“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.

OTR on the (small) screen

I was doing a little random surfing earlier this morning, and I skated on over to Finders Keepers, a nice little video/DVD business overseen by the Grams siblings, Martin, Jr. ("the Isaac Asimov of OTR books") and Virginia. I have been meaning to make a purchase from them for quite some time now, yet something always seems to cut in line--but I had a little disposal income this payday, and I figured I would order a few titles. (Martin scored a VHS copy of Abbott & Costello's It Ain't Hay for me a while back, so I knew the movie quality was top-notch.)

They have so many great offerings over at the website, it's difficult not to go hog wild--but I settled on five choices, which I hope to be able to review here on the blog in the upcoming weeks: Goin' to Town (1944), the fifth Lum & Abner feature (I decided not to wait on Critics' Choice Video for this one); Look Who's Laughing (1941) and sequel Here We Go Again (1942), the two RKO films starring Edgar Bergen & Charlie McCarthy and Fibber McGee & Molly (I saw these years ago when I still had TCM, but it will nice to revisit); The Life of Riley (1948) (I've not seen this one but the positive buzz is that it's one of the best OTR-to-film offerings); and Charlie McCarthy, Detective (1939), another film that I have not seen but am anxious to view.

Martin gave the OTR Digest a heads up sometime back that they were going to discontinue a few titles, and I noticed that the Our Miss Brooks television episodes they had for sale have disappeared. (I could kick myself for not ordering those sooner.) I should get the above titles in about 2-3 weeks, so as soon as they arrive I will offer up my thoughts.