing in a little theater in Brooklyn, 'Boss, if your skin be black, they always laugh.' It was a good idea and I thought I would try it. I got some burnt cork and blacked up and rehearsed before the old man. When I got through, he gave me a chuckle and said, 'Mister Jolson, you just as funny as me.' I had some friends even in those days, and some of them got me a chance in the spot on the Colonial bill in New York. I had a tryout and they put me on.'"

"Jolson in black face was an overnight hit, and from the November days of 1910 he was uniformly successful."

"Uniformly successful" also aptly describes "The Jazz Singer" itself. Indeed, one can find the film nearly in continual release across the States from it's 1927 arrival well into the mid-1930's, in advertisements heralding "By Audience Request" or serving as the centerpiece in anniversary celebrations for theaters marking the passage of years since their installation of talking picture equipment.

Here's Jolson in pure, undiluted and gimmick-free form, performing "Avalon," from the 1920 stage production "Sinbad." Utterly unique. The supreme vocalist of another day --- one we can't re-visit and one we can only attempt to understand.

"Avalon" (1920)

Only Jolson would have the audacity to swipe the hit song from the 1930 Technicolor musical "Hold Everything!" (a lost film) and make it all his own --- and, more to the point, only Jolson would have succeeded so wildly as he did --- and does.

"When the Little Red Roses Get the Blues for You" (1930)


"Blue River" was a 1927 tune that lent itself to a myriad of interpretations --- from the soulful, to the gleeful, to the realm of the washboard and banjo. Al Jolson's rendition is a little bit of all and a lot of the Jolson bravura that required the melody --- no matter what it's nature, to adapt to him --- rather than the other way around.

"Blue River" (1927) Al Jolson

A few additional renditions of the same melody are offered here as well, each a gem in its own right. The plaintive bittersweet spin by Sophie Tucker, the richly orchestrated thumping dance arrangement by Jean Goldkette & His Orchestra, and the always spot-on and damn near perfect vocal group, The Revelers.

"Blue River" (1927) Sophie Tucker

"Blue River" (1927) Jean Goldkette & His Orchestra

"Blue River" (1927) The Revelers

The Revelers (seen here circa early 1926) --- who, we're told in a syndicated news item from May of 1930, "literally revel in work."

"The quartet, organized in 1918 as 'The Shannon Four,' have since masqueraded under more than a dozen titles, have appeared on 16 commercial radio programs, and at one time appeared on national radio networks for four hours a week while its members also did solo work on other radio programs."

"Today, these four men and the accompanist may be heard as the Palmolive Revelers and the Raleigh Rovers, while as soloists the individual members are appearing from time to time on the Atwater Kent, General Motors, Mobil Oil, Victor RCA and other programs."

"Three of the four singers have remained together from the start and only once has the accompanist been changed. The members of the original Shannon Four came to New York more than 12 years ago, each seeking a musical education and a career. They were introduced to one another when the Victor company organized them into a quartet to make popular recordings."

"Irish songs were very popular then and hence the name of the Shannon Four was adopted. The group then included Charles Hart (first tenor,) Lewis James (second tenor,) Elliott Shaw (baritone,) and Wilfred Glenn (bass.) For more than six years they continued to make recordings without appearing before a visible audience, and the technique required in the recording studios helped them considerably when they appeared for the first time on the air in an improvised Westinghouse studio at Newark nearly nine years ago."

"Even in the sunny days of the phonograph, their popularity was so great that numerous offers made it necessary for them to change their name frequently. In addition to the name of the Shannon Four, they were also the Victor Revelers, the Singing Sophomores and the Brunswick Merrymakers. Then, on the radio, you may have heard them as the Blue Ribbon Quartet, the Reading Revelers, Imperial Imps, Pennsylvania Keystoners, Everready Revelers, Landay Revelers, Wrigley Quartet, Dodge Quartet and the Seiberling Singers."

"About five years ago, Charles Hart left the quartet to do individual work and Franklyn Baur took his place as first tenor. Ed Smalle joined the group as accompanist and arranger. Baur stayed with the quartet less than a year, and James Melton, a southern youngster with a rich melodious voice, took his place, while two years later, Frank Black, accomplished pianist, composer and arranger, joined the group. Hence, the Revelers now are Melton, James, Shaw, Glenn and Black."

"Not until four summers ago did the Revelers see an audience professionally. Until then, all their work had been confined to recording and broadcasting. A British theatrical manager induced them to appear in concert in Great Britain, and they sang several times before the Prince of Wales and Princess Mary. They went back to London the next year, and the following year visited Paris and Berlin. A similar trip was made last year, and the quartet is as popular abroad as in this country."

From a 1930 press release for the currently quite lost RKO part-Technicolor musical film "Hit the Deck":

"Bigger and better - to borrow an ancient and often abused movie slogan - briefly describes Radio Pictures' version of the popular stage success 'Hit the Deck.'"

"Although the musical comedy established box office records throughout the United States, the stage offering could only suggest the immense scope, color and narrative value of 'Hit the Deck' in its present celluloid form."

"The 'Hallelujah' song is an example of what is meant. It was a solo on the stage. In Radio Pictures' interpretation it becomes a lengthy sequence - a Negro spiritualist meeting which involved 100 vocalist, dancers and players, and introduces to film fans the colorful Marguerita Padula, a singer whose voice has a startling range of four octaves! This same parallel may be expected in other comparisons of the old and new 'Hit the Deck.'"

"More than a million dollars and three months time were spent in making the film. Elaborate sets which required an army of workmen many weeks to build, a chorus of 189 trained dancers and a unit stock company of 300 selected players - were on constant call. Three sets were built at an approximate cost of $200,000 involving 300 men working in three shifts for five weeks. This included an exact replica of the forward deck of the U.S.S. West Virginia. The deck was completely equipped with cabins, bridge, gangways, a revolving gun turret, and four new model 14-inch naval guns."

"The guns were designed to support the weight of 30 chorus girls - 15 on each - and had a revolving angle of 90 degrees, and an elevation of 25 degrees. The battleship sequence and several of the coffee shop sequences were photographed in Technicolor." No prints --- Technicolor or monochrome --- are known to have survived for "Hit the Deck," making it yet another one of those tantalizing "what if?" or "if only!" films that pock mark film study of the 1928-1930 period.

While existing photos indicate a production of a somewhat more modest scale than the one described by RKO publicists, the reality of "Hit the Deck" is still undeniably impressive, and one longs for a glimpse of those (somewhat) mammoth sets framing the music which has long since outlived the stage show and film which initially introduced it. With such music, and such visual magnificence, even the oftentimes overwhelming presence of Jack Oakie would be more than forgiven, and welcomed.

Two selections from "Hit the Deck." Nat Shilkret leads the Victor Orchestra in "Hallelujah," (sadly sans four-octave singer Marguerita Padula) and the chirpy "Sometimes I'm Happy," is handled by Roger Wolfe Kahn & His Orchestra with Franklyn Baur providing the vocal here too. Interestingly, these two selections were paired on the same 78rpm disc, providing a mighty powerful musical wallop for a half buck!

"Hallelujah" (1927) and "Sometimes I'm Happy" (1927)

(Technicolor Sequence)
LONG SHOT - Chorus of Paramount Publix boys:
(Singing)
"Trumpeter, what is the call you play?
Trumpeter, is it the Reveille?
Call them east, call them west,
Call them loud and clear!
From the least to the best,
Everyone is here, so let's go - get together,
And let's show spirit and let nobody queer it!
We admit it's a bit of a crusade,
When a revue's made...
Try to be somewhat different.
New tunes, sentimental and blue tunes,
Bright stars that are not overnight stars,
And a crowd who'll be proud,
If new friends they have made,
When you've seen
PARAMOUNT ON PARADE!"

So begins the remarkable pre-title opening sequence of the 1930 musical revue "Paramount on Parade," one of the most elusive all the surviving early all-star screen revues --- that despite the fact it has been largely restored (carefully cobbled together from extant picture and sound elements) but with the frustrating status of a "screening by appointment only" archive gem. To be sure, "Paramount on Parade" can be viewed in any number of smeary bootleg Beta-to VHS-to DVD dubs which can be readily found on internet auction sites (and in eye-straining pixilated clips on YouTube) but even these stem from miserable, highly mangled, murk and blur source prints that once played regularly on Public Television and early cable venues. Here then, an original highly detailed dialogue script serves dual roles as a curiosity and reference tool, allowing us a glimpse of the content of "Paramount on Parade" as it originally appeared to audiences in early 1930. (Note: The length of "reels," as listed in the dialogue script, appears to vary from just over five to ten-or-so minutes.)

Following the title cards (also originally in Technicolor, which explains the odd looking ill-suited replacement main titles on most surviving prints that lift music from the final reel as accompanying audio) the multi-hued format continues in a lengthy but breathless visual montage of jump-cut close-ups suggesting all the elements of the production being put together: Brocades - Hands cutting cloth - Woman at sewing machine - Hands pinning a costume on a girl - A page of sheet music - A violinist - A cornetist - Piano keyboard - Drums - A trombonist - A violnist - Legs of dancing girls - Feet of dancing girls - Choreographer David Bennett - A tapestry curtain.

Then, as the camera trucks back and forth, in and out, and captures the dancers from overhead, a dance number ensues with the lyrics:

"Backbone! They say they're the backbone!
That's so, but without us there's no show.
With our kicks and our tricks, we'll prove it to you,
We're the legs of this revue!"

At this point, the scene switches to the footage which opens the truncated version of the film, the entrance of Leon Errol, Jack Oakie and Skeets Gallagher, who serve as Masters of Ceremony for the revue. It would appear that this footage was also originally in Technicolor, as it comprises the last quarter of the film's first reel.

The second reel of "Paramount on Parade" consists of the Lillian Roth & Buddy Rogers number "Anytime's the Time to Fall in Love," and the third reel is that of the film detective parody featuring Jack Oakie, Clive Brook, William Powell, Eugene Pallette, and Warner Oland.

Reel Four begins with a bit of comedic dialogue between Skeets Gallagher and dialect comedian Harry Green, and concludes with the Maurice Chevalier & Evelyn Brent modern spin on the French Apache dance.

Reel Five opens in monochrome for a brief scene of Maurice Chevalier welcoming vocalist Nino Martini at an ocean liner gangplank, before fading out and into a Technicolor sequence in which Martin sings "Torno Sorrento" ("Come Back to Sorrento") as a gondolier guiding a boat containing David Newell and an unbilled young lady. Newell also figures in the next sequence in the reel, a comedic hospital sketch (with Leon Errol, Jean Arthur, and Phillips Holmes) which serves to introduce Jack Oakie and Zelma O'Neill in "I'm in Training For You."

The film's sixth reel opens with the concluding half of "I'm In Training For You," before morphing into the Technicolor "Carmen" parody, which opens with a chorus from the Bizet opera featuring Kay Francis as the title figure --- who is first seen framed in the arms of her dancing partner. Following this straight rendition, a mysterious toreador enters --- cape held over his face, followed by a chorus of similarly costumed males.

"Who is he?" murmurs the crowd as they gather about the cloaked figure. "Yes, who are you?" asks Carmen/Francis as she slinks over to the toreador. The cloak drops: "Huh? What a question!" bleats Harry Green --- and the disappointment on Kay Francis' regal visage can only be imagined as Harry Green sings "I'm Isador, the Toreador!" So concludes reel six.

Reel seven consists entirely of Ruth Chatterton's "My Marine," (with Fredric March) while the film's eighth reel is split between Chevalier's "All I Want Is Just One Girl" park sketch and Mitzi Green's reprise of the tune in impersonations of Chavalier and Charles Mack of "The Two Black Crows."

The ninth reel of "Paramount on Parade" is divided between Helen Kane's "Boop-oop-a-doop" classroom sequence (also featuring Mitzi Green) and Dennis King's Technicolor rendition of "Nichavo," which opens in a highly melodramatic vein with a costumed King at the gallows, attended by a hangman -- standing before a bloodthirsty crowd: "People of Paris! Shall I not speak before I die? Death is a little thing, for love is eternal. I have been given a greater thing than life, and I am content to hang!"

The camera cuts to the unexpected sight of Skeets Gallagher climbing over the courtyard fence: "Hey! Hey! Wait a minute, will you? You can't hang Dennis King now!" "Oh, hello, Skeets! What are you doing here?" asks King. Gallagher replies, "I've got some good news for you. I'm going to have you sing for the Paramount revue." Film Director Ludwig Berger ("The Vagabond King," "Playboy of Paris") enters the scene as Gallagher continues: "Dr. Berger, you can't hang Denny now! Will you have the Dolly Twins take the rope of his neck, and make it snappy please!"

"Skeets, You can't talk to my director like that, old man," protests Dennis King, and Berger adds "What's the idea of interfering? Now, I've been trying to hang this man for eight weeks, and just as I'm about to see him swing and get rid of him, you come and interrupt? Why?"

Gallagher responds, "Ludwig, I agree with you, but this is for - he must sing for the Paramount Revue. You understand?" The attending crowd murmurs angrily. "I think I'm losing!" exclaims Gallagher. Dennis King steps in, "Gentlemen, gentlemen! One moment please. Now, apparently I am the object of this little argument, hmm? And, inasmuch as I am going to die anyhow, surely it doesn't matter if I sing before or after my death. Anyhow, nichavo!"

"Pray, nay, what is this nichavo?" asks Gallagher. "Ah, you see what a clever star I have?," beams Berger, "He now speaks Russian! What does it mean, Denny?" Dennis King laughs, and responds "Well, nichavo is a Russian word! In English it means 'nothing matters,' or 'what the......" Berger and King cut off the expletive by calling out "Orchestra! Please!," and the remainder of the reel presents King's vocal rendition of "Nichavo" in Technicolor close-up.

The tenth reel of "Paramount on Parade" consists of a bit of amateur magic by Skeets Gallagher which serves as intro for Abe Lyman's Orchestra and Nancy Carroll's "Dancing to Save Your Sole," and the first half of the 11th reel begins in monochrome --- setting the scene for the second Technicolor half, "Let Us Drink to the Girl of My Dreams."

The prismatic sequence opens with a view of Gary Cooper, Richard Alrlen, James Hall, David Newell and Phillips Holmes in a richly furnished Plantation house study --- as seen through an ornate picture frame --- clad in hunting garb, and about to propose toasts. Arlen toasts to Lady Luck, and Hall to Sporting Pluck --- but Cooper gently protests such toasts: "You all seem to favor sport and chance, but I prefer a toast to sweet romance. Say there, Tom, Dick and Jim, fill your glasses to the brim! Let us drink to the girl of our dreams!"

The trio continues the melody as they exit the study and enter the grand foyer of the mansion, positioning themselves to gaze upwards at a curving staircase, down which glide Fay Wray, Mary Brian and Jean Arthur. Brian picks up the melody: "Say there, strong flaming youth, won't you tell us all the truth, are we really the girls of your dreams?" Wray continues, "Do you find your mistake in the morn when you awake, are we really the girls of your dreams?" Mary Brian pairs with Gary Cooper, Fay Wray with Richard Arlen, and that leaves Jean Arthur to ask "If you say what you mean, and you mean what you say, to convince us there's always a way, so it seems," as she pairs with James Hall.

A series of close-ups of the three couples in loving poses fill the screen, as Mary Brian again asks "Would you care if we knew, all the rest you've told that to? Are we really the girls of your dreams?" Convincing seems beside-the-point, as the three couples dance to an orchestral reprise of the melody before the girls slowly retreat up the stairway and the boys return to the study where they resume the poses they held when the scene began --- and the camera pulls back to reveal the trio again returned to the confines of a picture frame.

The final solo star-turn place on the program, in the film's 12th reel, belongs to Clara Bow whose contribution to the revue was filmed well after everything else had been shot, owing to what the press described as a bout of illness. The reel concludes with the first portion of a clever comedic sketch called "Impulses," in which we see guests assembled at a cocktail party (which includes George Bancroft, Kay Francis, Jane Keithley, and William Austin) engaging in the polite and dull sort of banter one still encounters at these affairs --- where forced enthusiasm and revelry is the order of the day.

As reel 13 begins, Bancroft addresses the audience: "Now of course, I don't know how you feel about it, but my impulse was not to conduct myself as I did. There's an idea. Now, if everybody there had followed impulses, I imagine the party would have been somewhat different." And, as you can surmise if you've not seen this sketch, indeed it is!

The second half of "Paramount On Parade"'s 13th and final reel --- originally in Technicolor, belongs to Maurice Chevalier and "Sweeping the Clouds Away."

A recent casual and decidedly non-scientific poll conducted in these pages revealed that "Paramount on Parade" is the one restored but unavailable early musical film which readers would most like to see on DVD, no matter how imperfect the existing UCLA restoration is. It is hoped that someone, somewhere, in position to make such things happen, is listening.

"Paramount on Parade" Medley (1930)
"All I Want is Just One Girl" (1930) - Gus Arnheim & His Orchestra

"Anytime's the Time to Fall in Love" (1930) - Casa Loma Orchestra
"Sweeping the Clouds Away" (1930) - Maurice Chevalier

At the same time that the 1928 F.B.O. production "Coney Island" was in general release around the country (and more on this lost film below,) a tragic and no-less melodramatic real-life event at New York City's famed amusement park were being reported via wire services in August of that year.

