“My head is made up!”

I finished the last of five DVDs that I purchased recently from Finders Keepers—a great mom-and-pop business that specializes in hard-to-find, OTR-related movies—last night while enjoying time off from work. I’m glad I saved this one for last, because it was clearly the best and most entertaining of the bunch (which is not to say that I didn’t enjoy the others, you understand): the 1948 (some sources date it as 1949) feature film-version of the radio sitcom hit The Life of Riley. It was like having dessert after a truly fine meal.

Released by Universal-International and written & directed by the show’s creator, Irving Brecher, The Life of Riley is a textbook example of how to make a really great old-time radio related film. The movie never takes a false step; it’s both well-written and well-paced, its 87-minute running time moving along at a breezy, entertaining clip with no padding whatsoever. Best of all, it takes characters from what I freely admit is your typical farcical sitcom and fleshes them out into three-dimensional human beings; it blends laugh-out-loud comedy with bittersweet poignancy to boot.

Chester A. Riley (William Bendix), devoted and loving husband of wife Peg (Rosemary DeCamp) and father to Babs (Meg Randall) and Junior (Lanny Rees), is determined to advance from his lowly position as riveter for the Stevenson Aircraft Company after being humiliated in front of Sidney Monahan, an acquaintance of the Rileys from Brooklyn (and Peg’s ex-beau). Riley’s boss (William E. Green) has planned to promote Riley to plant foreman as a reward for Riley’s hard work, but his son Burt (Mark Daniels), in debt to a gambler, schemes to have Riley made into an executive—that way, he can get Babs to marry him and he can get at his trust fund. Riley figures out what the son is up to and calls off the wedding, allowing his daughter to marry her true love (Richard Long).

What impressed me the most about this movie was its maturity; the theme of the film centers on career advancement and the achievement of “the American Dream.” Riley’s a blue-collar lug, a little dumb perhaps, but he works hard to get ahead and is crushed that he’s unable to provide a better life for his family. His promotion to executive has him walking on a cloud—even his co-workers congratulate him on one of their own “making good”—but then when people start to believe that the only reason for his advancement is because his daughter is getting hitched to the boss’ son, they turn their backs to him and it really tears him up inside. Babs has offered to marry Burt because she doesn’t want to see her father and mother slide back downward (with Riley’s promotion, he’s able to put a down payment on their house and get Peg that wedding ring she’s always wanted), but Riley refuses to jeopardize her happiness for a life of ease, and announces that he’d rather remain poor—prompting his boss to remark, “Riley—you’re the richest man I know.”

I’ve stated previously in many a blog entry how much of a fan I am of William Bendix, especially in films like The Glass Key (1942) and Detective Story (1951)—but his portrayal of Riley continuously sticks out in my mind. I know that the show had a paint-by-the-numbers quality to it, but there was something about Bendix that really made Riley endearing—here you had this big mule-headed brute whose stubbornness masked a tender, sensitive side. On radio, television, and especially this film—he is simply terrific; he's sensational at using humor as a lemon to cut the occasional sweetness. Rosemary DeCamp (an OTR veteran, known primarily for her work on Dr. Christian) unfortunately doesn’t have much to do, but she does provide solid support for Bendix’s Riley—and she was so good in this role that she was cast alongside Jackie Gleason in the first TV version of the show in 1949 (along with Lanny Rees’ Junior).

Other OTR personalities in the film include Bill Goodwin as the obnoxiously oily Sidney Monahan—and although Goodwin was primarily an announcer/supporting player on such programs as The Bob Hope Show and Burns & Allen, he enjoyed a nice career in films as a character actor, appearing in So This is New York (1948, with Henry Morgan) and It’s a Great Feeling (1949, with Jack Carson, Dennis Morgan and Doris Day—my favorite of the Carson-Morgan vehicles). John Brown, however, steals every single scene he’s in as he brings his Life of Riley character Digby “Digger” O’Dell to the silver screen. Digger is first introduced to the audience in a scene where the Rileys’ electricity has been cut off and the house is plunged into darkness; I thought this was a very clever touch, allowing them to hear his clammy, sepulchral tones before they see his beautifully somber mug on screen. Brown would also make it to the 1949-50 TV series, but for some reason wasn’t available for Bendix’s version, which ran from 1953-58. (Perhaps Brown was in poor health, he passed away in 1957.)

The Life of Riley is also populated with some wonderful character actors—James Gleason (who plays Riley’s best friend and neighbor Gillis—fans know, of course, that Brown played this part on radio as well), Beulah Bondi, Ted de Corsia (who was no slouch on OTR either) and a young Richard Long, before he relocated with Barbara Stanwyck to The Big Valley. (Or set up shop at 77 Sunset Strip, if that’s the way you remember him.) There’s also a great voice cameo by a famous OTR detective, and I wouldn’t dream of spoiling that surprise. (There are some really good in-jokes in this movie; my favorite is a book that’s mentioned as being written by “Professor Alan Lipscott”—Lipscott being one of the writers of The Life of Riley on radio.)

Making a film based on a radio series was a dicey proposition at best back in the 30s, 40s and even 50s. Radio fans would often find themselves surprised at the physical appearance of an actor or actress (knowing them only by their voice, of course), or would have a completely different impression of how their house or car or whatever looked. And though many of these films were produced simply for their novelty value (with plots flimsier than a politician’s campaign promise), there were a handful that transcended this and provided novel and fantastic entertainment. I’m pleased to report that The Life of Riley most assuredly stands out in this bunch.

