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Reviews
From Headquarters (1933)
A curio of creaky ciminology
As a mystery, From Headquarters isn't very challenging, but it might hold your interest as a behind-the-scenes glimpse of police procedure. The film is at its best when showing the details of a typical murder investigation, including two scenes that prove how little ballistic testing has changed in more than five decades. Another plus is the photography, which generally rises above other programmers of its ilk. [In one set-up, the camera establishes a shot of an autopsy in progress and then takes the vantage of the corpse looking up at the doctors.] There is also a pre-code reference to drug addiction, personified by a murder suspect (Dorothy Burgess) who is a riot of facial ticks, jitters and hysterical laughter. The cast is competant, if largely uninspired, with leads Brent and Lindsay their usual drab selves. Some of the supporting players--Hobart Cavanaugh's non-comic safe cracker, Hugh Herbert's pesky bail bondsman, Edward Ellis's enthusiastic forensics man and Robert Barrat's eccentric rug importer--are decidedly better. Not one of director Dieterle's best, but an interesting curio all the same.
Broadway Hostess (1935)
A Broadway Bore
What promises to be a light "rags-to-riches" musical-comedy, quickly devolves into a tedious melodrama. The script is weak, the characters drab, the editing choppy and most of the performances wooden. The picture comes to life only when Allen Jenkins' cocky "Fishcake" is on screen; his scene on a runaway horse sets an energetic pace that the rest of the film would have done well to emulate.
Death on the Diamond (1934)
An atmospheric mystery
As a mystery, Death on the Diamond contains all of the genre trappings to keep you guessing until the end. Nearly half of the cast is set up as "red herrings" and if the unmasking of the real killer is something of a disappointment, it really doesn't matter. The real reason to watch this curio is its cast. Robert Young, one of Hollywood's most underrated leading men, is fine as the cocky star pitcher; his opening scene with Madge Bellamy, who is equally good, crackles with snappy dialogue. Nat Pendleton, as a beefy slugger, and Ted Healy, as a touchy umpire, make a fine comic duo. [Healy's reaction to his pal's untimely demise is surprisingly touching.] And look fast for Walter Brennan as a hot dog vendor and Ward Bond as a cop. The film is rife with an atmosphere of golden age baseball, which helps elevate an average mystery into something imminently watchable.
Rhythmitis (1936)
Silly, but Fun
While the plot is silly, this musical short is light and fun. Hal LeRoy performs some snappy tap steps and Toby Wing is awfully cute. (Even if her dumb blonde routine is tiresome.) The music is mundane, but there is one incredible dance routine involving a tuxedo-clad man on stilts.
Twelve Crowded Hours (1939)
A breezy "B"
Twelve Crowded Hours is a tidy, swift and enjoyable little "crime comedy". Richard Dix, who seemed much more at ease in these programmers than in "A" features, is good as the newspaper reporter trying to bring the mobster responsible for his editor's death to justice. He manages to temper the character's innate cockiness and make him likeable. Lucille Ball enthusiasts may be disappointed with her role here; even though she has a few funny lines, her Paula Sanders is drab. Coming off much better are Donald MacBride as the sour detective and Cy Kendall as the burly mob boss. (The type of higher-profile role he should have had more often.) A nice, breezy 64 minutes.
The Man from Monterey (1933)
Don't bother
The Man from Monterey has virtually nothing to offer the movie fan, not even the John Wayne completist. Its story is hackneyed, its actor's mostly amateurish and their character's boring. On the plus side, the exterior scenery is pleasant and Luis Alberni gives a comic performance that, while not especially funny, seems positively inspired compared with the rest of the cast. But undoubtedly the movie's greatest asset is that it lasts less than an hour.
The Man Who Found Himself (1937)
A pleasant little "B"
The Man Who Found Himself is the kind of film that is light and enjoyable, but very easy to forget. John Beal, best remembered for his role as The Little Minister (1934), is likeable as a young surgeon disillusioned with his profession after a scandal earns him a suspension. Despite his character's inherent cockiness, Beal manages to maintain our sympathy throughout. This marked the film debut of Joan Fontaine, who is charming, if a little uncertain, as the pretty nurse who helps Beal's doctor "find himself". The rest of the cast is fine, particularly Billy Gilbert as a loquacious hobo and Jimmy Conlin as a "nosey" reporter. It is also interesting to note that the film is a reunion, of sorts, for Dwight Frye and Edward Van Sloan, who had co-starred several years earlier in Dracula (1931) and Frankenstein (1931). [Unfortunately, they don't get a chance to interact and their roles are woefully undernourished.] Despite the basic formulaic nature of the story, the script manages to be surprisingly fresh at times, particularly in the very "grown up" speech Jim's fiance (Jane Walsh) delivers when he asks her to run away with him. ["I'm sorry, Jim, I can't do it. I promised to marry Dr. James Stanton of Park Avenue. I'm not interested in country doctors."] And some of the special effect miniatures, like a train derailment and a hospital plane landing near the wreckage, while primitive by modern standards, are fun nonetheless. A nice little film and a diverting 67 minutes.
Banjo on My Knee (1936)
A charming musical-comedy
What Banjo on My Knee lacks in original story or compelling themes, it makes up for with warm, funny characters brought to life by delightful actors. Barbara Stanwyck shines as the uneducated "land girl", who marries Joel McCrea's "river boy" despite significant differences in their background and world view. Walter Brennan assays one of his best roles as McCrea's good-natured, contraption-playing father. ("When I'm low, it's music I need " he says, before launching into a song with his one-man band.) Buddy Ebsen, singing and dancing to the title tune, Walter Catlett, as a would-be lothario in hapless pursuit of Stanwyck, and Katherine DeMille, as a voluptuous harpy after McCrea, all turn in fine performances. One of the best elements in the film, however, is the music. We not only have Brennan 's rousing renditions of "Dixie" and "St. Louis Blues", but the latter tune rendered to perfection by the marvelous Hall Johnson Choir. The film doesn 't maintain the same level of charm found in its opening scenes throughout its length, but there is enough comedy and music to make Banjo on My Knee a film worth seeing.