In the midst of a blistering and lengthy heat-wave, with temperatures along the Eastern seaboard wavering between 90 and 102 degrees, a reported 800 to 900,000 people were seeking the modicum of relief available at the seaside resort on Saturday, the 4th of August --- packing the beaches, boardwalks, bathing pavilions and amusement venues.

Late in the afternoon as the crowd reached a peak, for many arrived late with the expectation of making a night of it, unexpectedly, the sky began to darken --- a hot wind was whipped up, and within moments a tremendous electrical storm was underway, sending down pouring rain and hail in torrential sheets of precipitation. Acting almost as one --- and all with one thought --- the masses of people all made a mad dash for either temporary shelter wherever it could be found or for the subway entrances that serviced the long stretch of sea and sand from Coney Island, to Brighton Beach, to Rockaway Beach. The combination of sea-water, lightning, rain slicked surfaces and hundreds of thousands of people crowded into small areas would prove fatal for a variety of reasons --- collectively and individually.

As reported via the Associated Press: "Mrs. Edna Connors, 37, of Coney Island, was wading at Coney when the storm broke. Bystanders said there was a vivid lightning flash which seemed to play about the woman's head. She fell without a cry and was carried to a pavilion. A physician said the bolt apparently has struck her full in the face and she had died instantly."

"A throng that police estimated between 800,000 and 900,000 fled in a milling mob for shelter as rain and hail began to fall. Among the jostling crowd that headed for the elevated railway platform at Brighton Beach, near Coney Island, were Gertrude Neldenberg, 16, and her mother. The two were near the edge of the platform when the girl fell, or was pushed to the tracks and rolled against the third rail. Men held back the frantic mother while a train dispatcher shut off the power. The girl was dead when a physician arrived."

"At Rockaway Beach, the high wind and pounding hail ripped a light wire from its pole. Patrolman Arthur Fash, 52, picked up the loose end to carry it out of a busy boulevard and the heavy voltage passed thru his body. He died before an ambulance came. Lightning struck a three-story frame house at Coney Island, but six families escaped injury."

From press material for the 1928 film "Coney Island":

"No expense has been spared to make 'Coney Island' the finest amusement park story ever to have been filmed, FBO Studio officials claim. The picture has been directed by that veteran of the megaphone, Ralph Ince, and stars Lois Wilson and Lucilla Mendez. "

"Those who have journeyed to New York and seen 'Coney Island' will recognize many of the famous old landmarks oath international resort. Ince traveled 3,000 miles to get actual pictures of the midsummer crowds. One of the largest and fastest riding devices known in this country, 'The Giant Dipper,' known to thousands, was taken over to two days and nights that the proper atmosphere might be obtained and a truthful picture be presented to the people who have not had the opportunity of seeing the great playground."

"During the filming of the fight scenes, everyone but actual actors and employees of the studio were banned from the ride. For two whole days and nights, cameras ground their monotonous chants, flaming arc lights flickered, assistant directors, actors and employees scurried about that the work might be accomplished and the resort visitors might resume their rides."

Improbable though the plot line of "Coney Island" reads, it doubtless afforded views of the park that would elevate the status of this lost film to that of an invaluable record of all that is gone and sorely missed from the famous stretch of sand and surf:

"Tammany Burke, young owner of a giant roller coaster, is fighting heavy odds against a syndicate led by financial baron Hughey Cooper. Assisted by his sweetheart, Joan, and her father, Jingles Wellman, formerly a clown, Burke prepares for a sabotage of his machine by syndicate hirelings. In the midst of a great battle, the riot squad arrives to arrest the troublemakers, and Burke and his sweetheart are left in happy possession of their roller coaster."

It's interesting to note that today, when so many audience members are irked by movie trailers that seem to take special pains to reveal key plot points and neatly encapsulate every scene and line of dialogue that might possibly leave something to enjoy in seeing the film proper, that "Coney Island" --- like countless other films of the period --- were frequently publicized by having virtually their entire scenario serialized in newspapers over the space of several days (usually a week, sometimes even more) leaving little to the imagination of the prospective ticket-buyer other than perhaps the final reel of the film --- if even that! An example of the serialization of FBO's 1928 "Coney Island" can be viewed at right.

One Vitaphone film which received the Serialization-as-Publicity treatment was also perhaps the most unlikely candidate for such treatment --- the 1929 musical revue "Show of Shows."

Playwright, free-lance screenwriter and press agent Willard Keefe was called upon to create some sort of workable newspaper serialization for "Show of Shows," and in a rather remarkable but needless flight of fancy, Keefe fabricated a fictional story and set of characters which he then had interact with the creative and artistic personnel of the revue, frequently placing his characters on the set of the various production numbers contained in the revue, as they were being filmed and engaging in conversation with the revue's performers. The result is oftentimes as delightful as it is surreal (Chester Morris and a fictional character inspect the standing set for the "Celestial Fantasy" number) and disorienting. Naturally, I thought this concept unusual enough to warrant inclusion of all entries I could locate --- out of what seems to have originally been twelve or thirteen. They can be found at the conclusion of this entry should you care to browse one or few or all.


To accompany your journey into this alternate reality, a magnificent orchestral medley from "Show of Shows" is offered here, during which the spirited and clever arrangement utilizes nearly all of the film's melodies --- including two which appear to have never been commercially recorded for the 78rpm home market: "Singing in the Bathtub," "The Only Song I Know," "Your Love Is All I Crave," "Lady Luck," and "One Hour of Love."

Medley - "Show of Shows" (1929)

Paramount's 1929 part-Technicolor "Redskin," (advertised as "Mostly Color" in some plain speaking newspapers) is a joy to behold in its new DVD incarnation, as an inclusion in the hefty "Treasures III" American Film Archive set. If there's one sour note in the film's otherwise pristine presentation, it would be that only three reels of the nine reel feature are offered with the original synchronized music and effects track --- the remaining discs deemed lost in the printed and on-screen liner notes.

If the online database for audio holdings at The Vitaphone Project website is accurate, it would appear that four additional reels could have been married to their original soundtrack. Serviceable though the carefully arranged new piano score is for "Redskin," it strikes me as being dramatically at odds with the lush visuals and late-1920's setting --- a time at which a lone piano accompaniment would seem as much a product of a much earlier day as a 1912 Biograph split-reel offering.



Heard on the synchronized soundtrack of "Redskin" is vocalist Helen Clark (pictured left,) at the time a Victor recording artist but whose career stretched back to the early 1900's.

To conclude this entry, we can listen to Helen Clark circa 1911 warbling the title tune from the stage production of "So Long Letty," which would reach the talking picture screen one year after "Redskin," and two renditions of the theme song for the 1929 "mostly in color" Richard Dix photoplay --- one by Ben Selivin & His Orchestra (with vocal by Mildred Hunt) and the other by Bert Lown's band, with the familiar Irving Kaufman warbling the lyrics.

"So Long Letty" (1911) Helen Clark
"Redskin" (1929) Vocal by Mildred Hunt
"Redskin" (1929) Vocal by Irving Kaufman

Vitaphone Anniversary & Easter Week
Mason City, Iowa - 1929

Clearly the Safe Choice for Theaters - 1928

How Much Sound is Too Much Sound?
August, 1928

Stock Graphic for Halloween Theater Celebration
New Castle, Pennsylvania - 1930

"Paramount on Parade" Retail Tie-in
June 1930

"Redskin" (1929) - Sheet Music Graphic

"Show of Shows" Fanciful Serialization
Late 1929 - Installment 1

(Warners' Publicity Dept. Misidentifies Alice White in photo!)

Installment 2

Installment 3

Installment 5

Installment 6

Installment 7

Installment 10

Installment 11

"From Shakespeare to Jazz"
Ad for "Show of Shows"
Fresno, California - February 1930

Doubtless lured by "The Romance of Al Jolson"
News Oddity - April 1927

"Must you sing of days gone by?

The Orchestra Augmented 9 Oct 2007 10:02 AM (17 years ago)

Just as we began to believe we knew all there was to know about "The March of Time," MGM's unreleased follow-up to the studio's 1929 "Hollywood Revue," there comes more to learn --- more to consider.

Seeing as there doesn't seem to be a single comprehensive study of the film in one place (bits of information are as scattered as the celluloid husk of the production that remains today) these pages seem as good as any to serve as a depository for information. An imperfect research venue to be sure, but far better than none at all.


A good deal of what we know today about "The March of Time" was painstakingly pieced together by Jonas Nordin, a Stockholm sound-engineer who, not unlike myself, considers himself something of an Entertainment Archaeologist. Jonas was instrumental in fine-tuning much of what I've written about "The March of Time," and, via a recent communication, provides us with additional insight:

"Apparently, 'The March of Time' was indeed complete when shooting finished in February of 1930. After that, (director) Harry Rapf or someone else wasn't happy with the result and decided to make what seems to be random alterations. I think this decision had very much to do with the musical genre suddenly falling out of fashion. MGM simply didn't know what to do with a big budget musical that no one was interested in. So, they tried to make something else out of the $750,000 spent, but failed. I am quite convinced that the finished product that Rapf presented to MGM early in 1930 was much of an artistic disappointment, apart from some good production numbers."

We also learn a bit more of what Marie Dressler's contribution to "The March of Time" likely consisted of: A Comic Ballet, and two beautiful parodies of 1890's sentimental ballads --- the titles of which are enough to conjure up the most fantastic mental images: "That's How It's Done On the Stage" and "But Father Mustn't Know I'm Going On the Stage -- He Thinks I'm A Shoplifter."

Jonas also relates the heart-breaking account of an employee who worked in the Technicolor vault on several occasions in the 1970's and actually saw much of what was then left of the doomed musical revue:

"'March of Time' was in fragments or sections in the vault. There were two-color matrices for certain scenes, and black and white fine grains for others. They also had various variable-density track negatives. (It was) surmised that there was approximately eighty to ninety minutes of basically unedited footage. Yet, we also discovered edited (finished) sections in another area of the vault. (However,) I don't believe that (the film) was finished or 'locked' before the studio pulled the plug on the project before they generated additional expenses. There was a script for the production with the studio legal department too."


"Technicolor was, at the time, going through a major purge of their vaults to make room for new materials. So, many two and three-color matrices, optical track negatives, trims, outs and dailies, black & white negatives and fine-grains were being sent to a company in Burbank, California for stripping. They would remove the emulsion and 'repaint' the stock in 1000' lengths for editorial purposes. By the time the footage reached this facility, it was too late to save any product. The owner of the facility showed me hundreds of boxes of film slated for destruction. Many of the boxes were under working titles and I had no idea what they contained, but the time period for other recognizable titles was the late-twenties to mid-thirties."


Bleak though the outlook is for additional footage for "The March of Time" turning up any time soon --- or ever, more about the film can be gleaned via the paper trail it left behind --- and that's a story that remains to be told. The University of Southern California is said to hold a box of documents that, it is believed, contains a shooting script and a wealth of other ephemera related to the film, including performer contracts. Brittle paper stacked within a pasteboard box --- all too often the final destination for the Entertainment Archaeologist, student of film and the amateur film historian. Surely "The March of Time" will again surface within these pages!

Abilene, Texas audiences attending the far more fortunate predecessor to "The March of Time" in November of 1929 were successfully lured to the theater with the promise of a "Ziegfeld, Earl Carroll and George White show rolled into one with many deft motion picture touches," and doubtless impressed by Metro's selfless charity in making such a grand show available to all: "Because it is a motion picture, many cities and towns of the country are witnessing a great revue of revues for the first time."

Even today, "Hollywood Revue" is oftentimes an exciting film to watch, and that in spite of the few sequences where it all seemingly all but grinds to a halt. But, magically, when seen with a receptive audience, the creaks and groans tend to vanish --- the long stretches of silence and leaden pauses filled with applause or laughter, and the myriad layers of age dissolve away as some of the biggest names in Hollywood step forward to enter new and largely unknown motion picture territory.

Here's one of the brightest melodies from "Hollywood Revue," one that wouldn't have anywhere near the longevity of "Singing in the Rain," but which seems somehow far more firmly attached to the film instead.

"Low Down Rhythm" (1929) Lloyd Keating & His Music

At the same time that Fox's "7th Heaven" (1928) was shimmering from screens across the country, accompanied by a synchronized Movietone score and sending exiting patrons scrambling for sheet-music and phonograph recordings of its theme song, "Diane," the film was being given no less a grand reception and presentation by theaters that hadn't as yet invested in the Movietone - or Vitaphone - or both systems for their venue.

Masterful though the music and effects score for "7th Heaven" is, it's lovely to contemplate seeing the film for the first time --- in sparkling, pristine condition --- with music provided by not just a full orchestra, but a specially "augmented" one, as detailed in the full page ad to the left: "The management has added to the orchestra and this attraction will be made stronger than ever."

"Those who heard the orchestra in the great British-made picture, 'Second to None,' were delighted in the stirring numbers rendered, and those who attend the magnificent presentation of '7th Heaven' will be charmed by the lovely music accompanying the picture, special arrangements for which are being made."

As we're left to wonder precisely which musical selections so stirred those attending 'Second to None,' we have no less a stirring rendition of "Diane," the theme song from "7th Heaven," performed here by vocalist Franklyn Baur.

"Diane" (1927) Franklyn Baur

Indeed, as a reviewer for the New York Graphic noted in mid-1928, "What a picture! It is all that the most extravagant praises from the West Coast have it, and more. There's life and love in every reel." And, at twelve reels, that was --- and is, a lot of living and loving. It's fun to realize that 1928 audiences were apparently quite a bit more technical savvy than we might suppose today, being readily able to understand the length of time that twelve reels translated into!

The great one, Paul Whiteman... standing at the feet of George Washington's statue at Federal Hall, in New York City's Wall Street --- participating in what amounts to a live street performance in the early 1920's, decades before such events would be regular fodder for "Good Morning America" and "Today Show" cameras. Details of the event are largely lost to time, but clearly the Weber Piano Company didn't lose the chance to secure a bit of free publicity, and in the image to the left we see Whiteman apparently awaiting his cue on a warm summer morning while an unseen speaker --- or speakers --- addresses the crowd. (Prompting the wonderful posture of the seated fellow, doubtless!)

While Paul Whiteman's arrangements and recordings would, by the end of the decade, often become somewhat indulgent and over-inflated affairs --- each one aspiring to become a 78rpm miniature extravaganza --- his work on Victor at this point was straightforward, comparatively simple and just magnificent.

"I'm Just Wild About Harry" (1922)


"I'll Build A Stairway to Paradise" (1922)

Listen to the above recording, then see if you can't imagine that music reverberating through the Wall Street canyons, across that sea of straw hats!

Interesting to note, too, that among the faces peeking out of the open windows of the building overlooking Federal Hall, all seem to be exclusively workmen (in caps and overalls) as opposed to office workers. Subtle but evident division between the working classes, of the sort that doesn't exist today. Indeed, at similar events today, the overall clad fellows would doubtless be front and center at the performance podium, and the straw boaters pondering the advisability of elbowing forward!

"Fate" (1923)

"Way Down Yonder in New Orleans" (1923)


We again visit with bandleader Clyde Doerr, who seems less than pleased at having been pulled away from his newspaper. Despite Doerr's clipped Teutonic appearance, he hailed from Coldwater, Michigan and while a master of the violin, his work as an alto-saxophonist would bring him fame.

Hired by bandleader Art Hickman in 1916, Doerr arrived in New York in 1919 with the Hickman band, hired by Ziegfeld --- and struck out on his own shortly thereafter, forming orchestras that would serve as "house bands" for both New York City's Club Royale and Chicago's Congress Hotel.

In addition to appearing on the radio as early as 1925, Doerr and his Orchestra would also tour the country via the vaudeville circuit. One such play-date, in the Davenport, Iowa of 1924, was described thus:

"When one desires to bestow the high modicum of praise upon a vaudeville offering and on basis of two or three curtain bows, it is more or less honest to say the act stopped the show, but Columbia (theater) patrons last night participated in and witnessed a real Stopping of the Show when Clyde Doerr and his Orchestra, direct from the Congress (Hotel,) Chicago, used every device of the footlights to indicate that the act was finished -- done -- no more -- and the folks out front were equally insistent that they didn't care what happened next just so long it was the Doerr Orchestra."

"As it was, one Frank DeVoe is what happened immediately thereafter, and everyone promptly got over his disappointment, especially when DeVoe -- with a disarming frankness -- walked out and said with all sincerity, 'Say, now ain't that orchestra hot?' DeVoe faced a hard job following the Doerr Orchestra but his honest-to-goodness appreciation of that fact put him over as solidly as his very unique jazz singing."

"There have not been more than three of the whole deluge of jazz band acts that interrupted the melodies of the hour as the Doerr Orchestra. Possibly because they have spent the season in a hotel ballroom where blatant weird harmonies were not demanded, but more likely because Mr. Doerr does not incline to that style of play, the musicians never give the impression that the walls were bulging outward with the crashing syncopation. Nevertheless, every effect of the jazziest band was there with a richness of melody and harmony."