“Bless his heart…buh-less his little heart!”

After Here We Go Again, I cranked up the DVD player for a viewing of the 1944 Lum & Abner feature Goin’ to Town. I have to say at this point in the game, this vehicle has entertained me the most of any of the L&A films that I’ve seen. (Keep in mind that I’ve still not had the opportunity to catch what fans call their best film, 1946’s Partners in Time—but that shall be rectified very soon, thanks to a recent eBay purchase.)

A pair of oil company executives (Andrew Toombes, George Chandler) are passing through Pine Ridge and relieve themselves of boredom by playing some practical jokes on the town’s inhabitants—including convincing Lum & Abner (Chester Lauck, Norris Goff) that there’s oil underneath the Jot ‘Em Down Store. The boys decide to start their own oil exploration company, and persuade the townsfolk to invest by mortgaging their properties—but the boom turns out to be a bust, so Messrs. Edwards and Peabody are forced to journey to Chicago to try and sell the company to the original jokers. Their associate (Jack Rice) buys them out for a princely sum, allowing them to redeem themselves in the eyes of their Pine Ridge neighbors once again.

I know this plot sounds similar to that of Two Weeks to Live (1943), and it is—but Goin’ to Town (1944) is a much superior film. It benefits from swift, no-nonsense direction from veteran comedy director Leslie Goodwins; Goodwins’ resume includes many of the Mexican Spitfire features (with Lupe Velez) and the comedy shorts of Edgar Kennedy and Leon Errol to boot. He was a pretty experienced B-movie comedy director, and Goin’ to Town is all the better for it. It eliminates the obviously phony and painfully unfunny stunt work of Two Weeks to Live, and concentrates more on Pine Ridge and its delightfully eccentric characters. There are more characters from the radio program in this movie than in any other: Cedric Weehunt, Squire Skimp, Grandpappy Spears and Sister Simpson are all showcased here—with character Grady Sutton making his second appearance as Cedric (he was previously seen in The Bashful Bachelor) and Danny Duncan in his second of three appearances as Grandpap.

Dick Elliott, by the way, makes a sensational Squire Skimp (the role was previously played by Oscar O’Shea in Bachelor and Two Weeks); Elliott was a veteran character actor who just might possibly have appeared in every single film produced in the 30s and 40s (yes, I am exaggerating here) but he’s best remembered as the cantankerous old fart who tries to give James Stewart advice on how to romance Donna Reed in It’s a Wonderful Life (1946). (Elliott would reprise his Skimp role in Partners in Time as well.) L&A fans are, of course, well aware that these denizens of Pine Ridge were played by Lauck (Cedric, Grandpap) and Goff (Squire) on the radio show, so it’s great that they were able to find actors to flesh out these characters—I suppose Chet and “Tuffy” could have played them via a split screen, but the low-budget nature of these movies no doubt put the kibosh on that plan.

Other performers in this film include a young Barbara Hale (best remembered as Della Street on TV’s Perry Mason), Florence Lake (“wife” to Edgar Kennedy in many of his RKO comedy shorts, which is probably why Goodwins cast her in this movie), and Herbert Rawlinson. Nils T. Granlund (N.T.G. to his friends) and his bevy of beautiful babes are also on hand to entertain in a memorable nightclub sequence (when the maitre’d asks Lum & Abner if they have a reservation or a table, Abner asks his partner, “Was we supposed to bring our own table?”) With a funny script written by Charles R. Marion (who would go on to pen many of the Leo Gorcey/Huntz Hall Bowery Boys efforts) and Charles E. Roberts (responsible for many of RKO’s comedy two-reelers), Goin’ to Town is definitely my favorite of the Lum & Abner feature films—until my copy of Partners in Time arrives in the post, that is.

Wednesday Night at the Movies

I had last night off, and I’ve been itchin’ to watch some of these DVDs that I purchased recently—so I treated myself to a midnight double feature of old-time radio-related films. First off the bat, 1942’s Here We Go Again—the follow-up to the successful feature Look Who’s Laughing (1941) which memorably teamed Edgar Bergen & Charlie McCarthy and Fibber McGee & Molly on screen.

Look Who’s Laughing starts out with Edgar & Charlie (performing a reprisal of their famous vaudeville act, “The Operation,” in front of a radio audience) so it seems only fitting that Here We Go Again begin with the McGees. Fibber & Molly have planned a big shindig to celebrate their 20th wedding anniversary, but their pals in Wistful Vista have given them the big brush-off, electing to vacation at a swanky lakeside resort instead. So the McGees decide to head that way themselves (although they can’t afford the tariff to stay there) and upon their arrival, encounter Otis Cadwalader (Gale Gordon, in his film debut)—Molly’s old beau and Fibber’s bete noire. Otis cons Fibber into getting Edgar (who’s also vacationing nearby, in search of a silk-producing moth) to invest in a formula for “synthetic gasoline”; it turns out to be a bust, but lepidopterist Bergen has discovered a use for it for his moths, and everything comes out in the wash by film’s end.

Here We Go Again doesn’t quite have the same punch as its predecessor, but it’s still grand entertainment for any OTR fan. The movie does boast of a boost in star-wattage: Ray Noble, Bergen’s orchestra leader and comic foil, and dummy Mortimer Snerd make appearances, and joining Hal Peary’s Throckmorton Gildersleeve and Isabel Randolph’s Abigail Uppington are Gordon and Bill Thompson as super-milquetoast Wallace Wimple (“Wimp” is the brains behind the formula). Also in the cast of OTR stars is Ginny Simms, a singer-actress who achieved fame as vocalist for Kay Kyser’s orchestra, and was also featured on The Bob Burns Show and her own self-titled variety show on radio from 1942-47. Ginny plays Gildy’s sister Jean and is Bergen’s romantic interest in this movie (I guess that whole Lucille Ball thing didn’t work out). Two other actors from Look Who’s Laughing, Sterling Holloway and George Cleveland, also have small roles in this film as well.

Here We Go Again contains some memorable set-pieces: Gildy and Fibber trade insults over a game of pool, Edgar and Charlie play Indian, and Molly cuts a rug with Cadwalader (both Marian Jordan and Gale Gordon do some pretty impressive hoofing in this one). Even Charlie McCarthy has a song-and-dance number—yes, you read that right, dance. Director Allan Dawn got the idea to allow both Charlie and Mortimer to be a little more mobile thanks to some doubling by midget actors. (This idea to use little people would later resurface in a memorable television episode of The Jack Benny Program; Jack pays Edgar and Francis Bergen a visit and is stunned to see both dummies moving about like real people.) The movie also contains a novel chase sequence at the end that eschews the traditionally tired use of cars and substitutes horse-and-buggies instead (you know how it is with those "A" cards).

Once again, as in Look Who’s Laughing, the comedic strengths in this film emanate from the witty dialogue provided for the stars: Bergen scribe Royal Foster joins Zeno Klinker and Dorothy Kingsley in supplying Edgar and his dummies’ material, and Don Quinn performs the same favor for the McGees. Allan Dwan returns to helm this second film as well; Dwan was a veteran director whose output includes Suez (1938), Frontier Marshal (1939), and Sands of Iwo Jima (1949). All in all, Here We Go Again is a breezy, pleasant romp and a must-see for any old-time radio fan.

“We love the halls of Ivy…that surround us here today…”

Just as it’s hard to believe that Our Miss Brooks was created without Eve Arden originally in mind, it is equally difficult to fathom that Ronald and Benita Colman were not the first performers considered when Don Quinn originated The Halls of Ivy. Veteran character actor Gale Gordon and actress Edna Best were originally cast as Dr. and Mrs. William Todhunter Hall, a college president and his wife who presided over Ivy College in a small middle America town with the same name.

In an audition record dated June 22, 1949, both Gordon and Best do a pretty good job in their roles, but NBC was reluctant to commit to Gordon, seeing as how he was already doing similar school work on Brooks. The director of Ivy, Nat Wolff, then hit upon the novel idea to offer the part to his friend Ronald Colman. Both Colman and his wife, Benita Hume Colman, had demonstrated an extraordinary talent for dry comedy with their guest appearances on The Jack Benny Program—and beginning January 6, 1950 over NBC Radio for Schlitz Beer (beer and college—a perfect ad match, wouldn’t you say) the Colmans breathed life into one of radio’s best and most memorable sitcoms.

Colman’s portrayal of Hall is one of the reasons I became a fan of his; the character he plays, an erudite individual who manages to avoid coming across as a staid, stuffy, professorial caricature, is a fully three-dimensional personage, never stooping to your typical cardboard stereotype. (Hall reminds me of a similar part Colman played in the movies—that of Professor Michael “Mike” Lightcap in The Talk of the Town (1942), after he’s been "humanized" by Nora Shelley, played by the always delightful Jean Arthur.) Hall’s commitment to both the college and students is truly inspiring. But the real revelation on this series is Benita Colman, whose character of Hall’s wife—the former Victoria Cromwell, English music hall entertainer—is an absolute treasure; her vivacious, effervescent personality and lilting, infectious laugh endeared her to many a radio listener (consider me guilty of falling under her spell as well, especially when she calls her fictional husband “Toddy-dear.”).

Joining Ronnie and Benita on The Halls of Ivy was a supporting cast of first-rate radio veterans, beginning with Herb Butterfield as Clarence Wellman, Hall’s nemesis on the Board of Regents, and Willard Waterman (The Great Gildersleeve), who as John Merriweather was frequently Hall’s lone voice of support. Elizabeth Patterson and Gloria Gordon were both heard as Penny, the Hall's maid. In the two episodes that I listened to while at work last night, I was delighted to hear from such talents as Gil Stratton, Jr., Frank Martin, Jane Morgan, Herb Vigran, Janet Scott, Jack Kruschen (who was sensational as a college-educated cop) and Jerry Hausner.

As mentioned before, writer Don Quinn created The Halls of Ivy, and Quinn’s name crops up quite frequently when discussing old-time radio since he was the mastermind behind one of OTR’s classic comedies, Fibber McGee & Molly. Ivy was a definite change of pace for the veteran scribe, although you can definitely detect his signature wordplay in many of its scripts. (In one episode, Vicky mentions that a local diner, the Dew Drop Inn, is referred to by the students who have eaten there as “the Dew Drop Dead.”) But Quinn’s forte was jokes; he was aware of his limitations in developing plots and situations, and so writers like Walter Brown Newman, Jerome Lawrence & Robert Lee, and Milton & Barbara Merlin were around to ably assist him in the writing. Their contributions brought some wonderfully poignant overtones to the scripts—the character of Dr. Hall often found himself nostalgically flashing back to the early days of his and Vicky’s courtship and eventual marriage.