Interestingly, Clyde Doerr would participate in sound films too, and at opposite ends of the medium's technical evolution. There would be a DeForest Phonofilm in the early 1920s, "Clyde Doerr & His Sax-O-Phone Sextet" and there are newspaper references to at least one Clyde Doerr Orchestra short film making the rounds in June and July of 1930.

"I Wish I Knew" (1922) - Clyde Doerr & His Orchestra


In a previous post, the intriguing and somewhat mysterious Syncrophone device was seen in a January 1929 advertisement providing sound accompaniment (of some sort) for the film "Streets of Algiers," although whether the device was also used for "The Heart of Broadway" is a matter of doubt, as pointed out by a number of blog readers who (to my surprise and pleasure) were moved to do a bit of research of their own following my post.

Frequent contributor George Moore forwards some information on the Syncrophone device:

"The Syncrophone Company evidently produced films with the sound track on a disc. They called the discs 'Octacros.' The 'Maltese Cross' comes into it having given its name to the rotating cam that governs the transit of film through the gate of a projector."

Although the device pictured left appears to be a scaled down version of the Syncrophone (intended for home or institutional use) a general idea of the mechanism can still be gained.

As to what sort of sound accompanied "Streets of Algiers," and other titles, well... that's still a matter of conjecture. Were scores especially prepared and recorded for these Syncrophone presentations? Was there ever any attempt at providing the illusion of dialogue or sound effects?

Or, was the Syncrophone used simply as an elaborate highly amplified phonograph, to play suitable mood music for the film being flashed upon the screen?

We do know that the system lasted into the early to mid-1930's, and that it had (by then) developed to the point where it provided synchronized dialogue for one of the earliest Welsh language sound films, "The Chwarelwr," which (amazingly) was preserved and restored by the National Screen and Sound Archive of Wales! All in all, there's more to the Syncrophone saga to be told, and I invite readers with additional information to share what they may know about this shadowy technical curiosity.

Hastening back to more familiar territory, a selection of melodies from films of 1929. From "Fox Movietone Follies," (a lost film which was examined closely in a very early post which can be read here) a spirited rendition of one of its hits by Arnold Johnson & His Orchestra which really soars just a moment before it concludes: "The Breakaway" (1929)

The theme song for "Weary River" has appeared within these pages at least as many times as it can be heard in the film itself, so what's one more? Here, vocalist Jack Miller gives it his all --- and then some. Say what you will, there's just something about this tune...

"Weary River" (1929)

From "Syncopation," Del Delbridge and His Capitol Theater Orchestra plead "Do Something" (1929)...

... and Ray Miller and His Orchestra lament the fact that "Nobody's Using it Now," a temporary condition enacted on the screen in 1929's "The Love Parade."

All ends well however, as proclaimed by the Ipana Troubadours in "My Sweeter Than Sweet," from the 1929 Nancy Carroll romp, "Sweetie."

Mr. Jolson (right) may look a bit anxious (and a good deal mottled) while thumbing through "Variety," but he'd doubtless be supremely satisfied to learn that early reports indicate the forthcoming DVD release of his "The Jazz Singer" will offer the landmark film looking as though it was "filmed yesterday," and hopefully sounding as though it was recorded the day before that.

Interestingly, some early review discs contained a glitch which swapped the Technicolor swan ballet from "The Rogue Song" for the designated selection from "Gold Diggers of Broadway," giving the impression that someone's hand merely plucked the wrong tin off an archive shelf labeled "old color musical stuff." No, but really --- I wonder if any of these production-error copies will filter onto the retail market? Be sure to examine yours closely!

"Toot Toot Tootsie, Goodbye" (1922)
The Benson Orchestra of Chicago

Rounding out this post, a diverse selection of vintage music --- accompanied by appropriate visuals, and then our usual departing glimpse of various items that line the hallway leading to the exit.

The next few days will be spent transferring this blog's audio material to new file server digs --- a mind-numbing complicated task --- so once again, please be advised that some glitches may be encountered until the swap is complete. I shall be starting with the very first posts and working my way forward, so readers (old and new) might wish to re-visit some of the earliest posts in order to avoid any disappointment.

Update: All posts to date have been transferred to the new server.

"Deep Night" (1929)
The Victor Salon Orchestra (Pictured Below)


"What'll We Do On a Dew, Dew, Dewey Day?" (1927)
Jim Miller & Charles Farrell (Pictured Below)


"Carolina in the Morning" (1922)
The Bar Harbor Society Orchestra

"Muddy Water" (1927)
Harry Richman


Until Next Time!
###

"Sweetie" (Paramount-1929) Lobby Card


Movietone a la Moderne 1930 Exhibitor Book Illustration


Two Years Earlier... Movietone Arrives in San Antonio, Texas January 1928

8 December 1929

Syracuse, New York 27 October 1929

The Film that Started it All Uniontown, Pennsylvania - 21 May 1927

###

Old Man Trouble 7 Oct 2007 8:28 AM (17 years ago)

A minor inconvenience...

Beginning with the next post, a new file server will be employed to host audio files for "Vitaphone Varieties," a move prompted by the erratic performance of the one currently in use.

Please note that until all audio files are transferred to the new server, your ability to listen to audio links contained within past blog posts may well be hampered by slow downloads or error messages.

I hope to complete the transfer of files to the new server within a few days and ask for your patience until then.

Once completed, readers will enjoy faster downloads and no bandwidth restrictions --- resulting in, I believe, a much improved "Vitaphone Varieties" experience for all concerned.

Watch this space for a new post early this week!

"Ne Plus Ultra" 30 Sep 2007 7:46 PM (17 years ago)

It's always fun to explore early talkies that are lost or obscure, and here we have one that's both lost and obscure, the RayArt production "The Heart of Broadway," which seems to have bowed sometime in very early 1929 and skittered across a handful of screens before vanishing --- apparently forever --- by spring of that year.

As described in a Connellsville, Pennsylvania newspaper:

"Bobby Agnew, always a favorite with film fans, certainly holds up his record in 'The Heart of Broadway,' the new Rayart drama of night life which opened at the Paramount Theater today. He has the role of Billy Winters, a 'hoofer' in a cabaret, who, because he believes the girl he loves has killed a man in self protection, confesses to the crime himself to save her from the Tombs. She is innocent of the crime as well, and how the whole tragic affair is straightened out and those two youngsters find their happiness affords splendid fare."

"Above all, the picture is realistic, and to those who enjoy the study of modern life and its complexities, we recommend a visit to the Paramount Theater during its run. Pauline Garon is the girl, and she plays her part admirably, as she always does. Others in the excellent case include Wheeler Oakman, Duke Lee and Oscar Apfel. It was produced and directed by Duke Worne, from an original story."

Odd that a film with so solid (if not earth shattering) clutch of working talent should have fallen so completely off of film history radar. Director Duke Worne had some 70 films notched in his belt by 1928 (and had previously been a film actor from 1914 onward,) while Pauline Garon had recently appeared in Paramount's well received "Redskin" and Warners' "The Gamblers" that same year. Why, even our old friend Wheeler Oakman is here too --- and this talkie business must have seemed old hat indeed to the gentleman who had the misfortune of uttering "Take him for a ride" in Warners' "The Lights of New York" of 1928. Interestingly, the leading man of "The Heart of Broadway," Bobby Agnew ("always a favorite with film fans") appears to have had a stint as a dance director, most notably on "Gold Diggers of 1933" if online film databases are to be considered accurate.


Particularly interesting is mention of the sound for "The Heart of Broadway" being provided via the services of "The Synchrophone," a device that doesn't seem to have been associated with any other contemporary production than this one.

But, the Syncrophone --- like "The Heart of Broadway," remains a mystery for at least now. Lost technology and a lost film.


The 1928 synchronized "Show Girl," also a lost film, was described thus in prepared press materials utilized for a November 1928 run in San Antonio, Texas:

"Alice White comes into her own as a full-fledged star for First National in 'Show Girl,' which is showing this week at the Aztec Theater. Not only does she justify the judgment of her producers in selecting her for this role, but she delivers a very entertaining screen play. 'Show Girl' is a story of Dixie Dugan, a world-wise chorus girl, and was written by J.P. McEvoy, and enjoyed a wide circulation in a national magazine. It is filled with the wisest of wise-cracks, and clever situations, and revolves around this girl whose ambition is to become the toast of Broadway -- but not without the aid of a go-getting newspaper reporter. How this chap keeps her on the front pages is a scream, and all the time she is falling in love with him -- but his love making is confined to one sentence, 'S'long, I'll be seein' you.'"

"After she is kidnapped by a hot-blooded Chilean and after she has been publicized to such an extent that she is rushed to the star role of a musical comedy and after all that and more -- she does the truly feminine thing and goes into a tantrum because Jimmy, the newspaper fellow, doesn't even come to the opening performance. But all ends well when he admits he wrote the show, and has loved her all along."

"It is good entertainment and is enhanced by synchronization by Vitaphone. This score differs from the average inasmuch as it is done by a jazz band, and plays the entire picture with a clever arrangement which includes many comedy characteristic numbers which makes the comedy scenes between Kate Price and James Finlayson much funnier than they would be silent. Donald Reed, Charles Delaney and Robert Tucker are chief among the supporting cast."

Although the press release describes the musical accompaniment as being provided by a "jazz band," and the print ad laying claim to a "symphony of 110 pieces," it's likely that the reality was somewhere in between the two and that the score (with incidental sound effects) was much like the one that accompanies Colleen Moore's 1928 "Why Be Good?" --- which suggests it was a magnificent score indeed.

Audiences arriving to see "Show Girl" in a late October screening in Waterloo, Iowa were urged to stay for the late night run of Warners' "The Haunted House." With audience members invited to come as they were --- costumes included, that's one destination I'd dearly love to visit via a time machine. Worked into the score for "Show Girl" were two melodies which enjoyed moderate success on 78rpm disc, and here they are --- as performed by Ben Pollack & His Park Central Hotel Orchestra:

"She's One Sweet Show Girl" (1928)

"Buy Buy For Baby (Or Baby Will Bye-Bye You)" (1928)

Pausing a moment in this realm of Broadway, show girls and the broken hearts that can't be far behind, we have three audio fragments from the 1929 Columbia musical film "Broadway Scandals," which (unless I've been misinformed) survives in intact form within vaults as the studio's first entry into the screen musical genre yet, typically, remains kept out of view. Having encountered the film only via a set of very battered sound discs its difficult to form even so much as a sense of how the film looked and moved, but it appears to have featured at least one very elaborate musical set piece, "The Rhythm of the Tambourine," which can also be heard here.



Left: Columbia Phonograph Co. sound disc for the first reel of Howard Hughes' "Hell's Angels"


"Broadway Scandals" (1929) - Opening Title Theme

"Rhythm of the Tambourine" (1929) - Orchestra & Chorus

"What Is Life Without Love" (1929) - Jack Egan



In equally glum, although not unnecessary, limbo is "Chasing Rainbows," the 1929 Metro musical that re-teamed Bessie Love and Charles King (of "Broadway Melody" fame) and then went one step further by adding such stellar supporting players as Marie Dressler, Polly Moran, Jack Benny and George K. Arthur --- as well as some flash and sparkle insurance in the form of an eye-popping Technicolor finale and a string of tunes that included "Happy Days Are Here Again," "Lucky Me - Lovable You," "Love Ain't Nothin' But the Blues," "Do I Know What I'm Doing?" and "Everybody Tap"--- along with two comic specialty numbers for the grand Marie Dressler.

Surviving today without the final color reel, a situation which presents seemingly insurmountable presentation problems for cable schedulers, "Chasing Rainbows" (along with 1930's screen version of "Good News" which is also missing its prismatic tag end) is --- for all the intrigue surrounding it --- a dismal affair. The following honest-to-goodness film review (as opposed to press release) by Wood Soanes, which appeared in newspapers in March of 1930, puts it all plainly and clearly:

"'Chasing Rainbows' lived up to its title in a way yesterday. A troupe of competent performers chased the rainbows of entertainment up and down back alleys until they were breathless, the audience was exhausted, and when the pot of gold did appear, it was full of counterfeit nickels."

"The story of this newest backstage yarn is not only formula but it is excessive length. There are such saps as the one portrayed by Charles King in the small time, of course, but there's no good reason why their thick wits should be paraded outside of their own dizzy element."

"Here is King impersonating with a good deal of success an egotistical ham named Terry who has been waited on hand and foot by a cute little partner, played by Bessie Love, for a matter of five years. A blind man could see that she is head over heels in love with him, but Terry is so wrapped up in himself, so gullible and so fat-headed that he doesn't wake up until the last foot of the last reel."

"The amusement to be had from 'Chasing Rainbows' is not to be found in the story although it possesses a number of excellent individual performances. Jack Benny, for example, turns in a capital performance as the harried stage manager of the troupe; Marie Dressler does one comedy song that is excellent and contributes some other scenes with Polly Moran that are laughable."

"Scattered throughout the picture are scenes containing chuckles and had it not been for the profusion of back-stage yarns, there might have been some interested in the pictures behind the footlights. But, 'The Broadway Melody' and the others that have followed have taken all the snap out of this business and the story of 'Chasing Rainbows' is forced to rise or fall on its own ingeniousness. It falls with the well-known d. and s. thud."

"Several of the scenes in 'Chasing Rainbows' are done in colors and the workmanship here is of a high order. 'Happy Days Are Here Again' is used as a sort of theme song and it has a good bit of spirit to it. 'Lucky Me - Lovable You' is also worked in and out of the tale with harmonious effect. But there the matter ends. 'Chasing Rainbows' is... well, chasing rainbows."

To be sure, portions of "Chasing Rainbows" seem so closely duplicates of similar moments in the earlier "Broadway Melody" that the effect is surreal --- not least of all a reprise of Bessie Love's crying-laughing-crying jag that is extended to such a length that it almost becomes uncomfortable to watch. But, as with most problematic films, there are moments and performances that soar. Charles King is in fine voice, the photography and settings always entertain the eye, and all is well with the world whenever Dressler is in view.

"Lucky Me - Lovable You" (1930) Alfredo's Band

"Happy Days Are Here Again" (1930)
The Frisco Players, with vocal by Irving Kaufman

"Love Ain't Nothin' But the Blues" (1930)
Frankie Trumbaur & His Orchestra

"Lucky Me - Lovable You" - Charles King



An entire string of posts, if not a full length book, could (and should) be written about Mae Murray --- dancer, silent film and talkie actress --- a fascinating, clearly troubled, larger than life character who's unceasing cascade of personal misfortunes and scandals would be right at home on this week's television entertainment "news magazines."

But, the world was a different place when Mae strutted across it --- and instead of finding herself increasingly adored, revered, cheered and emulated with each speed bump she hit (as she certainly would be today) she was instead gently but unmistakably shoved further and further back into the shadows of obscurity until she herself became little more than a painted shadow, a grotesque distortion of Mae Murray circa 1925 imprisoned in an aging and bloated form that was mercifully invisible to her alone.

For this post, a glimpse at Murray's first talking picture, "Peacock Alley," a Tiffany-Stahl production of 1929, as a close examination of the film isn't easily accomplished owing to the film's current status of existing largely in the form of incomplete and horrendously battered prints bereft of the film's most intriguing (and notorious) moments, a solo vocalization of the film's theme song by Murray and the final Technicolor reel. (There does seem to be a recurring theme to this post after all, it seems!)

Although sharing the same title as a 1922 Mae Murray silent feature, the 1929 "Peacock Alley" is, in sum, a great deal of melodramatic hand-wringing about, when you come right down to it, an uncomfortable but hardly shattering misunderstanding. Having said that, I'll add that it's precisely the sort of absurdly tangled circumstance you'd expect to see Mae Murray (and her character) involved in, and if you can view the film (it's readily available via numerous public domain DVD distributors) try and mentally blur the line between fiction and reality and you'll be in for a dainty cinematic thrill ride of the sort where a dip of but a few inches is treated as a careening plunge --- uniquely the sort of cinematic experience that can only usually be found in product of the early sound years.

Contemporary press material assumed that the similarly titled 1922 version was still clearly a topic of conversation among 1930 audiences, and describes the plot and on-screen action neatly:

"'Mae Murray in Peacock Alley.' You have heard that before, but you have never seen such a resplendent and dazzling Mae Murray, nor have you seen THIS 'Peacock Alley,' with an entirely new story, a new background and the last word in modern settings and witty, sophisticated dialogue. 'Peacock Alley' is the ne plus ultra of smart productions, recorded by RCA Photophone, and deserves your attention."

"Mae Murray never photographed more gorgeously. Her blonde mop of hair has been restrained into satiny smooth undulating waves that give her a serious air that belies the roguish witchery of her eyes and lips. Her voice is appropriate to the vividness and vitality of her, and she puts over in a charming scene at the piano, a plaintive song called 'In Dreams You Still Belong To Me.' And she dances too -- dances a splendid tango with a partner and then gives a solo comic performance interpretating a bull fighter. Her costumes are stunning, their vivid colors and the beauty of the stage setting being reproduced by Technicolor photography."

"Carey Wilson wrote the story and dialogue for the new Tiffany All-Talking production of 'Peacock Alley' and laid the entire action in the span of twenty-four hours in a fashionable New York hotel. He properly provided the star with the role of a dancer, but also gave her some character. 'Claire Tree' does not pout - she goes after what she wants with straight-from-the-shoulder tactics."

"She wants to marry - 'I'm running away from the doubt and uncertainty and problems of a woman who isn't married,' she tells Stoddard Clayton, whom she is trying to argue into including marriage with his proposition. Clayton thinks nuptial bonds old fashioned, a stupid tradition, fatal to romance! Clarie declares that any woman who says she doesn't think the marriage ceremony important is lying!'

"Neither will give in, so Claire marries a sweetheart from home - a Texan, who doesn't know the ways of New York, and accepts a detective's interpretation of Claire's actions in staying in a man's hotel suite alone with him until dawn. Forgotten is his vow of a few hours before to honor her - he can see her only as an immoral woman and leaves her. Such an abuse of the marriage oath acts as a challenge to Clayton to see if he can't do better, and the picture ends on his declaration that, when that day's ceremony has been annulled, they will make a success of marriage because they are 'different.'"

Random Thoughts:

The film's title presumably refers to a long stretch of luxuriously appointed passageway within New York City's old Waldorf-Astoria hotel, (and much is made of the fact that the famed walkway was replicated at great expense in press materials for the film) and yet the film opens with an art card setting the location not as being the Waldorf, but the fictional "Park Plaza" hotel.

Despite that, newspaper readers were informed that "the massive sound-proof door between stages at the Tiffany Studio had to be thrown open to allow room for the massive set used to reproduce the famous hotel's peacock alley. This set is over 200 feet long, and the exquisite Oriental rugs, beautiful crystal chandeliers, valuable paintings and rare tapestries and drapes to furnish this massive set were alone valued at over $50,000.00."

The long tracking shot down Peacock Alley that opens the film is visually exciting --- with the camera slowly working down the passage towards a street entrance --- dodging hotel patrons and turning the lens right and left by turn, focusing on bits of business being enacted by the extras --- the naturalistic effect heightened by a soundtrack barren of everything except the murmur of voices of those the camera passes (and a symphony of noise upon the ravaged soundtrack of most circulating prints!)

Two of the film's musical selections are heard within the first few opening moments. Over the titles, (following the grandiose Tiffany-Tone logo theme) we hear "In Dreams You Still Belong To Me" (for the first and last time, as Murray's later vocal at the piano is jarringly excised from the print I viewed.) Shortly thereafter, in a hotel club setting, "She's Everybody's Gal" is played by the on-set orchestra and vocalized by The Biltmore Trio (right) who also provide the opening title off-screen vocals. Curiously, the participation of this popular period vocal team in "Peacock Alley" appears to have been wholly overlooked by those who keep such lists. Nothing to be ashamed of here, as they acquit themselves adequately in the two Abner Silver composed tunes.

"Peacock Alley" (1929) - Biltmore Trio & Orchestra
Opening Titles, "She's Everybody's Gal" and Closing Titles

"Peacock Alley" (1929) - Dialogue Excerpt #1
Here, the hotel house detective positively ruins Murray's first day of marriage by accusing her of being a... well, a hotel whore in front of her new husband. (No charge for the soundtrack noise!)


In our last audio selection from "Peacock Alley," Mae's luck has turned from bad to worse. While visiting her ex-boyfriend in an attempt to have him explain the whole mess to her new husband, said new husband arrives on the scene and the ex-boyfriend amuses himself by refusing to admit that Mae's overtures were anything but what they appear to be. Exit new husband, while Mae casts eyes heavenward in weary, weary misunderstood disbelief.

"Peacock Alley" (1929) Dialogue Excerpt #2

Sadly, I've nothing of the film's Technicolor finale to offer aside from my own faint memory of seeing an abbreviated version of the reel many moons ago, and the first hand account of a friend who was treated to a screening of the entire Technicolor reel at the British Film Institute a few years ago. What's worth mentioning however is that when seen intact, and as evidenced by press material of the day, Murray's infamous bullfight dance sequence was intended as a comic parody. There's been more than once instance where footage has been lifted from the reel to illustrate just how bad a film it is, or just how bad an actress Mae Murray was, or just how bad early musicals were in general. Misleading and destructive, and precisely the sort of "anything goes" treatment that films of the early sound period have been treated to for decades.

"Peacock Alley" is uneven, technically primitive, and probably a misfire from the get-go. But, it is what it is --- a time capsule moment in cinema history and a surviving record of an actress already well along in her headlong plummet from silent film stardom. Surely it doesn't require further sensationalistic embellishments --- especially imagined ones!

No matter that Mae Murray's realm is primarily considered that of the silent screen, her name and face can't easily be thought of without musical accompaniment. To be sure, the melody that would mark the height of her career and also her death (it would be played at her funeral) was "The Merry Widow Waltz." Here, from 1926 is a simple arrangement rich in period charm:

"The Merry Widow Waltz" (1926) The Utopia Salon Orchestra

While there's no clear evidence that the 1922 melody "Suez" was ever associated with the actress, I find the tune's use (and performance) by the Mont Alto Motion Picture Orchestra for the score of 1919's "Delicious Little Devil" (included as an "extra" feature on the Milestone DVD release of the turgid 1922 Gloria Swanson & Rudolph Valentino feature "Beyond the Rocks" when it can be considered just as entertaining if not as an "important" film as the one it accompanies.)

Utilized to score Mae Murray's incredible "peacock dance" in the film --- it's a perfect union of image and music, with one complimenting the other rather than doing battle, which is so often the case with newly scored silent films. Although the sequence is poorly photographed and edited (Murray's queer gyrations and postures seem an almost nightmarish jumble at times) the insane pseudo-oriental music ("a fox trot romance") rescues the moment magnificently.


"Suez" (1922)

"In old Suez, under mystic sky,
near the old Red Sea, where ships go by;
There where the palm trees sway,
Your lips and eyes plead with me to stay -- in...

Su-ez, wond'rous Su-ez,
Where I was captured with your love sigh,
All day, and through the night,
to be with you I cry!

When you enfold me in your sweet loving arms,
I feel the thrill of all your charms dear,
Su-ez, wond'rous Su-ez,
I lost my heart to you!"

"Suez" - Mont Alto Motion Picture Orchestra

"Suez" (1922) Clyde Doerr & His Orchestra


And here is Mr. Clyde Doerr himself, circa 1920, looking eerily much as you might expect him to look after hearing his orchestra's strident arrangement of "Suez" which still managed to work in a tinge of playfulness in the form of a slide whistle. Clyde Doerr pretends to light a cigarette on an unlit decorative candle --- neatly wrapped holiday gifts (poinsettia blooms mark the season) sit on the table (are they from or to him?) and the man himself is the Arrow Collar ad personified. Crisp and clean from his razor cut hair to his pince-nez and down to his manicured fingers, he's quite a fellow, don't you think?

Now, if only we could discover what's in those packages. Handkerchiefs? Sensible woolen underwear? We'll never know... and I suspect he wouldn't appreciate our curiosity either.

To round out this post, the second and last for September of 2007, we have a bit of music and then some visual oddities.


"Chirpy" aptly describes "Swanee Bluebird," a 1922 melody performed by the Benson Orchestra of Chicago ("under the direction of Roy Bargy" I feel compelled to add) and if the title seems a bit off-putting, give it a try. It's exceptionally lively, it doesn't sound like four dozen other tunes of the period, and the addition of "whistling variations by Master Billee Osborn" elevates it from the typical to the unique.

"Swanee Bluebird" (1922)

Flip this 78rpm disc over, and we're with Victor's "All Star Trio," pictured right, which consisted of saxophonist Wheeler Wadsworth, xylophonist George Hamilton Green and, lo and behold, pianist Victor Arden --- soon to rise to greater success as part of a team of dual pianists. (See previous post for further information on Arden & Ohman.)

Here, the Trio performs "Just Because You're You," and it's a pretty enough tune as far as these things go. If "Swanee Bluebird" pleased you, so will:

"Just Because You're You" (1922) All Star Trio

As a follow up to this blog's previous post which highlighted the 1919 melody"The Vamp," it's nice to learn that the melody was still being trotted out as late as 1932 by Phil Harris & His Orchestra, and as you'll hear, sounds none the worse for its advancing age.

"The Vamp" (1932) Phil Harris & His Orchestra

To close --- before entering the gallery that lines the passageway leading to the exit --- here's a video montage of curious fragments of Technicolor footage, which looks to be circa 1928 or so, that would seem to have been originally produced with the intention of advertising seasonal fashions at an unknown retail establishment while also promoting various starlets of the day. Alice White and Marion Nixon are easily spotted --- but the others? Perhaps you, the reader, can identify the others.

The Biltmore Trio, Circa 1930

Lobby Card for "The Haunted House" (1928)
Thelma Todd and Montague Love
(You can learn more about this lost film in this earlier post)


Selections from the Mae Murray Scrapbook of Woes

"Vitaphone Talk #2"
Coshocton, Ohio, 27 October 1927

###

"It Doesn't Have To Be Lobster" 25 Sep 2007 1:56 PM (17 years ago)

A new season of "Vitaphone Varieties" posts --- and one which will feature a more prolific posting schedule --- must begin with apology for the delay, due entirely to file server outages that did not permit uploads, curbed downloads and refused inquiries as to why. (Indeed, if any reader can recommend a reliable file-server, do let me know?)

Kicking things off, two of the finest recordings of two melodies from a film that should seem an old friend, if not a close acquaintance, by now.

Here's Jean Goldkette & His Orchestra letting loose in richly spirited and lush renditions of: "Painting the Clouds With Sunshine," and "Tip Toe Thru the Tulips," from -- need you ask? -- "The Gold Diggers of Broadway."

Captured here by the camera lens as it looked on a random day in 1919 --- a neatly arranged and sedate phonograph store window --- at a time when the owner would be hard pressed to imagine a day when his shop, it's product line and likely the entire structure that the shop inhabited wouldn't exist as even a living memory.

It's curious then that the contents of the shop --- phonographs and recordings, should linger on so persistently, albeit in forms and in use far removed from their original purposes. Vintage phonographs are, in the best circumstances, rescued, salvaged and collected, restored, lovingly tended to and played often.

Then too, and alas, a good many of these survivors sit sadly in the corner of rooms serving as little more than a visual curiosity or decorating accent --- their wooden and iron frames silently aching to again vibrate with the music they were designed to play but instead left to harbor dust and termites --- their bodies turned into a lifeless husk that once, long ago, pulsated with music and rhythm. With life.

To kick off this new season of blog entries, and to ease our way into what I plan (or at least hope!) to be a considerably more prolific positing schedule, we have both an artist and a recording that defy the passage of time. Behold Irene Bordoni (right) jauntily perched atop an ocean liner deck fitting, circa 1927 or thereabouts. Fashions of the period, so alien and yet oddly familiar at the same time to our eyes, are here taken to new heights --- with an elaborately stitched design serving as a cryptographic monogram ("eye" + "bee" = I.B.) and stockings imprinted with both Bordoni's visage and one of another gentleman I'm hesitant to guess the identity of. Any thoughts, readers?

The tune, "Let's Misbehave" is from Cole Porter's "Paris," the 1928 stage production that would, in time, reach the screen in somewhat altered musical form as a similarly titled 1929 Warner Bros. part-Technicolor production which survives today only via Vitaphone disc sound elements.



An image, word and audio "reconstruction" of the lost 1929 film "Paris" is in preparation for these pages, and it promises to be one of the more interesting posts of this sort --- watch for it! But, in the meantime, here's Miss Bordoni accompanied by Irving Aaronson & His Commanders:

"Let's Misbehave" (1928) Irene Bordoni

"You could have a great career, and you should.
Only one thing stops you dear, you're too good!
If you want a future darling, why don't you get a past?"


Now, for some old business. An earlier post, "A Summer Idyll" (13 August 2007) lightly explored the abandoned Metro revue "The March of Time" and its participants, and focused upon the equally stirring and melancholy "Father Time" finale in particular. But what of the rest of the film? Do we know what and whom it would have contained? What it all would have looked and sounded like? Cautiously, yes --- yes we do.

Scheduled for release in September of 1930 (it was originally designed as MGM's "Hollywood Revue of 1930,") "The March of Time" would have had the interesting construction of being divided into three sections -- The Past, Present and Future. While documentation is sketchy at best --- and verification nearly impossible, "The March of Time" may have unspooled thus:

The Past:

Joe Weber and Lew Fields: "Pool Hall Sketch"
Louis Mann: "Chicken Routine"
Fay Templeton: "My Dusky Dixie Rose"
Albertina Rasch Dancers: "Hippodrome Spectacle"
Marie Dressler & William Collier: Sketch

Also appearing: DeWolfe Hopper, Barney Fagan and Josephine Sabel.

The Present:

The Dodge Twins: "The Lock Step"
Ramon Novarro: "Long Ago in Alcala"
Albertina Rasch Dancers: "Devil's Ballet"
The Duncan Sisters: "Graduation Day"
Raquel Torres: "Clocks"
"Poor Little G-String" (off-screen vocal by Bing Crosby)

Also appearing: Cliff Edwards, Benny Rubin, Gus Shy, Lottice Howell, Polly Moran, Karl Dane and George K. Arthur, and David Percy.

The Future:

"Gus Edwards Kiddie Revue"
Meyers & White "Dogville" troupe
"Robot" & "Steel" themed dance numbers
"Here Comes the Sun"
"The Merry Go Round"
"The March of Time" Finale

Surviving complete sequences and fragments such as "A Girl, A Fan and A Fellow" (which exists in the 1933 2-reeler "Nertsery Rhymes") and glimpses of a gigantic violin and snowball fight (in the 1933 feature "Broadway to Hollywood") were, I suspect, elements of the "Hippodrome Spectacle" featured in "The Past" segment --- but that, like most everything else we know about "The March of Time," is limited to conjecture, opinion and interpretation of the barest clutch of facts.

The immensely composed and comfortable looking fellow seated to the right is musician Marlin E. ("Whitey") Kaufman, who --- within a scant few years from this portrait date --- would form a moderately successful East Coast band, "Whitey Kaufman's Original Pennsylvania Serenaders" that lasted into the mid/late 1930's. It's an evocative and interesting photograph --- a lone chair pulled into the center of an empty dance-floor a short while before a performance (Kaufman is too perfectly groomed and arranged for this to have been after playing for two hours!) and there's a marvelous air of confidence and satisfaction about Kaufman that's hard to describe. He just seems so right --- so firmly attached --- to this moment in time. Unfortunately, Kaufman's banjo is difficult to discern in the following 1925 recording, but we can't move along before allowing him this chance to be heard from across a great distance indeed...

"Paddlin' Madelin' Home" (1925)

There's little I can tell you about this next offering, but items of this sort don't flit through these pages often so it's deserving of a bit of background. Provided by blog reader Gary Scott, what we have here is an excerpt of a Tri-Ergon synchronized disc transfer of the optical soundtrack for the 1930 German musical film revue "Delikatessen," these discs presumably prepared for theaters solely wired for the Vitaphone style sound-on-disc system.

The melody (which starts out sounding much like the American tune "My Blackbirds are Bluebirds Now") is titled "Es Muss Nicht Hummer Sein," which translates to "It Doesn't Have To Be Lobster."

As performed by Daniele Parola (left) it's a sprightly enough number and although my German is more than rusty, clearly the gist of the piece is that for (at least) some girls, the simple pleasures are the ones most heartily appreciated and that the need to impress is unwarranted.

The tune was popular enough at the time of the film's release ("Delikatessen" still survives, incidentally) gain recording and 78rpm release by a few German dance bands of the period and even without knowledge of the language it's easy to get caught up in the spirit of the number today. So here, sans crustacean (or mayonnaise) is:

"Delikatessen" (1930) -"Es Muss Nicht Hummer Sein"



Follow Up: The much anticipated DVD release of "Alibi" (1929,) "The Lottery Bride" (1930) and "Be Yourself" yielded not entirely unexpected results.

On the positive side, all three titles look and sound better than we'll ever likely see and hear them (and kudos to Kino Video for that!) but beyond that they're all problematic in terms of content and presentation which, for the most part, is utterly bare-bones.

"Alibi" is as it was on it's TCM airing (re-created opening titles and stray remaining frames indicating missing footage) but despite Kino's claim of restoration of the original soundtrack ("which had been recorded on disc and edited in a primitive manner") the end result is simply overly aggressive noise-filtering which clips off all highs and lows and leaves a muddy middle range where dialogue, music and sound effects all do constant battle. The film itself reigns supreme however, and "Alibi" won't disappoint on that count despite the minor imperfections and stark presentation.

"Be Yourself" is, unfortunately, the familiar truncated print that's been in circulation many a moon now (Brice is seen costuming for --- but never performing "I'm Sascha, the Passion of the Pasha") but the image and audio sparkles as never before, the latter happily escaping any attempts at "restoration."