A broadcast from April 7, 1950 is a good example of the top quality that is The Halls of Ivy, as Dr. Hall approaches the missus with an announcement:

TODDY: Victoria…it’s much too beautiful a day for work…let’s play hooky…
VICKY: Hooky? On a school day?
TODDY: Of course! Can’t very well be played on a day of rest…to play hooky at all, one must have something to play it from…I mean to say, those are the ground rules…
VICKY: Yes, but would it be cricket?
TODDY: Oh, no, no…it’s nothing like cricket…if anything, it resembles dirty pinochle…but actually, it’s hooky…
VICKY (laughs): Well, it’s a lovely idea…and beautifully expressed…but you can’t…you’ve got a meeting scheduled for two o’clock this afternoon with all your department heads…Quincannon, Haislip, Gearhart…
TODDY: No, I refuse to consider it…I won’t spend a moment of this day cooped up indoors…not one sun-swept, dazzling moment…how could you even suggest such a course of action? To a man known in his youth as “Gypsy” Hall…
VICKY (laughs): I was only reminding you…
TODDY: I’ll get out of it…I’ll phone Quincannon…I’ll tell him I have a cold…
VICKY: Toddy, you’re not going to tell him a thumping lie…?
TODDY: Bad form, eh?
VICKY: Very bad form…
TODDY: Wouldn’t be…ethical?
VICKY: Far from it…
TODDY: All right, then I’ll have Penny do it… (calls) Penny!

Hall manages to deceive Quincannon (Frank Martin) into thinking he’s under the weather, but his and Vicky’s plans for a picnic outing soon go astray:

(SFX: door opens, then slams quickly)
TODDY: Oh good heavens!
VICKY: What is it?
TODDY: Quincannon…he’s in his yard, across the street…playing with the children…
VICKY: Oh, did he see you?
TODDY: No…you’d think, wouldn’t you, that a man in his position would have something better to do…he should be working!
VICKY: I’m sure he’s finished at least one class this morning…
TODDY: I wonder how long he’ll stay out there…I hate to lose a moment of this sunlight…I know!
VICKY: We’ll sneak out the back way…
TODDY: Uh…sneak is a rather shabby term, Victoria…surely we are privileged to leave our own house by the rear entrance if the whim seizes us?
VICKY (mock contrition): I beg your pardon…
TODDY: I accept your apology…now, let’s sneak out the back way…

A series of interruptions prevent the Halls from escaping the house, but when they finally are able to leave, Toddy begins to feel guilty about abandoning his sense of duty and returns to the college for the meeting—only to discover that he wasn’t the only one who thought about “playing hooky.” A second episode, from April 14, 1950, is equally entertaining and amusing, as the Halls are taking a cab en route to a dinner party:

VICKY: I do like dinner parties…I wonder what the main course will be?
TODDY: Main course? Me. There is nothing Mrs. Foster likes to serve her guests so much as a celebrity—major or minor…
VICKY (laughs): She should be very happy this evening, then…in your black tie, you’re quite a tasty dish…
TODDY (chuckles): Thank you—but not as tasty, I’m afraid, as the major celebrity she originally intended to have tonight…he disappointed her at the last moment…
VICKY: Oh? How?
TODDY: He led with his right, and was knocked out in the sixth round—and thereby ceased to be a major celebrity…ah, she forced to settle for a college president…
VICKY: Oh, poor woman…
TODDY: She is not, thank heavens, a poor woman…she’s one of the richest in town…and one of the loneliest…that’s why she fritters away so much of her wealth on trivialities…I’ve been trying for over a year to guide her interests into more constructive channels…
VICKY: Like, say, um…gymnasium constructive? Or library?
TODDY: Exactly…I have a feeling that when we leave tonight, I’ll have a nice, fat endowment check in my pocket…
VICKY: Well, I have the same feeling…Mr. Merriweather told me that you made a very great impression on her…
TODDY: Yes, I suppose I have…I mean to say, I…I have some, er, respectable degrees…and I’ve written a few good books…
VICKY: Ah, it’s your good looks that have impressed her, not your good books…
TODDY: Oh, nonsense…nonsense, Victoria… (laughs) I never…never heard anything so ridiculous in my life… (laughs) good looks… (laughs) me… (laughs, then long pause) you really think so?
VICKY: Of course I do! And I’m not the only one…every coed on the campus is mad about you…
TODDY (laughs): You’re just saying that… (chuckles) Really?
(SFX: car stops)
CABBIE: This is as far as I can go…
VICKY: Driver, you took the words right out of my mouth…

The Halls are forced to walk the rest of the way (due to road construction), and on their way there they encounter a runaway dog—in the process of trying to find the mutt’s owners, they end up being late and missing the party. This one is a real gem, particularly when Benita Colman talks “baby talk” to the dog, it alone is worth the price of admission. (The plot resolution of this show is also pretty easy to figure out for students of sitcoms, but trust me, getting there is half the fun.)

Sadly, The Halls of Ivy enjoyed a relatively brief run on radio, wrapping it up on June 25, 1952. Though it also appeared for a short time on television (from October 19, 1954 to September 29, 1955), it’s a shame that such a gentle, literate comedy bowed out too soon. (I’ve only seen one episode of the TV series—“The Umbrella Man” (5/17/55)—and while it’s very entertaining, it simply can’t touch the radio version; plus, I was sort of distracted by Colman’s all-too-obvious dependency on cue cards.) Nearly ninety episodes of the series are extant today (many of them rebroadcasts from the Voice of America), and I heartily recommend this warm, underrated show to each and every old-time radio fan.