An earlier post that explored the announcement of these titles (see: "Big Whoopee Show" - 14 July 2007) had high hopes indeed for "The Lottery Bride," but the absence of missing footage and Technicolor is compounded by careless mangling of facts in the disc's supplementary material. ("The Lottery Bride" is the only title to feature an "extra" of any sort, and here it's simply notes.) According to the DVD, the title's Technicolor footage amounted to a few frames depicting the arctic Northern Lights and a "tableau of the actors was matted into the shot." In actuality, the second half of the film's final reel was originally in the Technicolor process, and the footage (which survives intact) was made available for screening at London's British Film Institute a few short years ago.

To Kino's credit however, they do acknowledge the film's much abbreviated length for this DVD version, and the Notes section offers up the same fanciful press-release regarding the film's (seemingly only proposed) Technicolor finale that appeared in these blog's pages long before the release of the DVD itself.

In all, these are minor and ultimately unimportant quibbles. The fact remains that DVD release of material from the early sound era is, in of itself, cause for celebration and admiration for Kino's ongoing efforts to make available titles we wouldn't otherwise have with us on the DVD format. Now, where's "Puttin' On the Ritz?"

You wouldn't think it to look at him, but the youthful fellow pictured left is musician, composer and bandleader Roger Wolfe Kahn --- a name that'll be more than familiar to 20's & 30's disc collectors. What you may not know is that Kahn formed his own orchestra at the age of sixteen, in 1923. Over the coming years some of the most important names in music would be featured in Kahn's recordings, including Red Nichols, Joe Venuti, Artie Shaw and Eddie Lang --- to name just a few.

Here's Kahn's orchestra in 1928 performing "Dance Little Lady" from the Noel Coward/Charles B. Cochran revue "This Year of Grace," which had a run of 157 performances at New York City's Selwyn Theater between November of 1928 and March of 1929. (Oddly, I see that the day of this posting also marks the anniversary of Charles Cochran's 1872 birth.) The vocalist is Franklyn Baur, who's a bit lost in the swirling orchestration, don't you think?

"Dance, Little Lady" (1928) Roger Wolfe Kahn

Before moving on to our next selection, let's give Mr. Baur a bit more of a showcase for his vocal talent, this time in the form of the melody he introduced in "The Ziegfeld Follies of 1927." Accompanied by Ben Selvin & His Orchestra, Franklyn Baur steps forth with:

"Ooh! Maybe It's You!" (1927)

Klaxon voiced Irving Kaufman is seen here circa 1919, seeming quite the domestic soul and at a point in his career when he was frequently teamed on recordings with his brother, Jack. Specializing in dialect and comic songs, the pair frequently came off seeming like dime-store versions of Jones & Hare or Van & Schenck, but every now and then they'd strike out and produce a recording that's supremely original.

One such disc is the team's relatively minor but oh-so-integral vocal contribution to the Waldorf Astoria Dance Orchestra's 1919 recording of "The Vamp" --- a wildly popular tune that was recorded by just about every name band of the day. It's all pure joyful nonsense this, and the words mean even less --- but when all combined it's a musical time capsule of a nation teetering on the brink of a coming decade that would welcome and embrace such
unbridled glee as never before.

"The Vamp" (1919) Waldorf Astoria Dance Orchestra


From 1929 press material:

"It is unnecessary to travel to New York or Paris to see the dazzling stage revues that have made these cities the outstanding theatrical centers of the world."

"Those who attend Colleen Moore's newest dialogue picture, 'Footlights and Fools,' will see a brilliant revue, presented in Technicolor, with captivating melodies, as well as many of the same actors and actresses who formerly appeared in the world-famous extravaganzas."

"Max Sheck, until recently creator of the elaborate dance numbers and spectacles for the Ziegfeld Follies and the Folies Bergere of Paris, directed the stage numbers in 'Footlights and Fools' in which 72 chorus girls and men participate."

"Colleen appears in her last production for First National in the role of a plain girl who assumes a French accent and becomes the star of a musical production called 'Sins of 1930.'"

The only sin attached to "Footlights and Fools" as of this writing is that the film has seemingly vanished without a trace, with even the disc sound elements remaining elusive. Despite lukewarm critical reviews, the public turned out to hear Moore speak (and sing) in her dual role and once having done so, swiftly turned their attention elsewhere. Then too, prints supplied by the then hugely over-burdened Technicolor corporation seemed to be problematic too, as suggested by the New York Times' summary of the title as being "a film filled with scenes in color in which the characters appear as red as Indians."

The film did sport at least one popular melody, "If I Can't Have You," but by the time of the release even this featured melody was nearly a year old --- and that couldn't have helped.

"If I Can't Have You" (1928)
The Gerald Marks Tuller Hotel Orchestra


Removed from their pianos, stage and recording studio, we see Victor Arden and Phil Ohman on a crisp overcast day in the mid-1920's --- (they unofficially became a performing team in 1921) --- both doing their best to ignore the photographer and busily pretending to enact a day's outing.

The team would flourish during the decade, leading pit orchestras for such Gershwin musicals as "Lady Be Good," "Tip Toes," "Oh, Kay!" and "Funny Face" while maintaining a steady recording schedule for Brunswick, Columbia and others, with at least one Vitaphone short subject ("The Piano Dualists") lensed and recorded in 1927. Two representative examples of their fine work:

"Lucky Day" (1926)

"Dancing the Devil Away" (1930)
From the RKO musical film "The Cuckoos"



Arden & Ohman also figure in this next selection, which dates from March of 1924 but the real focus is upon the impeccably attired lady seen at the right who provides the vocal, Marion Harris. Looking vastly unlike someone who'd generate such emotion and heat on recordings like "I'm a Jazz Vampire," Miss Harris' plaintive expression here is perfectly suited though to "It Had To be You," an instantly familiar melody that is somehow difficult to equate with 1924 due to its timeless quality and use in countless films (and Warner Bros. cartoons) over decades.

Stripped of booming orchestration and instead locked into 1924 acoustics it seems quite a different melody and a product of a distant day indeed. Harris pauses to allow Arden & Ohman's pianos to emerge for a chorus, and the effect is charmingly plaintive.

(When you tire of examining Miss Harris, note instead how unbelievably clean this building entryway is!)

"It Had To Be You" (1924) Marion Harris, Arden & Ohman


Popular music of the late 'teens and early twenties ventured into foreign (or at least, "exotic") realms as often as not, and two of the biggest hits of this sort were "Dardanella" (1919) (discussed many times in these pages) and "Song of India" (1921) which would result in blockbuster recordings for, respectively, Paul Whiteman and Ben Selvin.

It's interesting that both tunes would prompt unofficial sequel or "answer recordings" of a sort --- one taking the curious position of praising the original and the other seeking to bury the omnipresent melody as swiftly as possible!

Vocalist Charles Harrison underestimates his own efforts and urges anyone within earshot of 1922 to "Play That Song of India Again," while Billy Murray and Ed Smalle point out from 1920 the various improvements contained within "The Dardanella Blues" (even though "the bass is just a little hard to play.")

Luckily, Ed Smalle (pictured right) doesn't seem the sort to harbor hard feelings, but I hasten to apologize nonetheless for not identifying his presence in a photo appearing in the previous post --- in which he can be seen at the piano in the company of Billy Murray and Aileen Stanley.

He's owed, then, this prime position of closing out this entry!

When not appearing on discs on his own, Smalle would be comfortably teamed with some of the most prolific recording artists of his day and no matter whom his partner --- Billy Murray, Vaughn DeLeath or Jerry Macy (to name but a few) it always seemed the perfect pairing --- a credit to his uncanny knack of being able to fall into step with whomever he shared a microphone with, neither overpowering them nor relegating himself to the shadows. There's not much room within a 78rpm groove, but Ed Smalle always seemed to intuitively know just how much was enough --- and that's not an unremarkable feat by any means.

One of my favorite of the many Billy Murray & Ed Smalle parings dates from 1923, but the melody took on a second life of sorts during the brief period in which it was utilized as a signature tune in Hal Roach's "Our Gang" comedies.

Heard (usually in the closing moments) of such two-reelers as "Bear Shooters," "A Tough Winter" and "When the Wind Blows" (all 1930) it becomes clear why the tune was selected when the lyrics are heard to "That Old Gang Of Mine," which laments the passage of time and mourns the changes which come to us all as we pass from youth to maturity.

1930 audiences wouldn't have been puzzled by the use of the tune, and now neither are we.

"That Old Gang of Mine" (1923) Murray & Smalle

While Smalle may seem uncharacteristically stiff on "That Old Gang of Mine" (it seems, for all the world, more like an initial run-through than a final recording) he and Murray are in perfect union --- spiritually and melodically --- on our next selection.

"Home In Pasadena" (1924) is one of many acoustic recordings that seem to cry out for the extra elbow-room that the soon-to-arrive electrical process would allow.

Despite the sonic limitations, there's so much to marvel at in this disc that to pine for improvement is quite beside the point. The voices of Murray and Smalle alternately link as one unified whole and then accent one another, while the flawless orchestration serves as a silver platter upon which to dish it all up.

Once heard, this one will linger with you long and often...

"Home in Pasadena" (1924)

The arrival of electrical recording would bring new shading and nuance to old familiar voices and it's oftentimes remarkable how startling the illusion of immediacy is within these early electrical discs.

Here, teamed with Vaughn DeLeath, is Ed Smalle in as dreamily romantic a realm as he would venture (which wasn't often) and the end product positively purrs along --- benefited by DeLeath's mellow pipes.

"Together We Two" (1927) Vaughn DeLeath & Ed Smalle

"Don't Get Up!" thoughtfully advises the armchair ensconced lady in this clever ad illustration for the Victor Orthophonic phonograph (kindly provided by blog reader Thomas Rhodes) and you're advised to take up her suggestion as well for the duration of this post's final selection.

Here, Ed Smalle is paired with Jerry Macy for a melody you've previously heard mastered by Billy Murray and Aileen Stanley. Neither better nor worse, it is --- certainly, decidedly different!

"Whadya Say We Get Together?" (1927)

Until We Get Together Next Time!

###

Poster Art - "The Desert Flower" (1925)


Can the Dodge Kiddies be far behind?


"Footlights and Fools" attempts to cheer a glum theater - Late 1929


News Oddities - Early 1930


Hope Springs Eternal



Come for the short subject - stay for the feature!


"The Vamp" - Sheet Music - 1919

"Everybody do the vamp,
Vamp until you get a cramp,
Grab your tootsie, hold her tight,
Shake a wicked knee,
she will fall for it!

Vamp all night and day,
Keep vamping till you vamp
your cares away.
Ah!
Vamp the little lady,
vamp the little lady,
vamp the little lady,
vamp the little lady,
Ah!

While they're playing,
just keep swaying,
Do a little 'what-not,'
do a little fox-trot,
When you cuddle up don't fight,
Vamp and swing along,
keep a doing it!

Vamp and sing a song,
don't you ruin it,
Do a nifty step,
with lots of 'pep,'
and watch your reputation!

Do a 'bumble bee,'
buzz a round a bit,
She will like it, maybe,
she will like it, maybe,
she will like it maybe,
oh, you pretty baby,
Ah!

Make it good and snappy,
make it good and snappy,
make it good and snappy,
make it good and snappy,
Ah!"

Guess I got to go now,
guess I got to now,
everybody happy,
everybody happy,
everybody happy,
sure,
Good!"
###

Pleasure Bound 30 Aug 2007 5:39 PM (17 years ago)

Late summer of 1912. The sun still warms and heats but the warmth doesn't cling as it did only weeks before. The tree leaves, once lush and soft, now rustle crisply in the breeze sweeping in from the ocean only a few blocks away. End of season at Coney Island's Luna Park.

"Dardanella" (1919) - Calliope

This mother and her young son, about to enjoy a hot-dog (tongs are barely visible in the counter clerk's right hand) are, I believe, stopping for a bite to eat before venturing homeward. No child --- of 1912 or 2007, would be easily convinced to pause outside the gates of such a wonderland for food --- and even if persuaded, their attention would surely be intently fixed upon the entrance and the pleasures behind it. No, this young fellow seems content, a bit wistful and perhaps a bit bored at this point. He's had his day. Autumn is ahead --- and school, two elements that could easily result in his pensive pose. Hence, perhaps, this end-of-summer fling provided by an understanding and indulgent mother.

You may consider this blog entry to be something of an end-of-summer fling too, as it consists of little more than the voices, music and faces of another day. Simple pleasures I wanted to share with readers before taking a long overdue and much needed holiday in early September, with the next scheduled entry due to appear here the week of the 17th.

While the piping, somewhat mournful strains of "Dardanella" still linger, let's listen to a different version of the melody --- this time vocalized across the great expanse of time by Vernon Dalhart and Gladys Rice (a photo of whom can be found at the conclusion of this blog entry.)

"Dardanella" (1920) Dalhart & Rice

It's always a jolting surprise to hear Vernon Dalhart's clear melodic voice freed of country, western or hillbilly trappings --- regional vocal dialects that he could turn on and off at will, and lay on as thinly or thickly as required. Personally, it's this unaffected voice that I find the most pleasing and effective, for he possessed a fine sweeping range all too often kept under wraps in things like "The Prisoner's Song" or "The Wreck of the Old '97"--- recordings which would define him to this day, despite the fact that Dalhart as a man seemed to have vastly little in common with the overall clad hayseed character they conjure up. The distinguished, crisply suited gentleman we see here seems so at odds with the recordings which would long outlive him!

Al Jolson would introduce "Rock-A-Bye Your Baby With A Dixie Melody" in the 1918 stage production of "Sinbad" (404 performances) and would keep the tune at the ready throughout the rest of his career. A simpler, but no less effective rendition was recorded by Vernon Dalhart (left) and I'll leave it to readers to decide if the tune holds up sans wringing hands, breast beating and bended knee.

"Rock-A-Bye Your Baby With A Dixie Melody" (1918)

You won't encounter a more gentle and endearing Dalhart than in the next offering, "My Baby's Arms," which was introduced by vocalist John Steel in "The Ziegfeld Follies of 1919." While Dalhart couldn't claim the crystalline trills that Steel so effortlessly flung from his slight frame, this performance of "My Baby's Arms" gives some indication of how effective Dalhart was upon the classical and light opera stage where he began his career in such vehicles as "Madame Butterfly," "Girl of the Golden West" and "H.M.S. Pinafore."

"My Baby's Arms" (1919) - Vernon Dalhart


And here's John Steel himself, in his mid-twenties --- at the dawn of the 1920's --- pictured outside his home, dressed for summer and seeming anything but the incredibly powerful tenor who entertained thousands between 1918 and 1923 via "The Ziegfeld Follies" and two editions of "The Music Box Revue." If publicity photos are any indication, Steel was a quiet and thoughtful fellow --- taking pride in his garden, tending to his pet parrot, tinkering with a home wireless set.

Born in 1893 (or 1900, depending upon source) of Scotch and Irish parents, John Steel hailed from Montclair, New Jersey. As a child, Steel displayed a remarkable interest in and talent for music, and sang in he boys choirs of various New York City and Brooklyn churches.

At 15, he left school and found employment in an office but steady offers to sing in various churches and for societies soon became his primary source of income. He joined up as a performer with tent shows, touring New England states and upon declaration of War, he traveled overseas for a year to sing for the soldiers of the American Expeditionary Forces.

On his return home, he received his first offer to sing in a legitimate musical stage production, "The Maid of the Mountains," which played at the Casino Theater in New York City in 1918. Lasting only for 37 performances, it nonetheless made him an overnight sensation and he received numerous lucrative offers --- chief among them from Florenz Ziegfeld, with whom he'd rise to the heights of fame while introducing a string of hits that would include perhaps the definitive Ziegfeld tune, "A Pretty Girl Is Like A Melody."

Steel's career seems to have peaked with his contributions to "The Music Box Revue," and a nationwide vaudeville tour on the B.F. Keith Circuit didn't do much to prolong it outside of being well attended by thousands of patrons curious to see the singer in person. Despite his glorious voice, Steel presented a pleasant albeit average figure --- neither especially memorable nor impressive. Then too, Steel's voice would prove to be at odds with the sort of music that would mark the 1920's --- but as to why he didn't pursue a career in the musical theater beyond 1923 is any one's guess and a loss to the medium.

John Steel would survive until 1971, at which time he would succumb to a heart attack in New York. That same year, his widow, one Jeanette Hackett, would be involved in what was described as a "dreadful accident" while in the Hamptons, necessitating a requirement to transport her via air to Columbia Presbyterian Hospital in New York City.

Two melodies from "The Ziegfeld Follies of 1919"...

"Tulip Time" (1919) John Steel

"My Baby's Arms" (1919) John Steel

... and from "The Music Box Revue," a recording that still packs a mighty dose of emotion after all the many years since I first heard it on a summer day that now seems as long ago as the year in which this disc was first recorded.

If you listen to only one John Steel recording from these pages, please have it be this one:

"Say It With Music" (1921)

A gentle song... a gentle man, John Steel.



The rather plain woman pictured right, trying her hand at the telegraph key, is the remarkable Ada Jones, a name that even the most casual of explorers of early phonograph history will encounter time and again, be the medium cylinders or discs.

Despite bouts with epilepsy, Jones was incredibly prolific --- producing recordings in great numbers for just about every phonograph label of her day, and in a myriad of voices that could (and did) in one recording session effortlessly switch between the Bowery coquette, an old Southern "Mammy," ladies of German, Irish, Jewish, Italian or Swedish origin and just the simple working girl experiencing the pleasures and mechanical traps of the early 20th century --- subway trains, amusement parks, nickelodeons, dance-halls and quick service restaurants.

Born in the United Kingdom but a resident of the United States since early childhood, Jones would work at the recording microphone virtually up to her last days, which arrived in May of 1922 following a collapse on-stage at a concert recital in Rocky Mount, North Carolina.

Surviving cylinders and discs, ravaged by time, often wreck havoc with Ada Jones' characteristic clear and ringing diction and vocalizing, but when you encounter a Jones recording that has managed to survive largely unscathed, the experience is always memorable no matter how mundane the material might be.

"Any Little Girl That's A Nice Little Girl (Is the Right Little Girl For Me)" dates from 1911, and once you understand that "rats" (worn in the hair) are small wigs, that "beading" one's eyes is to apply an early form of mascara, and that a "Straight Front X.Y.Z." is underwear, you just might enjoy this!

"Any Little Girl That's A Nice Little Girl..." (1911) Ada Jones

Billy Murray (pictured right with Aileen Stanley) was frequently paired with Ada Jones at the recording microphone, and therefore perfectly suited to provide the spoken introduction to a 1931 revival of "Any Little Girl" that was utilized as part of a bouncing-ball musical screen cartoon. Even without visuals, it's a wonderful listen.

"Any Little Girl..." (1931)

By the time Billy Murray was paired with Aileen Stanley for a series of memorable recordings, the day of Edison's two-minute vaudeville sketches bring pressed into soft black wax were ancient history in terms of technology, but despite his advancing years, the pugnaciously dapper Murray let the years fall away and his voice, which remained virtually unchanged, beautifully complimented the soft tones delivered by Aileen Stanley --- a vocalist equally adept at wailing jazz, dialects, scatter-brained comedic impersonations and simply a wistful young woman of the 1920's pining for love.

A trio of fine recordings, two of which feature the Stanley and Murray pairing at its best, and the third presenting Aileen Stanley in fine form as a solo artist.

"Whadda You Say We Get Together?" (1926) - Stanley & Murray

"I Can't Get Over A Girl Like You"
(1928) - Stanley & Murray

"All By Myself" (1921) - Stanley



A syndicated newspaper item from November of 1929 reveals there was far more behind tenor Franklyn Baur's placid exterior than anyone might suspect:

"Do you know what a 'dead pan' is? No? Well, a dead pan is a fellow who sits in a theater and no matter what happens his face keeps the same sheet of asbestos over it. He wouldn't smile or applaud if he was passing the Statue of Liberty when she suddenly put down her light and broke into the national anthem."

"That is why Franklyn Baur likes radio so much better than the stage. There are no dead pans sitting out front making you feel as though you want to suddenly leap into the air and yell "whoopee" right in the middle of the most serious number to find out whether their faces are painted on -- or just vacant."

"For, you see, Franklyn happens to possess a glorious tenor voice. And he likes to stand up before an audience and feel that they are with him. Sometimes when he was in vaudeville he would come out and the house would leave him 'cold.' There often was no cooperation or response. This happens a great many times. There are towns in the country famous for their dead guns and the show folks dream them. The actors never do as good work. Then the dead pans kick to the management and wonder why."

"Franklyn says of the radio studio: 'It's just great -- standing there in front of the old mike, giving him all you've got -- and feeling that out there somewhere in the wide open spaces are your friends -- the framers and their families sitting in the living room smiling and happy and appreciating you. The radio fans aren't dead pans. Their letters prove that. I haven't once felt as though I'd like to go back to the stage or concert. The mike satisfies me perfectly. I don't miss the lights and applause -- no sirree!'"

"Franklyn is perhaps the most typical Broadway type this writer has met in radio. If you could have seen and heard him telling about those 'eggs that sit on their hands and are afraid they'll crack the asbestos on their faces if they give a fellow a tumble' you would have seen a different Baur. Very different from the violin-toned tenor who sings to you every week."

"Once upon a time not so many years ago -- for Baur is still young -- only 25, he was the terror of the lightweight champs around New York and at one time held an amateur championship. Now he is learning to fly and will soon receive his pilot's license if he hasn't already. This brown-haired, gray-eyed singer-fighter-flyer was born in Brooklyn, New York and educated at Amherst College. He has made over 1,000 phonograph records. One of the most interesting things about the story of Franklyn Baur is that he was 16 before he even discovered he had a voice. Two years later he was selected as tenor soloist for the Rockefeller Park Avenue Baptist Church."

Baur's career would be prolific, memorable and ultimately short lived. Not unlike John Steel at the beginning of the decade, Baur would contribute a defining moment in the history of the "Ziegfeld Follies" with his appearance in the 1927 edition in which he introduced "A Rainbow of Girls" and "Oooh, Maybe It's You." By 1933 he abandoned his singing career. Never married, Baur passed away in the home in which he was born at the age of 46, in 1950.

"Where Is the Song of Songs For Me?" (1929) Theme song of "Lady of the Pavements"

"I Loved You Then As I Love You Now" (1929) Theme song of "Our Dancing Daughters"

"Ziegfeld Follies" Medley (1927) - Part One, and Part Two

To close this post, a photographic and musical album to linger on and
entertain until I return and posting resumes, in mid September.

The concluding story of the abandoned revue "March of Time" will be offered
in that next post, and a good many interesting items are planned for Autumn.

~~

The Brox Sisters
Excerpt from "At The Nightclub" (1929)


Art Hickman & His Orchestra
"Avalon" (Introducing "The Japanese Sandman") (1921)


Walter Van Brunt (Walter Scanlan)
"A Picture Without A Frame" (1923)


Marie Rappold
"Smiles" (1919)


The Peerless Quartet
John Meyer, Henry Burr, Frank Croxton & Albert Campbell
"Since Mother Goes to Movie Shows" (1916)
"For Your Country and My Country" (1917)


The Crescent Trio
Charles Hart, Elliott Shaw & Lewis James
"Whispering" (1921)


Al Bernard
"The King Isn't King Anymore" (1925)


Johnny Marvin
"The Jersey Walk" (1926) - From "Honeymoon Lane"



Gladys Rice
Featured with Vernon Dalhart on "Dardanella" (see above)


News Item
11 May 1922


Until Next Time!,
Jeff
(Always Precariously Balanced Between the Past and Present!)
###

"A Summer Idyll" 15 Aug 2007 7:39 PM (17 years ago)

A stretch of Coney Island in the early years of the last century, and the slower pace that summer dictates was as much in place then as it is now.

Numerous e-mails from anxious readers prompts and encourages me to return to my post and to assure readers that August and September will be represented by at least two entries each!

It's pleasant to lose yourself in photos such as the one seen here, in which the grouping and body language suggests a young couple (far left) on a seaside outing in the company of one or the other's formidable mother (center) and a younger, unmarried sister (right.) A jacket and sweater draped across the back of the bench indicates the morning would have been an unseasonably cool one --- but the presence of bathers wading in the surf hints at the fact it also warmed up nicely. A wrapped box on the edge of the bench looks to be chocolates or similar sweets (a peace offering for Mother perhaps?) and sister seems to have temporarily flung aside the folded newspaper she brought along as a proxy companion.

Wishing them all well, we leave this group in their world of 1912 and trot ahead a bit to 1914 for a melody that once seemed to be everywhere during the summer season and is now but a faintly familiar strain. Certainly, I recall the song from my own childhood of the 1960's --- piped thru loudspeakers at seaside amusement parks for the benefit of patrons who would have had living memory of the tune's first appearance, and serving as comfortable "old fashioned" fun for a younger generation that was being transformed by music of quite another sort. All but forgotten today, 1914's "By the Beautiful Sea" is a surprisingly --- not risque, but decidedly bold composition, as the lyrics will reveal. Two versions are offered here --- a voiceless piano transcription, and a fine 78rpm vocalization by Ada Jones and Bobby Watkins.

"By the Beautiful Sea" - Piano

"By the Beautiful Sea" - Jones & Watkins













"Joe and Jane were always together,
said Joe to Jane, 'I love summer weather,
so let's go to that beautiful sea,
follow along -- say you're with me!'

Anything that Joe would suggest to her,
Jane would always think it was best for her,
so he'd get his Ford ---
holler 'All aboard! Gee I want to be...'

(Chorus)

By the sea, by the sea, by the beautiful sea,
You and I, you and I, oh how happy we'll be!
When each eave comes a-rolling in,
we will duck or swim,
and we'll float and fool around the water...

Over and under, and then up for air,
Pa is rich, Ma is rich, so now what do we care?
I love to be beside your side beside the seaside,
beside the sea, beside the beautiful sea!

Joe was quite a sport on a Sunday,
though he would eat at Child's on a Monday,
and Jane would lose her millionaire air,
and go to work marceling hair.

Every Sunday, he'd leave his wife at home,
say 'It's business honey, I've got to roam,'
then he'd miss his train, get his Ford and his Jane,
and say 'Come with me....'

(Repeat Chorus)

There's something neatly surprising and modern at discovering that the sea romping Joe and Jane are in fact using the shore as their trysting place --- with Joe abandoning wife ("it's business, honey") to fetch his hairdresser girlfriend in his Ford, enabling the pair to head off to the seaside and lose themselves in the throng of hundreds of other Joes and Janes in similar circumstances. Then as now, there's a long, long trail a-winding...

That aside, the business of seaside dips looked to be at least as troublesome as it is today, just considerably more uncomfortable. Bathing suits ("costumes") would be rented --- health and hygiene aspects clearly not an issue --- and what horrible things they look to be! Large, clear images such as these point up the sea-water sodden heavy wool textures of most of them, which surely (especially when combined with sand) must have been torture inducing indeed.

Amusing to note, in the image above this one, that the sand was so littered with all manner of debris (albeit natural debris for the most part) that a stiff whisk broom to clear a spot on which to sit or lay seems a much needed necessity!

Akin to the experience of coming across advertisements for "Full Talking Pictures" long, long before Al Jolson's "The Jazz Singer" bleated from screens, it's always startling to peruse the pages of publications from the early years of the talking picture and to be confronted with nearly as many mentions of television as the Vitaphone and Movietone systems.

Indeed, in 1929 and 1930, television was largely thought of as an innovation "just around the corner," and perhaps it would have arrived as planned and exploded as a home entertainment medium had not a myriad of technical imperfections, a suddenly terminally ill economy and, ultimately, a global war intervened.


Reported Louella Parsons in her column of 13 September 1930: "Television is coming as surely to the movies as death and taxes are sure to come to every mortal. How do I know? Simplest thing in the world. Warner Brothers are privately experimenting with a new television invention and the Fox Company and United Artists have their television lens ready for the market."

"That isn't the half of it, either. Every motion picture contract for books, plays and original stories of any importance demands the rights to television along with the talkie, color and screen privileges. At first, I scorned the report brought to me that all the big companies were stipulating that the television right belong in their bill of sale."

"'It's true,' said my informant. 'Just inquire from the film companies and find out if their big pictures are not produced with the understanding that the television rights are theirs.' Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer returned our inquiry by admitting that 'Within the Law,' 'New Moon,' 'Remote Control,' 'War Nurse,' 'Passion Flower,' 'Anna Christie,' and 'The Great Meadow' are among the many, all bought with the understanding that no other company could have the television rights to them."


"Some folks might believe that it is all a matter of form and that television is as remote as the descent of the inhabitants from Mars. But investigations are such that we are sure within another year at least, television will be as much a part of motion pictures as dialogue, sound and color in the girl revue."

Our vantage point allows us to realize that both color and "girl revue" films would be virtually exiled from the screen by the close of 1930 --- and that television, as we know it, wouldn't arrive until the 1950's --- which was, coincidentally, the same decade in which the descent of inhabitants from Mars that Parsons playfully mentioned, would seem very real as well. Odd.

It's somewhat telling that insofar as musical revues and films of the very early sound period are concerned, the element of television would be relegated either to such films as Fox's science-fiction extravaganza of 1930, "Just Imagine," or the British produced revue "Elstree Calling" of the same year, which --- as far as I can tell --- received either scant or no distribution on American shores.

As beautifully and succinctly described by the British press in early 1931:

"Elstree is no Hollywood. It is a sleepy English village, 12 miles northwest of London. Its streets give off the curious morning echoes that mark such places when a stranger walks through them early in the day. The big film studios seem rude intruders with their brazen brick and glass facade. To reach Elstree, one takes a local train out of London and gets off at a little old-fashioned station. There are no taxis and it is a wettish half-mile trudge up the road to the plant of British International Pictures, the 'big shot' company. Part of the way there is no sidewalk, so the trudger perforce takes to the road. There is no gay film colony here. The company puts no stars under contract."

"It recruits for each picture, mostly from the London stage and the player commute backwards, from and to the big town. The studios themselves -- there are nine linked together -- are almost new. The company began operations only three years ago and has been making talkies for only a year. At the outset, 'BIP' burned its fingers and since then has been making haste slowly. It got under way fast enough and got a lot of silent films ready. Then the talkies burst upon the cinema business and the new films were worthless. Operations ceased until the company, after a cautious wait, decided that the sound films were real. Then it started up again. Now it is going full tilt. Last year, 38 pictures were produced; for this year 60 are planned."

Forget any blurred muck of a print you may have seen (if you can!) for when "Elstree Calling" is seen in crisp picture and sound, with stenciled color sequences intact, it's a charming and cozy revue that's far easier to warm up to than the coldly sterile "Hollywood Revue," and perhaps easier to absorb than the queer assortment of chunks that make up "Show of Shows." To be sure, when viewed in a restored format, the sets and costumes of "Elstree" may look shabbier than we once thought --- but that's the trade off for being able to see faces and facial expressions clearly, where once were mere white blobs with dark specks where eyes and mouths resided.

Four audio fragments from "Elstree Calling" are offered here as a faint and not entirely satisfactory example of the pleasures to be found within the film itself when properly screened:

"Introduction" - Tommy Handley
"Fairy on the Clock"- Teddy Brown & Orchestra
"Tain't No Sin" - The Three Eddies
"A Lady's Maid Is Always in the Know" - The Andre Charlot Girls

I don't often dwell upon early radio product within these pages, and that's simply for two reasons. The first being that not much of it survives, and what does survive is seldom in circulation in anything but dreadful to barely acceptable audio quality. Secondly, I'm largely unfamiliar with and dazed by early radio as much as I'm awed by friends who can rattle off long defunct station names, call-letters and locations with the same ease with which I can do likewise with motion picture product. Perhaps it's a cerebral safeguard of some sort to shut down and deny any additional realm of unimportant trivia beyond the mental shelf-space already reserved for any one trivial topic?

All that likely reads as absurdly as it sounds, but if nothing else you'll forgive me for offering scant information about the following radio fragment from 1931 --- an early infomercial of sorts, disguised as entertainment, for the "Radio and Television Institute" -- a learn-by-mail gig.

While entertaining as heck, it's sobering to note that advertisements for this establishment can be found by the hundreds (if not hundreds and hundreds) in newspapers all across the country during the depths of the Depression, tossed into the standard classified "Help Wanted" section then being hungrily scoured by men in dire straits. Usually worded to imply that anywhere from one to four men were needed to fill a ready and waiting position in the "radio, television and talking movie" industry (when in fact anyone with ready coin would be accepted) it's all simply sad.

See if you can't listen to this carefully crafted radio advertisement without scanning for paper, envelope and stamp by the time the fourteen minute transcribed broadcast concludes! (Only "normal, ambitious" men need apply.)

"The Radio & Television Institute Revue" (1931)

A fleeting glance at the poster at right for the short domestic comedy "Snookums Disappears" suggests a product of the Biograph period --- so stiff and flat the artwork, but as it turns out the Snookums in question disappeared on film in 1927, and the talented youngster who portrayed him would disappear permanently in 1933, the young victim of illness at aged nine.

A press release appearing in newspapers in August of 1926 explains the series of short comedies far better than I could hope to:

"The Newlyweds and Their Baby," a new series of comedies taken from the comic newspaper strip by George McManus, so well known to all. This trip marks McManus' first personal entry into the motion picture field, and event which film producers have been seeking for more than ten years. The comedy series is being made from the comic strip cartoons by the Stern Brothers, and up to the present time the cartoonist has been unable to take an active hand in the screening of these comedies, due to the pressure of his activities with the King Feature Syndicate."

"It was only after McManus saw the exceptional comedies turned out by the Sterns from the Buster Brown comic cartoons that he turned an attentive ear to the request of Julius and Abe Stern. A survey of Universal's wide distribution facilities and the assurance that the comedies made from his cartoons would get the best possible presentation, helped to turn the scale in favor of the Sterns, who release through Universal."

In production and release between 1926 and 1928, with such titles as "Fishing Snookums," "The Newlyweds and Their Baby in Quarantine," "The Newlywed's Success," "Happy Days," and the aforementioned "Snookums Disappears," the
beaming child with forward-looking hair-do was one Lawrence David "Sunny" McKeen, Jr. who was plucked from infantile obscurity to become something of a national darling and instantly recognizable figure during the period in which the films were released.