“We’re gonna miss you around here, boy…”

Last night before leaving for work, I went searching through the voluminous Thrilling Days of Yesteryear archives to find a CD to listen to later on in the wee hours—and I chose a pair of Red Skelton programs from 1946 and 1947. (In keeping with this month’s April Fools theme, you understand.)

The first broadcast was originally heard over NBC Radio on June 4, 1946—the final program for the 1945-46 season (Skelton had returned to his show in December of 1945 after serving a hitch in the service for eighteen months):

RED: Well, Rod—tonight’s the last night!
ROD: Yes, Red—the last show of the season…why don’t you stay on the air during the heat of the summer?
RED: Why? The other shows don’t…
ROD: I know, but they don’t leave the audiences as cold as you do…
RED: Hey, tell me—what do you really think of my acting?
ROD: Well, really, Red…words fail me…
RED: Yeah, truthfully now…
ROD: …so I’ll use letters…
RED: Yeah?
ROD: P.U…
RED (ad-libbing): You proud of that, ain’tcha? You’ll wind up as head boy on Ben Ruben’s barracuda barge…

In that week’s “Skelton Scrapbook of Satire,” Red does a skit with Clem Kadiddlehopper, who gets a summer job at a gas station, and Junior, “the mean widdle kid,” who’s preparing to go on vacation:

NAMAW: Come on…let’s get on with our packing…
JUNIOR: Hey, how come we gonna go away, huh?
NAMAW: Your grandfather’s got a three-week vacation and we’re going to take a trip…we’ll pick him up downtown…
JUNIOR: Uh, where’s we going?
NAMAW: We’re going to Yellowstone National Park, Glacier National Park and then over into Canada…
JUNIOR: Well, does I get to go along, or is this gonna be a pleasure trip?
NAMAW: Well, of course! It’s going to be a wonderful trip!
JUNIOR: Oh goody! You gonna drive?
NAMAW: Yes!
JUNIOR: In our own car?
NAMAW: Yes!
JUNIOR: Pack it up full of groceries and stuff and bags?
NAMAW: Yes!
JUNIOR: Thousands and thousands of miles we’ll travel, huh?
NAMAW: Yes!
JUNIOR: Let’s fly—it’s quicker…
NAMAW: Oh, Junior…you’ll love Glacier Park…wild animals roaming around…
JUNIOR: Competition, huh? Well, you know what I’s gonna do?
NAMAW: What?
JUNIOR: I gonna feed the bear…I gotta real wive bear, I gonna feed him…
NAMAW: No, no…that’s something I want to warn you about right now…you can’t feed the bear…
JUNIOR: Why?
NAMAW: …because when all you have to give them is gone, they’ll bite you…
JUNIOR: Ah, nah…not me, boy…I’ll walk right up to the ol’ bear, and I’ll show him me teeth, you know…and I’ll stand wight there and let him charge me…and if he comes at me on his hind legs…with his mouth open…and his big, sharp teeth…and his fangs ready to bite me… (suddenly upset) Oh no no no no no no no!!!
NAMAW: Junior, what’s the matter?
JUNIOR: I just remembered I ain’t gotta gun, I ain’t gotta gun…
NAMAW: He scared himself…
JUNIOR: Yeah, I scared meself!!!
NAMAW: The bears won’t get you…
JUNIOR: Yes, they will, too…the bears will get me…
NAMAW: Aw, bless his little heart…
JUNIOR: Yeah, bless his widdle heart…
NAMAW: Why, if a bear should bite you, I’ll…I’ll shoot him!
JUNIOR: Yeah… (stopping short) Well, you wouldn’t have to do that, you know…if a bear bites me, in a couple of hours he’ll die from natural causes…

The second broadcast—dated September 9, 1947—is sort of a special occasion for Skelton; it celebrates his tenth year on radio (not on the program, you understand—his show for Raleigh debuted on October 7, 1941). Most of Red’s shows have a tendency to be sort of footloose and fancy free with the ad-libs, but this particular show has a real “loosey goosey” feel to it—he chats with a few members of the audience, and when he asks one gent, “Do you remember when I first went on the air for Raleigh?” the guy shoots back: “I think I was too young to understand you then…”

Listening to some of these Skelton shows, it’s hard not to notice the unsung contributions from Red’s announcer, Rod O’Connor. Announcer Truman Bradley (later of TV’s Science Fiction Theater) was Skelton’s pitchman from 1941-44, and while he read the sponsor’s commercials in a competent manner, O’Connor really added a great deal of zest to the proceedings—he was a great foil for Red, and he often played supporting parts in sketches from the “Scrapbook of Satire.” His timing is pretty first-rate, too; when Red off-handedly remarks that the sponsor doesn’t want any commercials on the show that evening, O’Connor quickly retorts, “Why, is he dead?” In this exchange, Rod plays straight man to perennial moron Clem Kadiddlehopper, who is brought on as the “President” of the “Red Skelton Fan Club”:

CLEM: Well, here I am! (sings) Do do do do do do do do do do do do…yes sirree, it’s good to be back…boy, I should be hot tonight—I just had a light lunch, you know…had a match in my mouth and I swallowed it…boy, it’s a brilliant way to waste money, to ask me to appear on a program…
ROD: Are you Clem Kadiddlehopper?
CLEM: Well, what do I look like, a human being?
ROD: Well, you’ll pardon me for saying so—but I’ve never seen anything like you before…
CLEM: Well, you’ll pardon me for saying so, but I ain’t neither…on second thought, I did…the cat drug it in one day, and…of course, we buried it three days later…
ROD: Well, how did you happen to become a Red Skelton fan?
CLEM (stammering): Uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh…I’ll tell you in just a…well, one day… (ad-libs) had one of my teeth pulled and I talk with a limp now…one day, I was sashaying down the street, minding my bubble gum, see…and I bumped into him…well, I doff my chapeau and I wiggled my ears, kinda cute-like, you know…and I says, “Well, Red Skelton—howdy doody to you!” And he says, “What do you want, imbecile?” Well, sir…it sort of impressed me, the way that he knew me so well…
ROD: And ever since then you’ve been one of his fans?
CLEM: Yes, sir…I never missed one of his radio shows…every Thursday night I sit there, spellbound…
ROD: Thursday night?
CLEM: Yep!
ROD: Red Skelton’s on Tuesday night…
CLEM: He is?
ROD: Yes…
CLEM: Maybe that’s why I enjoy him so much…

It’s a typically funny Skelton broadcast, with a comic look at the highlights of his career (his first appearance on The Rudy Vallee Show, etc.) as dramatized by Red’s characters Willie Lump Lump and Deadeye. And of course. Junior:

(SFX: door open)
JUNIOR: Hey, Namaw! (SFX: door slam) Your widdle thorn in the side is home!
NAMAW: Good…now hurry and get dressed…we’re going to Red Skelton’s anniversary party…
JUNIOR: Red Skelton? You mean that good-lookin’ boy on the wadio?
NAMAW: That’s right…
JUNIOR: The one with the wed hair?
NAMAW: Yes!
JUNIOR: The big guy that talks like widdle kids?
NAMAW: Yes!
JUNIOR: Wouldn’t walk across the street to see the bum…

For further background on this immortal comedy great, I encourage you to check out this website.

From the mailbox and other goodies…

I’ve received a few nifty things in the mail of late, and I thought I would share—first off, my copy of Science Fiction on Radio: A Revised Look at 1950-1975 arrived yesterday. It’s co-written by our good friend, Jim Widner, and when I inquired if he had any more copies he informed me that he did but only a few—apparently his local public radio station snapped up a good many of them to use as premiums when pledge time came around. (You know, if my local NPR station offered goodies like that, I'd contribute more often.) So if you’re interested in grabbing a copy, here’s where you need to be.

I obtained a nice little eBay item the other day—a beautiful-looking lobby card for the 1946 Lum & Abner comedy Partners in Time.

I also got some sensational news that Universal will be releasing some of their classic film noirs on DVD on July 7, 2004—they will consist of The Big Clock (1948), Black Angel (1946), Criss Cross (1949), Double Indemnity (1944) and This Gun For Hire (1942). Of these films, only Double Indemnity has seen DVD action before—it was released by Image Entertainment in 1998 on a no-frills disc that has since gone out of print. I’m hoping that even though they’re priced to sell (Deep Discount DVD, my favorite place to buy DVDs, has them at $9.35 apiece) that they at least include some trailers on them—particularly the one for Big Clock, which features a Suspense radio show tie-in, showcasing star Ray Milland. MGM will be releasing a box set (they're also available separately) of some of the Monogram Charlie Chan films that same day: Charlie Chan in the Secret Service (1944), The Chinese Cat (1944), The Jade Mask (1945), Meeting at Midnight (1944), The Scarlet Clue (1945) and The Shanghai Cobra (1945). It would be nice if 20th Century-Fox followed suit, since they own the rights to the earlier and better Chan films, but after the Fox Movie Channel debacle some time back, it’s probably not likely.

Finally, I received my membership card from the Radio Enthusiasts of Puget Sound (warning: sound) and I've been informed that this and a Johnny Dollar-sized expense account will get me a cup of joe. It's a great organization, based in the Seattle area, and dedicated to keeping the spirit of old-time radio alive. They publish a newsletter, Air Check, and have a voluminous cassette rental library of 6000+ programs, so huge that if you want a printed catalog it’ll cost you ten clams or a CD-ROM is available for five. (It’s accessible via the net, so if you’re online, there’s no need to worry.) They also hold a convention every year that has been characterized by many as one of the finest and although I’ll be unable to attend it sounds as though this year will be a goody—a salute to the Mutual Broadcasting System, with recreations of shows like The Shadow, Superman, Let George Do It, Lum & Abner, The Green Hornet, The Lone Ranger and Quiet, Please on the menu.

“All that makes life seem worthwhile…dwells in your eyes and the spell of your smile…”

October 3, 1946 saw the debut of Jack Benny’s resident tenor-comic Dennis Day in his very own sitcom spin-off: A Day in the Life of Dennis Day (also known as The Dennis Day Show), which enjoyed a five-year run over NBC Radio for Colgate. Day essentially played himself—though not the character who earned $35 a week from Benny (and mowed his lawn to boot). This Day had the same name, but struggled on a much lower salary of $8 a week as a drugstore soda jerk in a little burg called Weaverville. (He could, though, sing just as well as his Benny Program counterpart—some said even better.)