Photographed posing with everyone from "Uncle" Carl Laemmle, to sports figures and politicians, the child was a natural actor according to his mother, Mrs. Lawrence McKeen, in numerous press released disguised as intimate interviews, many of which transposed the child's nickname of "Sunny" to "Sonny:"

"In every mail, we get thousands of letters from parents all the world over asking how we trained Sonny for the films. We have to answer that we did not 'train' him. We only cared for him as every baby should be cared for -- not in an ultra scientific manner but with love tempered by intelligence and common sense."

"What he does on the screen he does through love of his parents. I hope this does not sound too sentimental for it is true. I know there are parents who scold or spank their children. Sonny doesn't know what either means."

A blood disorder of some sort --- likely the kind which could be treated today, would claim the child in 1933 and his films, coming as they did on the cusp of silence to sound, would seem as distant to the world of 1933 as they do to us today.

Casual research indicates few if any of the entries in "The Newlyweds and Their Baby" series exist today --- but being a natural product for the rental and home 16mm market, probably a good many more are extant than archive databases would suggest.

A lovingly composed and informative website prepared by surviving members of the McKeen family is more than worth a visit and your time. Beautifully sentimental, earnest and rightfully making no apologies for either, the web site can be found via this link.

Farewell, little feller. Will still hardly know ye.

I suspect anyone reading these pages has heard the late 1920's standard "Doin' the Raccoon" often enough to at least hum the melody if not exactly recite the lyrics.

One of the better renditions of the tune --- for there were many of them, most mediocre and a few awful, was a surprising offering from the recording studio of the grand old man, Thomas Edison --- a name and product not usually associated with keeping atop of trends. While it's no surprise then that the 1928 recording arrived a bit late in the game as compared to other recordings of the tune, it is surprising to discover that this apparently simple and somewhat idiotic college fad was hardly a cheap fling --- with raccoon coats costing a very dear $395 in late 1920's funds! No wonder the fashion seeking fellows were urged to "date a girl and hurry her downtown to some big furrier" as opposed to dipping into their own flannels to outlay for this decided extravagance!

"Doin' the Raccoon" - (1928) - Billy Murray and the Seven Blue Babies

The dime-store "Harmony" label of 78rpm discs always yields interesting recordings --- for while they're often not especially good and often badly recorded, they are --- almost without exception, remarkably different than the familiar arrangements utilized on recordings for Victor, Columbia and Brunswick. A winner on all counts, however, is this Harmony disc of two tunes from 1929's "The Broadway Melody, vocalized with the sort of precise enunciation that seems a product of an earlier day, by one Jack Hart, accompanied by Sam Lanin's Orchestra.

"The Broadway Melody" and "You Were Meant For Me" - Jack Hart & Sam Lanin's Orchestra

The 1929 Fox musical "Words and Music," now deemed a lost film, has figured elsewhere in these pages before, but I'm now pleased to be able to present you with the grand and rare opportunity to hear an actual audio extract from the film, via the generosity of reader Gary Scott.

As with many Fox films of the period, prints were made available to theaters in two sound formats -- sound on film, and sound on disc for those theaters solely wired for the Vitaphone system.

Ironic then that it would be the competing system that would allow for anything to survive of this 1929 film, in much the same way that audio fragments from the equally lost (yet far more lamented in these quarters) "Fox Movietone Follies of 1929" manage to remain with us today.

This extract, in which the somewhat meandering melody "Too Wonderful For Words" can be heard performed by a baritone (precisely whom is difficult to determine, unless a reader might recognize the voice?) and reprised by the Fox chorus, isn't a shining moment of 1929 film music by any means, nor representative of the film as a whole (certainly, it suggests nothing of the light-hearted campus frolic "Words and Music" was described as) but, as some nameless soul long ago scrawled upon the synchro-disc for the film in pencil, it is... at the very least... "a good song.

"Too Wonderful For Words" - From "Words and Music" (1929)

The sumptuous publicity artwork for Colleen Moore's 1926 film "Twinkletoes," has naught to do with the next two audio offerings save to provide suitable visual diversity while listening to the languid --- faintly exotic strains of "When Buddha Smiles," long a personal favorite tune of mine. Here, we have it in its original very early 1920's incarnation --- not performed by Paul Whiteman as is usually the case, but by Rudy Weidoft's Californians. Finer than fine, this.

"When Buddha Smiles" (1921)

Buddha continued to smile well into the 1930's for a Benny Goodman recording, but I believe this dreamy, drifting and supremely lovely tune's finest moment to have arrived in 1930 when it met with Gus Arnheim & His Orchestra and about fifteen writhing and cavorting young ladies clad in snake-patterned tights at Hollywood's Cocoanut Grove nightclub for a live performance captured on film by Tiffany Studios' always-on-the-spot "Voice of Hollywood" cameras for inclusion in one of their countless reels of the period.

"When Buddha Smiles" (1930) - Gus Arnheim & His Orchestra (and snake dancers!)

Snakes and a snake dance of another sort was tossed into the mix that was Fox's 1930 revue "Happy Days," where "Snake Hips" was vocalized by Sharon Lynn and danced to, memorably so, by Ann Pennington.

Such is the best introduction I could come up with for the following audio oddity, requested some time back by a reader who enjoyed the Roach studio dubbing disc offered in a much earlier post for "Honolulu Baby," from the 1934 Laurel and Hardy comedy "Sons of the Desert."

Here, Sharon Lynn is heard warbling the intentionally absurd "Won't You Be My Lovey Dovey" -- a sly parody of the sort of wild west dance-hall tune that seemed to crop up in any number of western films, where the roughest cut-throats imaginable would be temporarily lulled into blissful quiet by a silk ruffle adorned sweetie (everyone's "sweetie," usually) who could effortless halt the flow of bullets and broken whiskey bottles with little or no effort.

It's fun to hear the familiar tune broken free of ambient chatter and cutaway dialogue inserts, and in a bit longer a form than we're used to, for the tune was snipped a bit to fit into the confines of the masterfully paced comedy epic. Enjoy!

"Won't You Be My Lovey Dovey?" - Sharon Lynn

A publicity item from February of 1930:

"'The March of Time' is MGM's temporary title for their new revue which will have three sections, exploiting the entertainment ideas of 'Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow.' The 'Yesterday' section is now being completed, with Weber and Fields, DeWolf Hopper, Louis Mann, William Collier, Fay Templeton, Barney Fagan and Josephine Sabel."

In production between August of 1929 and Spring of 1930, Metro's "The March of Time" could quite possibly be the best early musical never to reach the screen. First announced as "The Hollywood Revue of 1930" and alluded to in some publicity releases as "Just Kids" and "Old Timer's Revue" (presumably before the modern and futuristic elements were added) it's the "Yesterday" portion of the film that strikes me as the saddest of losses, for here we would have had priceless documentation of performers of an earlier day --- and re-creation of production style that was still very much a living memory by both the participants and at least a portion of the intended audience alike.

From "Hollywood Sights and Sounds" - 8 January 1930

"Talking pictures, with their irresistible lure to stage actors, have given the movies new blood, which many critics long held to be their greatest need. And strangely, part of that new blood, as represented in a group of nine stage veterans now playing in MGM's screen revue, is very old. It has, in fact, a total combined age of some 570 years. Here again are gathered, for the first time in years, these old troupers who, like their younger brethren of the footlights, have heeded the talkie call."

"There stands Barney Fagan (right, composer of 1885's 'Lawn Tennis') aged eighty, erect, clean-cut and genial despite his years. He became famous as a dancing comedian and even today is a nifty stepper."

"Over here, is Josephine Sabel (left) the original 'coon-shouter,' she who made the famous 'There'll Be a Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight' a hit during the war of 1898. She's sixty-four. She chats with Fay Templeton,
(right, on cover of 1900 sheet music) who at sixty-three left retirement for Hollywood."












"And Joe Weber and Lew Fields (left) are there too, renowned inseparables from boyhood until their memorable break early in the century. Long since re-united, both are snowy-haired now." (And both sixty-three in 1930.)

"Louis Mann, barely fifty-nine, dialect-master, comic and student... De Wolf Hooper, tall, distinguished patrician. William Collier, Sr., already a talkie convert, rounds out the group with Marie Dressler --- Marie who already has scored in talkies, who entered films after long glory on the stage, in the famous 'Tillie's Punctured Romance' of 1914. Old-timers all, but what old-timers!"

Imagine the intermingled excitement, fear, exhilaration and a thousand other emotions that must have flitted through these legendary entertainers' collective minds as they gathered to perform and participate in melodies of their youth, their earliest successes and happiest days --- all to be captured, so they thought, on this new medium of talking film --- a medium that would have seemed utter science fiction to all of them when they first trod upon the vaudeville stage. In various states of age and well-being in 1930, surely the eldest participants viewed this as their final contribution to the performing world they so loved -- and their last curtain call. One that would be seen by untold thousands --- a curtain call without end. A performer's dream.

As happens with most notions too beautiful to be born and survive, Metro's "March of Time" would be unceremoniously halted and abandoned, and the studio would try --- for the next three or so years, to utilize every scrap of footage filmed by inserting them either with some degree of care (as in 1933's feature length "Broadway to Hollywood") or gruffly and sloppily into two-reel featurettes, where the older footage would either go unnoticed, or baffle or ultimately intrigue generations of audiences and film buffs.

Amazingly, perhaps the supreme moment of "The March of Time" --- the "Father Time" finale, in which all nine performers detailed in the above press release are gathered together --- is still with us, but elusive. (Originally included in the mid-point of 1933's "Broadway to Hollywood," this sequence is curiously absent from most circulating prints and TCM's broadcast version of the feature.) Obviously trimmed from the original length in terms of content with all close-shots of performers removed, what we're left with is still priceless.

The curtains part to reveal a large gathering upon a semi-circular steep stairway --- the golden stairway of time --- with a huge shadowy figure of a cloaked Father Time looming above it all, hour glass in one hand --- scythe in other. As the musical accompaniment begins proper, the first to descend the stairway (for no good reason other than "why not?") are fur-clad cave-women.

The lyrics as vocalized are nearly impossible to ascertain, but there are references to "down thru all the ages, time marches along..." and "from the good old days, in the good old way," which segues into "At A Georgia Camp Meeting" of 1897 and dancers dressed in the style of that day, precariously cake-walk/hopping down the stairs.

A bit of "Hiawatha: A Summer Idyl" (1903) is head next, as a troupe of native Indian costumed maidens work their way downwards in precision step in a cloud of fringes and feathered head-dress.

Appearing at top center of the staircase is the woman who performed during "the war of 1898," Josephine Sabel --- in a brief bit of a tune that's wafted throughout these pages for a long time now, "Bedelia," (cue Irish costumed chorus members!) but this quickly segues into a chorus of the song she introduced, "A Hot Time In The Old Town Tonight," which she performs with verve --- the strident rhythm matched by the appearance of Gay '90's "Bowery" b'hoys and goils --- crooked arms, checkered hobble skirts, bottle-green tight jackets and jaunty caps. Sabel concludes the chorus with upraised arm and hand which she playfully boxes at the air while intoning "Hey, Hey!" --- a gesture of another day, time and place --- here captured in 1930.

Rising from the top of the stairs, supported on either side by two chorus girls is the frail (and eighty) Barney Fagan who, understandably doesn't navigate his way down the stairway as Josephine Sabel gamely did.

The melody heard here is 1900's "My Blushin' Rosie," which had definite connections to Weber & Fields and Fay Templeton as well --- and, presumably Fagan himself, who can be faintly heard vocalizing the tune --- with an indescribable quality to his performance that seems part stifled sob and part chortle. Either way, it fits the moment brilliantly and there's something about that subdued sob that seems to sum it all up:

"Rosie, you are my posie,
You are my heart's bouquet...

Come on down right in the moonlight,
There's something sweet, love,
I want to say...

Your honey boy am waitin',
those ruby lips to greet,
Don't be so captivatin'
Ma blushin' Rosie,
Ma posie sweet."

It's in the final moment --- indeed, the final scant few seconds of the whole sequence that all nine performers -- the "old timers" --- can be glimpsed. Barney Fagan at the top of the stairway and, four each entering from stage left and right and meeting center --- from left to right, Louis Mann, De Wolf Hooper, Marie Dressler, Joe Weber, Lew Fields, Josephine Sabel, William Collier Sr., and Fay Templeton. As the screen clouds with a burst of flame and the mists of time shrouding all, the gentlemen all remove their hats and raise them in tribute to the unseen audience of 1930 that would never exist --- and, in effect to us.

All then march downwards into the inky blackness of time where they reside to this day. Heartbreaking. Exhilarating. Sweetly painful. Deathless.The March of Time Goes On...


An assortment of musical elements as featured in this sequence, some new to these pages --- others linked from the earlier blog entries in which they first appeared:

"At A Georgia Camp Meeting" (1919) The New York Military Band

"At A Georgia Camp Meeting" (Modern Orchestral Period Re-Creation)

"Hiawatha: A Summer Idyl" (1904) The Columbia Orchestra

"A Musical Joke on 'Bedelia'" (1904) The Sousa Band

"A Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight" - Mechanical Music Box

"My Blushin' Rosie" (Al Jolson)

"Newlyweds in Quarantine" - Manitoba, Canada - August 1926

Television - Predictions for 1950 - June 1929

"Big Whoopee Show" 14 Jul 2007 4:34 PM (17 years ago)

We enter this installment in the cheerful company of Bessie Love, Cliff Edwards and one very lucky ukulele! The trio suggests a swift, soaring, swooping, varied and light-hearted pace is in order for this entry and we'll insure that happens with our very first musical selection:

"When Erastus Plays His Old Kazoo" (1927)

The artists here are the Savoy Orpheans, and you won't likely find a more merry, bright and tight orchestration of this infectiously gleeful tune than this one. Just try keeping still during this one!

Interestingly, a 1929 newspaper item concerning the (then) new trend of talkie stars appearing on phonograph records, and mentions that Bessie Love would be stepping before the microphone for a disc of vocalizing and ukulele strumming --- but alas, I can find no listing suggesting any such recording was released. Perhaps one of the many 78rpm experts to visit these pages can offer further information?

Some three years earlier, in October of 1926, the multi-talented Bessie Love was called upon by Photoplay magazine to demonstrate the surprisingly complicated steps and moves that constituted a new dance that was then sweeping the globe, serving as, really, a cultural "release-valve" for the incredible energy that had been steadily building since the close of the Great War.

"The Charleston is one of those things that, like a striking slang phrase, seems to come from nowhere, yet is instantly everywhere. It just came naturally, like time or space, no beginning and, apparently, no end."

The dance would flare up and burn hotly --- with a myriad of variations --- for a scant two or three years before being relegated to quaint novelty status. Despite that, it lives on still today --- as much an all encompassing cliche representing an entire decade as "The Twist" and "The Hustle" would define, via dance, later periods. This, of course, before popular culture was inexplicably purged of the ability to originate anything new!

Bessie sagely advises prospective hot steppers, "Don't try to do the dance fast at first. If you do, you'll get into difficulties."

Indeed, with such exotic-sounding step interpolations as "The Turkish," "Picking Cherries," and especially "Falling Down Stairs," you may prefer --- as I do --- to examine Miss Love's dexterity (and that of Anna Q. Nilsson, Shirley Mason and Ann Pennington in the accompanying images) while listening to a late 1925 recording of the immortal tune by the Savoy Orpheans, who have lingered long enough to perform:

"Charleston" (1925) - The Savoy Orpheans

Then too, as this isn't a topic I'm ever likely to visit again, you really ought to hear Paul Whiteman's 1925 rendition, which threatens to self-combust with each listening. Oh yes --- it's mighty hot to begin with, and then made even more so with the addition of a delightfully lunatic nonsense vocalization that says nothing --- and yet, somehow, says it all.

"Charleston" (1925) Paul Whiteman & His Orchestra

Not unlike dance steps that spring up and fall from favor with the arrival and departure of seasons or with shifts in the collective mood, so it was with popular authors of the day. Print ads for RKO's "Dance Hall" (1929) boldly called attention to the fact that this was "Vina Delmar's Big Whoopee Show," and while that name (and entire phrase) might prompt eyes to narrow and brows to arch today, audiences of 1930 knew the name well --- and, more importantly from a marketing standpoint, knew what the branding signified.

We however, will benefit from a glimpse at an early 1928 publicity placement:

"Vina Delmar is her name. She is 23. Her first novel, 'Bad Girl,' has been made the April Book-of-the-Month by the Literary Guild of America. Thus, before it reached the bookstands, Miss Delmar's story was assured some 40,000 readers, with a $10,000.00 advance."

"'It's just a matter of keeping your eyes open and working hard, so far as I can see,' Miss Delmar, a New Yorker, will tell you. 'I spent three years and a half working on the book. I wrote it about people I know because I lived among them and saw them daily.'"

"'I started at 17 by trying to go on the stage, and I was terrible. I still was interested in the theater and got a job in a Bronx film house. After awhile they made me manager.'"

"'I came to know, first hand, the girls who go to Coney Island, who pack the medium-sized movie theaters and write fan mail, who chew gum, work for a living, put on lipstick in crowded subways, and try to live on $1.60 a day. Some of them are tough and some of them are not. I grew up with these people, and when I decided to write, I wrote about them. It seems to me that if you're going to write, that's what you have to do. Don't wander into strange lands, but write.'"

"Miss Delmar is married, has a baby and lives in a modest New York city flat. She is short of stature, with penciled eyebrows, carmine lips, straight bobbed hair of lacquer black -- in brief."

Alternating between full-length novels and short story collections with titles like "Bad Girl," "Loose Ladies," and "Kept Women," it's no surprise that her work exasperated critics, outraged moralists and delighted the public for whom they were written for --- and about.

So much so, that O.O. McIntyre's syndicated column, "New York Day By Day" (and why hasn't anyone thought to collect up and publish these incredibly rich and invaluable reflections on New York City life?) it was reported in November of 1929 that:

"Inwood, which is the uptown Dyckman Street section (of Manhattan) glorified in Vina Delmar's 'Kept Women,' evidently does not resent the chiffon chimera of the ladies in love with love which the novel created."

"A drug store heralds the Vina Delmar Sundae, and a little gown shop is called The Vina Delmar. Inwood, it might be added, is chiefly a community of self-respecting people with a neighborly flair, and is not hard boiled."

Despite some highly uncomplimentary reviews of her books, including attempts to outright ban sales in some areas of the country (yes, Boston too) the author flourished and Hollywood soon came calling. At first, Delmar bravely announced her intention to remain firmly put in New York City and sell her handiwork by the piece rather than by the yard. The author held out until January of 1930 when, likely spooked by the odd economic gyrations rippling outward from Wall Street and the vision of a sun kissed substantial check rising above the Western horizon, she and her little family took up residence in Hollywood for a few months. As we look in on her in March of 1930:

"She hasn't met a single motion picture star nor a Hollywood chatter-writer, and she doesn't care if she never does. She is here with her husband and baby to write an original screen story, and when she is through she expects to hurry back to New York without any material for a novel about the screen colony."

"Mrs. Delmar says she writes about the things she knows about -- and she doesn't want to know about Hollywood. 'It's not a fertile field for a novelist,' she said. One of her stories already has been made into a movie ("Dance Hall"-RKO-1929) and she insists she hates it. 'I doubt I will ever write a novel that can be used for a successful motion picture,' she said."

As noted, RKO would produce "Dance Hall" in late 1929, as Warner Bros. & First National would do with Alice White's "Playing Around" in 1930 and "A Soldier's Plaything" in 1931, while Fox's Vina Delmar offering that year was "Bad Girl."

An anonymous June of 1929 review of Delmar's then newly published "Loose Ladies" makes for a bit of fascinating reading from a 2007 vantage point, proving that "slash and dash" commentary (in this case positively dripping with resentment and vitriol) isn't necessarily as modern a trend as we might fear. One can very nearly change the names and dates and it might almost be called into service as a review for any number of recent popular low-brow novels:

"Vina Delmar is doubtlessly a mighty fine girl. Her 'Bad Girl' made her a rich one too, but she is a boob and 'Loose ladies' proves my statement."

"That extremely popular volume, the Bank Book, stampeded our little Vina into the ranks of the Grab-It-Quick after 'Bad Girl' was chosen by The Literary Guild and the dollars started to roll in with that sweet, melodious sound. Vina took a vacation. After spending in less than a year more money than she had ever seen in some twenty odd trips around the sun, she pushed her much labeled traveling bags into a closet, seized a ream of paper and pounded out 'Loose Ladies.' A considerable portion had already been written but the time was too short to even allow a polishing of the material."

"And her second novel is just like that. The book will sell. The reputation that was built upon her first book and the very efficient advertising department maintained by Harcourt-Brace will take care of that. But the cheap trash, the trite phrases, and the inane thoughts expressed in her new collection of eleven short stories, will injure Mrs. Delmar artistically fare more than she will benefit financially. Her third book is probably now being written. My humble advice is that she will write it, revise the first draft, rewrite the entire book, tear up the 300 pages and write it the fourth time."

(In time, Delmar would contribute her talents to screenplays for such notable films as "Make Way For Tomorrow," "Sadie McKee," and "The Awful Truth.")

This overhead production shot from Metro's 1930 screen version of "Good News" will doubtless please the eye (and yes, you can play "Spot Ann Dvorak" if you choose.)

After years of being largely bypassed in favor of Hollywood product of later vintage and surefire return upon the investment, the DVD format at last seems to be --- if not precisely setting out the "Welcome" mat then at least tentatively leaving the front door unlatched --- for films of the early sound era. Good News of the very best sort for readers of these pages!

First and foremost, there's Warner Home Video's 80th Anniversary 3-Disc Edition of "The Jazz Singer," which will sport so many dazzling accompanying features that to rattle them off is pointless when you can read all about it for yourself via this Adobe .pdf press release.

I do want to call special attention however, to the fact that the commentary for the feature (which promises to look and sound utterly spectacular) will be handled by none other than Ron Hutchinson, friend and founder of The Vitaphone Project, who will be joined by the infinitely exuberant and talented Vince Giordano. This happy combination will doubtless result in precisely the sort of commentary the landmark production not only deserves, but is owed. It would have been all too easy to sign on someone who'd provide an apologetic history of racism in American film who cares nary a whit for Jolson nor early sound films (and knows even less about either) --- but instead, the high and proper road was taken --- a fact we should embrace and celebrate.

With a scheduled release date of October 16th, the simple fact is that sales of this release --- not glowing reviews or Netflix rentals --- will determine whether or not additional early sound titles are viewed as viable DVD product. Therefore, your purchase does indeed count --- now more than ever!

I long wondered how the packaging for the film would be handled, since most of the original advertising conceptions can't easily be envisioned gracing store shelves today. So, unless a change occurs, this is what the DVD package will look like.

In what I deem an ingeniously subtle decision, the indelible trademark Jolson pose still adorns this new incarnation of his film, but all possibly troublesome details are quietly relegated to the shadows --- a move which strikes me as appropriate as it is wise.

Indeed, a couple of the supplementary inclusions are somewhat inexplicable (a Van & Schenck Metrotone short that already accompanies the DVD release of "The Broadway Melody") and exclusion of a recently restored Technicolor fragment from "On With the Show!" is simply sad, but let's hope that Jolson's exclamation of "You ain't heard nothing yet" rings as true today as it did in 1927. Your purchase may very well guarantee it does! (Amazon is now taking pre-orders.)

Also headed to DVD, with scheduled release date of September 4th, are three very interesting early sound United Artists titles being issued by Kino Video: "Alibi" (1929,) "Be Yourself" and "The Lottery Bride" (both 1930.)

While the running times listed for the latter two films are cause for some concern (if accurate then both titles originate from trimmed source material --- moderately for "Be Yourself" and hugely for "The Lottery Bride") it may well be that the remarkable "Alibi" that alone stands out as the worthwhile release of the trio.

Sadly, there's little indication at this time that "The Lottery Bride" arriving on DVD will resemble the print reviewed here in Lowell, Massachusetts on December 20th of 1930:

"'The Lottery Bride' makes no pretensions to be other than two hours of all-around entertainment, and one of the most tuneful operettas that come to the talking picture screen. It is a modern story and has a half dozen songs that are admirably suited to the holiday season, among them 'You're An Angel,' 'I'll Follow the Trail,' 'Brother Love,' 'High and Low,' and 'My Northern Light.' Jeannette MacDonald never sang in better voice, and both John Garrick and Robert Chisholm are heard in rousing numbers. Contributing the comedy with more than his usual excellence is Joe E. Brown, who with the able assistance of Zasu Pitts and Harry Gribbon keep the fun rolling merrily along. Thrilling adventure and a rescue expedition all play their part to bring the picture to a satisfactory climax. The finale, in Technicolor, is exceptionally beautiful."

A highly detailed and even more highly spirited description of "The Lottery Bride's" use of Technicolor can be found in a 1930 United Artists press release:

"The most outstanding Technicolor sequence in the history of motion pictures was filmed at the United Artists studio in Hollywood, under the direction of Paul L. Stein for Arthur Hammerstein's spectacular musical drama, 'The Lottery Bride.'"

"The colorful scenes, set to music by Rudolf Friml, foremost living composer of light opera, represents the vision of three men who are lost in the Arctic ice fields after a dirigible crash and are resigning themselves to an icy death. John Garrick, leading man, sings a love song and the ice fields dissolve into scenes of his native Oslo, where he sees himself being wedded to Jeanette MacDonald, leading lady, while beautiful little girls strew flowers in their path and the peasants turn out in colorful holiday attire."

"Then, Robert Chisholm, who portrays Garrick's brother, joins in the singing and the vision changes to their earlier life -- a great ice carnival, a great army of skaters populating the ice, ski jumpers leaping from the heavens and disappearing over the horizon. Joseph Macaulay, who portrays an Italian aviator, sings of his native Rome. An extravagant vision of the city fills the sky; there is the music of the three day Lenten carnival, the music of holy weeks and scenes of processions, nuns and neophytes of many lands in their multi-colored robes -- the music of Easter and the procession merging into one that vanishes over a distant hill."

"The magnificence of these blurring, dissolving, intermingling scenes required the work of a staff of experts. The settings were designed by William Cameron Menzies, the Technicolor camera work was in charge of Karl Freund, famous German cameraman."

"Be Yourself," which has been discussed in earlier entries within these pages, exists in numerous versions of varying length, and widely variable picture and sound quality. A visually stunning film, it can only be hoped that the source material utilized for DVD release allows the film to live up to its potential. As with "The Lottery Bride," should the DVD release be lacking in length, quality or prismatic hues, it'd be nice if liner notes --- at the very least --- explained that for whatever reason, the offered version should is not representative of what audiences originally saw and heard.


A musical interlude seems right about now, wouldn't you say? Sadly, 78rpm recordings of "My Northern Light" and "High and Low" aren't at hand, but we do have the Piccadilly Players with us for a go at the theme song from "Alibi":

"I've Never Seen A Smile Like Yours" (1929) - The Piccadilly Players

And, from "Be Yourself," links to recordings of two selections which appeared in earlier posts, but which may have eluded newer readers:

"Cooking Breakfast For the One I Love" (1930) Fannie Brice

"Kicking A Hole in the Sky" (1930) Billy Barton & His Orchestra

All three films, "Alibi," "The Lottery Bride," and "Be Yourself," are available for pre-order from Amazon as of this writing. While the end product may fall short of hopes (if not expectations) all three are warmly welcomed additions to the growing ranks of early sound popular cinema on DVD, and as with "The Jazz Singer," your support will result in more to come.

From Chester Bahn's (Dramatic Critic of New York's Syracuse Herald) review of Fox's synchronized 1928 film, "Fazil":

"He kissed her in a Venetian gondola while the boatman lustily sang 'Neapolitan Nights.' He kissed her in a Parisian boudoir. He kissed under the surface in a French bathing pool. He kissed her while they sped down the Rue-de-la-Something-or-Other in a fleet cab. He kissed her while they skimmed the surface of the harbor in a racing motor. He kissed her in an Arabian harem. And, finally, he kissed her in death 'neath the desert's tropic stars and, having kissed her, fell dead at her side."

"Which makes I believe, 'Fazil' the champion osculatory cinema of the year, if not of all time. Incidentally, it should guarantee the Empire Theater's liberal feminine patronage for the duration of the engagement."

"Whether this is saying much or little I do not know, but 'Fazil' impressed me as the best so-called 'sheik-picture' since the late lamented Valentino's hey day."


"Neapolitan Nights" (1928) The Mid-Pacific Hawaiians

Although the jury is out on just how much (or little) of Fox's 1929 campus set musical comedy "Words and Music" exists today, we've recently learned that at least a portion of the original soundtrack has emerged --- in the form of a Vitaphone-type sound disc --- in much the same way an audio fragment of "Fox Movietone Follies" (1929) valiantly but weakly attempts to represent what was once a grand eye-full of the early film musical genre.

Supposedly built around musical numbers filmed for "Movietone Follies" featuring Lois Moran that were snipped to bring the film's length down, I hope to soon offer the aforementioned soundtrack fragment, which features the performance of "Too Wonderful For Words," but in the meantime we have two 78rpm renditions of melodies from the film:

"Too Wonderful For Words" (which seems a tune far more akin to 1934 than 1929) is performed by Victor's All Star Orchestra, while "Steppin' Along" is deftly played and vocalized by Carl Fenton's New Yorkers. If indeed the notion that these selections were excised from "Fox Movietone Follies," then the decision may well have been based on more purely than the number of reels!

Department of Corrections:

An earlier post ("Eyes Front - Ears Wide Open - And Listen!," - 26 June 2007) focused upon Madge Bellamy's 1928 Fox feature "Mother Knows Best," and mentioned an earlier Bellamy effort, "Ankles Preferred," as being a lost film.

William M. Drew, author of "Speaking of Silents: First Ladies of the Screen," and "D.W. Griffith's Intolerance: Its Genesis and Its Vision," and reader of these pages, gently points outs the happy but ultimately frustrating fact that:

"For over three decades, the Museum of Modern Art has had a print (of 'Ankles Preferred') with Czech titles that they obtained from the archive in Prague. Unfortunately, as with the vast majority of silent films, there has been no effort and no willingness to make this film available to the public outside the archive. Other (Madge Bellamy) Fox silents in the MOMA collection include the 1928 comedy 'Soft Living,' and her 1926 Jazz-Age drama, 'Sandy' -- films which are likewise unavailable to the general public. The Czech archive also has a copy of 'Summer Bachelors' (1926)... but so far, none of the archives have even bothered to acquire a copy of the film."

I thank Mr. Drew for taking the time to write, as he neatly expresses the popular and long-standing view among what I believe would be the bulk of vintage film historians and mere enthusiasts that archives --- particularly those funded by the public, would ideally operate as any other library system in the world in respect to public access, instead of like a combination of Fort Knox and a prohibition-era speakeasy where knowing a certain someone is required before entry can even be considered. These are, after all, our films --- our heritage --- our history. No, nobody expects to be able to waltz out with a 35mm print tucked under their arm like a prehistoric Netflix rental, but somewhere there has to be a middle ground between this impossible scenario and the convoluted system in place that, intentionally or not, keeps the vast majority of archive films out of sight and kept from public view.

I suppose I can easily forgive Kino Video a few missing moments from "Be Yourself" in light of their spectacular and continuing effort to release films we'd otherwise have little chance to see.

Their releases of "Applause" and "The Man Who Laughs" (among others!) are awe-inspiring products and two titles I find myself viewing time and again for enjoyment and entertainment of the purest sort.

Once heard, the lilting theme song from "The Man Who Laughs" (1928) lingers on for days if not weeks, and via the contribution of reader Joe Busam, we have an elusive 78rpm rendition of said theme song, "When Love Comes Stealing," to enjoy and sigh along with. Recorded on the Perfect label in January of 1928 by Bert Dolan's Berkshire Serenaders (with a vocal by LeRoy Montesanto,) it's a lovely thing, this...

"When Love Comes Stealing" (1928)



In a similar vein, albeit of slightly later vintage, I was delighted to hear (again, via the generosity of Joe Busam) a full length rendition of a melody interpolated into the framework of Universal's 1932 "The Mummy" that is bound to bring many a happy memory to those of us who either first encountered the film on late-night television or 8mm home-movie versions of the film. There's instant recall of a vacant-eyed, spectacularly gowned actress Zita Johann drifting across a Cairo dance-floor --- powerless but to answer a strange whispered call from the distant past. (A feeling not entirely unfamiliar to myself or my readers, I suspect!)

"Beautiful Love" (1931) Arden & Ohman's Orchestra

Lastly, to close this post in as cheerful a mode as it began; we've the delightfully bizarre and gleefully insane image to the right. The sort of moment that could only originate in one place and at one time in its history: Coney Island.

After decades of neglect and blight, the sleeping giant, in which are embedded untold millions of echoes of reverberating laughter and joy, is stirring anew.

Slowly to be awakened in a new form which promises to embrace its past instead of shunning it, we await this waking dream eagerly --- and cautiously. In viewing the little video and audio experiment offered below, I wonder if you'll be struck as I was by the fact that the amusements being so enjoyed by the turn-of-the-last-century public was utterly free of restraints, belts, harnesses, locking devices, height restrictions, warnings and all but insurance-waivers that make a trip to the modern amusement park feel physically more like a trip to a physical therapy clinic.

Our amusement park experience today --- which more and more relies upon motion simulator "experiences" and "re-creations" --- is a far cry from the feast for the senses (all the senses) depicted in these scenes, and damned be the occasional skinned knee or bruise --- the loss is an inconsolable one.

Let's leave all that aside for a moment in this Summer of 2007 --- and instead try to sense the brilliant sun reflecting off the clean surf, off the whitewashed woodwork and plaster, and off the faces and forms of all of those we see here in their day, in their world --- in their pleasures.

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Just when you had those steps mastered...

Brilliant Art for 1927 - Unsuitable for 2007


The Eternal Pose that Inspired the Now Shunned Poster

Big, Bold, and Clearly Out of the Running