Dennis resided at the Anderson Boarding House, run by a harridan named Mrs. Anderson whose first name I never did learn but whom her husband Herbert affectionately referred to as “Poopsie.” Herbert was played by Francis “Dink” Trout, a radio vet who specialized in creampuff roles like that of Chester A. Riley’s pal Waldo Binney on The Life of Riley. The formidable Mrs. A was portrayed by the wonderful Bea Benaderet for most of the show’s run, though the character was essayed by Paula Winslowe early on. (An audition for A Day in the Life of Dennis Day features Verna Felton as Mother Anderson; Felton, as has been previously noted, played Dennis’ battleaxe of a mom on the Benny show.) Suffice it to say, Mrs. Anderson was not one of Dennis’ fans: Dennis was dating her daughter Mildred (Sharon Douglas, also Barbara Eiler and Betty Miles) and she believed that her progeny could do much, much better, often encouraging Mildred to cast her net for Dennis’ rival, Victor Miller. Actor John Brown completed the supporting cast, playing Mr. Willoughby, the owner of the drugstore where Day plied his soda-jerking trade.

A Day in the Life of Dennis Day is pretty much your typical, run-of-the-mill situation comedy, but it’s buoyed immeasurably by Day’s wonderful singing voice (he often did two or more musical numbers per show, like McNamara’s Band and September Song) and great comedic talent. He had a real gift for dialect humor: a November 14, 1946 episode finds him convincing his boss to sponsor a dramatic show on radio, and he ends up having to play practically all the parts himself. (This broadcast also has an amusing in-joke gag: when the radio station’s salesman asks if he’s ever listened to The Jack Benny Program, Dennis replies: “No sir…for some reason, I’m never home.”) A broadcast from January 22, 1947 provides an excellent example of Day’s show; Mr. and Mrs. Anderson have mistaken Dennis for missing heir (and wealthy playboy) Schuyler Van Renseleer:

MRS. ANDERSON: Dennis! I, uh, I want to talk to you…
DENNIS: To me, Mrs. Anderson?
MRS. ANDERSON: Yes…do you know who you are, my boy?
DENNIS: Why—yes, ma’am…I think so…
MRS. ANDERSON: Who?
DENNIS: Well…offhand, I’d say I was me…
MRS. ANDERSON: No.
DENNIS: I’m not?
MRS. ANDERSON: Definitely not…we have proof…
DENNIS: Gee—I was so certain, too…
MRS. ANDERSON: Now, Dennis…try to think…do you remember your father?
DENNIS: Oh, sure…he was a relative of mine…
MRS. ANDERSON: Did he ever discuss with you what you’d be doing in your later life?
DENNIS: Well, let’s see…I do remember my father saying he'd hope I grow up…
MRS. ANDERSON (interrupting): Yes?
DENNIS: …that’s all…
MRS. ANDERSON: We’ll try a new tack…what do you know about your birth?
DENNIS: Well…I’m pretty sure it happened…
MRS. ANDERSON: I don’t mean that…do you remember where you were born?
DENNIS: Well, Mother told me it was in a small town out West…
MRS. ANDERSON: Wrong! You were born in a big Eastern city…
DENNIS: Oh…well, anyway, it was in 1925…
MRS. ANDERSON: Wrong again! It was 1926…
DENNIS: In June?
MRS. ANDERSON: November…
DENNIS: Gee…Mother didn’t know much about me, did she?

Since the person that finds “Schuyler” will collect a $10,000 reward, Mr. Willoughby suggests to Mrs. Anderson that they send Dennis to a psychiatrist (Elliott Lewis), who soon begins to sympathize with what Jack Benny had to put up with week after week after spending time with the addlebrained Day. The doc resorts to hypnotizing Dennis into thinking he’s Van Renseleer, and of course—the wacky complications ensue:

(SFX: door opening)
MR. ANDERSON: Dennis!
DENNIS: The name is Schuyler, shorty! Who are you?
MR. ANDERSON: Why…why, don’t you know me? I’m Herbert Anderson…
DENNIS: Glad to meet ya, Herbie! Is that all there is of you or are you standing in a manhole?
MR. ANDERSON: My goodness gracious…
MRS. ANDERSON: Oh, there you are, Dennis…you’re back…
DENNIS: Who’s this character, Shorty? Your mother?
MRS. ANDERSON: Oh! Why, how dare you…!!!
DENNIS: Skip it, babe…
MRS. ANDERSON: Babe? Why, you’ve never called me anything but Mrs. Anderson in your life!
DENNIS: Well, don’t crowd your luck!
MRS. ANDERSON: Oh! My goodness…
DENNIS: Well, how about a little snort, huh? Just a single Scotch with a gin chaser for me—I’m on the wagon…

In the second broadcast (2/12/47) that I listened to last night at work, Mr. Willoughby finds himself in trouble when he gets a tad too friendly with a chorus girl at a lodge function. Dixie, the girl in question, comes around to the drugstore with a compromising photo of Mr. W (she’s sitting on his lap, folks—after all, this is 1947) and threatens to tell the wife. So Willoughby cons her into thinking that Dennis is the president of the drugstore chain, and she latches onto our hero like Velcro. To further complicate matters, Mrs. Willoughby needs Dennis to pretend to be her husband in order to pick up a refrigerator she’s won (Mr. W has hightailed it on a fishing trip in the meantime), and naturally, Mildred is upset that her beau has suddenly become a regular chick magnet.

Old-time radio historian John Dunning observes in On the Air: The Encyclopedia of Old-Time Radio that A Day in the Life of Dennis Day underwent a format change around 1950, becoming a variety show with Dennis as master of ceremonies. Since most of the sixty-some extant episodes of the series are from 1946-49, I guess we’ll have to take John’s word on this (of course, he may be referring to Day’s program The Dennis Show, which ran over NBC from September 19, 1954 to March 20, 1955). But a pair of AFRS broadcasts (dated June 3rd and 10th of 1950) that I obtained through Ed Carr sometime back does provide evidence that there was at least one change on the program: these two shows have Dennis shaking the Weaverville dust off his boots and in Hollywood, where he’s become a struggling actor. (The Andersons have disappeared, but Bea Benaderet was still on the program, playing Dennis’s Irish landlady.)

“Oh…is that you, Myrt?”

This weekend, I decided to watch another one of the DVDs that I purchased recently from Finders Keepers—the 1941 RKO feature film comedy Look Who’s Laughing, starring Edgar Bergen with Charlie McCarthy, and Jim and Marian Jordan as Fibber McGee & Molly. I’d seen the film previously—it shows up frequently on Turner Classic Movies (TCM), though I think the time I watched it was when Turner Network Television (TNT) still showed classic movies (no, I’m not dating myself, am I)—and after treating myself to an encore I found it to be just as delightful as ever.

In fact, let me go a bit further and praise this movie as one of the best radio-based films ever made. It’s difficult to reach a consensus on just what makes an OTR-themed movie great or successful—a good many folks often have harsh words for films of this type, falling back on the “it isn’t as good/it can’t capture the essence of the radio show” gripe. Personally, I tend to be a little lenient in this area, I think probably because of the sheer novelty and because I’m also a sucker for a well-made B-film. For example, most of the Lum & Abner feature films fall woefully short of what critics would call great or even good movies—but I don’t mind; they’re short, sweet, and endlessly entertaining.

The plot of Look Who’s Laughing—well, I’m not going to lie to you: it’s painfully thin. Edgar & Charlie are forced to land Bergen’s plane in Wistful Vista during a vacation trip, and naturally meet the town’s best-known residents, Fibber & Molly McGee. The Fibster, as president of the Chamber of Commerce, has been out beating the bushes to get an aircraft manufacturer to build a factory in town; Edgar is very good friends with same and so he agrees to help the community out. There are, of course, numerous complications along the way (the movie is 78 minutes, they gotta do something)—but finally the deal is struck and everything comes out in the wash.

In addition to the movie’s four major players, there are also appearances by other old-time radio stars: Lucille Ball (though she’s seven years away from her hit sitcom My Favorite Husband) has a plum role as Julie, Edgar’s secretary and love interest, and Harold Peary is along for the ride as famed Fibber nemesis Throckmorton P. Gildersleeve. (Ball and Perry were later re-teamed in a 1942 musical-comedy, Seven Days’ Leave, in which Hal once again played Gildy, and Lucy is a girl that star Victor Mature has to marry in order to collect an inheritance—shades of the Buster Keaton classic Seven Chances!)

This movie also includes appearances from many of the actors that populated Fibber and Molly’s burg: Isabel Randolph, Harlow Wilcox, Bill Thompson and Arthur Q. Bryan. Of these four, only Randolph reprises a radio role as one of the residents of Wistful Vista, society dowager Abigail Uppington; both Thompson and Bryan (who didn’t start playing the town’s medico, Doc Gamble, until 1943) have uncredited bits (as a veteran and a mayor’s aide, respectfully) and Harlow is Mr. Collins, the bank president (no Glocoat pushing here!) Thompson would appear in 1942’s sequel Here We Go Again as Wallace Wimple (“Hello, folks…”). Other great character actors and old-time radio personalities include Neil (Batman) Hamilton, Charles Halton, Jed Prouty, George Cleveland, Sara Berner, Charles Lane and Sterling Holloway (as a soda jerk).

Though the plot of Look Who’s Laughing isn’t particularly compelling, the comedy material provided for Edgar, Charlie and the McGees is first-rate—Zeno Klinker and Dorothy Kingsley, two scribes from Bergen’s radio show, keep him and his dummy supplied with plenty of laugh-getting quips, while Fibber & Molly receive assistance from creator-writer Don Quinn and Leonard L. Levinson (Levinson would later assume the post of head writer for Hal Peary’s spin-off The Great Gildersleeve). There are a couple of prized physical comedy sequences here as well; one involves an out-of-control dishwasher and the other a wild airplane that’s so well-done I didn’t even mind that it involves obvious stuntmen, miniatures and process-screen work.

Look Who’s Laughing was the second feature film showcasing the Jordans as the famous radio couple (their debut was 1937’s This Way Please, which also features solo work by Mrs. Jack Benny, Mary Livingstone) and the notion of teaming them with Edgar & Charlie was a stroke of genius. The film did well at the box-office, prompting the four stars to re-team for Here We Go Again. An attempt at future Fibber & Molly vehicles fizzled out with 1944’s Heavenly Days, a bouncy wartime comedy-musical that has its moments, but can’t hold a candle to its earlier celluloid siblings. I'd heartily recommend Look Who's Laughing, though, and I would most enthusiastically recommend purchasing it from Finders Keepers; their print is simply superb.