Awkward Early Talkie Theatre: "Lights of New York"

The opening exchange of the 1928 film "Lights of New York," a conversation between two gangsters in a hotel room, goes something like this:

Gangster 1: The bootleg rap against us has been dropped -- and we can go back to the big town tomorrow.

(Long pause, during which Lindbergh flies the Atlantic)

Gangster 2: Great! And what are we gonna use for money when we get there? Our bootleg joint is empty and we need dough!

(Long pause, during which Alexander Fleming invents penicillin)

Gangster 1: I've been taking care of that! You know that barber downstairs? He looks like a cinch to me. And after the talks we've been having, he thinks that joint of ours is a regular barber shop and not a speakeasy!

Billed as the first 100% all-talking film, "Lights of New York" should also get credit as a 100% all-pausing film. There are large cushions of air between every line of dialogue, and sometimes between words. And to include exclamation points in the dialogue is kind of misleading -- it implies that the actors deliver lines with some sort of emotion, and for the most part they don't.

But it didn't really matter. The film's novelty assured its financial success -- it was the second-highest grossing movie of 1928, beaten only by Al Jolson's "The Singing Fool." Still, even contemporary reviewers were less than impressed. Wrote Variety:

"It's that kind of a sappy mixture, the kind that recalls the mellers [melodramas] of ... ages ago. ... In a year from now everyone concerned in 'Lights of New York' will run for the river before looking at it again. ... [S]till, this talker will have pulling power, and the Warners' should get credit for nerve even if they didn't do it with a polish."

"Lights of New York" is the story of two small-town barbers -- Eddie (Cullen Landis) and Gene (Eugene Pallette). They are plying their trade in a hotel run by Eddie's mother. But they have dreams -- dreams of being big-time barbers in the Big Apple! Shearing scalps in the city that never sleeps! Scraping their straight razors across the mugs of Babe Ruth! Herbert Hoover! Fanny Brice! Here they discuss it, at length:

As illustrated above, people don't just say their lines in this movie -- they recite them. There's a lot of standing and proclaiming, and a lot of hooking of thumbs into vests. And there's music -- always music. In movies like this, a soundtrack is something to fill up, and music incessantly plays on the soundtrack whether or not it has any relation to the action.

Anyway, Eddie and Gene get a loan from Eddie's kindly mother and they set out for the concrete canyons. Six months pass, and Gene and Eddie realize they've been had. "About the only thing I shave around here are labels off bottles," sez Gene. (In fact, these guys never have any customers in the small town or in the big city. Maybe they're just lousy barbers!)

Eddie has rekindled a relationship with Kitty (Helene Costello), a girl from his hometown who works at a nightclub run by the evil bootlegger Hawk Miller (Wheeler Oakman). In a scene set in what we're told is "Central Park," Eddie and Kitty bemoan their fates. This clip has a little bit of everything -- cheesy sets, a line flub, bad acting and deadly pauses:

Then we hie to the nightclub, where we meet owner Hawk Miller and his mistress, Molly . They've been together a long time, and Hawk is starting to ogle the chorus girls, particularly Kitty.

Molly (to Hawk): You're a hound for chickens, ain't ya? You might get indigestion from too much chicken.

(Long pause during which wood turns to coal)

Hawk: Well, if I will, it won't be from an old hen.  
Hawk has killed a cop in the process of transporting illegal hooch, and he plans to frame Eddie for the murder. But when he confronts Eddie at the barber shop, a shot is fired! And the Hawk is grounded in one of the clumsiest death scenes you'll ever see.

And just when you think things can't any worse, enter Det. Crosby (Robert Elliott), whose slow cadences make everyone else seem like they're on cocaine. Molly the mistress confesses to the killing of Hawk, and Crosby stretches ten words into what seems like ten minutes:

The film careers of the romantic leads, Cullen Landis and Helene Costello, were kaput by 1930. Gladys Brockwell, who actually acts a little as Molly, was killed in a 1929 car crash. The only folks whose careers survived "Lights of New York" were Pallette; the cop, Robert Elliott (who went on to play dozens of cops); and Tom Dugan, who played comic bits in dozens of movies and, during World War II, found himself playing Hitler or Hitler surrogates in movies such as "Star Spangled Rhythm" and "To Be or Not to Be."

A Tale of Two Philos: "The Bishop Murder Case" and "The Kennel Murder Case"

"The Bishop Murder Case" and "The Kennel Murder Case" take place next door to each other.


Well, close, anyway.

They're both set in mansions in New York City, and they both feature murders solved by Philo Vance, S.S. Van Dine's smooth Shamus who isn't even slightly embarrassed about his first name. (In Van Dine's later book "The Gracie Allen Murder Case," the comic actress keeps calling him "Fido.")


And truthfully, there's hardly a dime's worth of difference between the performances of Basil Rathbone, who plays Vance in "Bishop," and William Powell, who played Vance in "Kennel," among others.







But there's a big difference between the two films -- even though they were made only three years apart, huge advances in film acting, storytelling and technical ability are clearly evident.

"The Bishop Murder Case," released in 1930, is an early talkie. And to get an idea of the film's slow pace, creaky performances and technical timidity, take a look at the opening sequence:



It isn't totally the fault of director Nick Grinde that the movie looks more like a filmed play -- there were limitations on the camera based largely on the new process of sound recording. And it shows.

But the movie is plagued by another problem that can't be blamed on the camera -- aside from Rathbone and Roland Young, who plays a suspect, the rest of the cast doesn't just chew the scenery -- they cram it down their throats while smacking their lips and belching. (Figuratively speaking, of course.) This movie is filled with supporting characters who widen their eyes ultra-theatrically while enunciating their dialogue as if they learned it phonetically. Calm down, people!

The idea is that folks keep getting murdered in the style of nursery rhymes -- a man named Robin is shot with an arrow, just like Cock Robin. A hunchback falls off a wall, just like Humpty Dumpty. And the murders center around elderly professor Dillard (pronounced Dull-AHRD) and his niece Belle (Leila Hyams). Another murder occurs in Central Park, where Belle has been summoned by her fiancee, played by Young, and it's staged in an agreeably creepy way:



The man's name is Jack, and he falls down (well, he was pushed) and breaks his crown.

Vance is on the case, and as always, his frenemy is Det. Sgt. Heath, here played by James Donlan. Heath's job is to consistently reach the wrong, but most obvious, conclusions about murders and suspects, and he makes fun of Vance's theories. In this nice scene, Vance shows Heath just how sound his theories are:



As stilted as "The Bishop Murder Case" can be, that's how slick "The Kennel Murder Case" is. Under the direction of Michael Curtiz, the story unfolds with speed and confidence, and backing up Powell is an expert group including Mary Astor, Eugene Pallette (as Det. Sgt. Heath), Ralph Morgan, Robert Barrat, Jack LaRue and Helen Vinson. Unlike most of the cast in "The Bishop Murder Case," these people knew how to modulate their performances for the movie camera.

The murder story here nominally involves dogs -- it begins at the Long Island Kennel Club, where Vance is showing his scotch terrier in competition against arrogant rich guy Archer Coe (Barrat). Also on hand is Coe's niece Hilda (Astor), who hates hates hates her uncle, and her beau, Sir Thomas MacDonald (Paul Cavanagh).

Sir Thomas's terrier turns up dead (not a euphemism), and suspicion centers on Coe, but it isn't long before he himself is found dead in his locked bedroom. Vance is just about to sail for Europe, but when he hears of the murder he calls the district attorney. Splitscreen powers activate!



The temptation is too great, and Vance jumps ship to solve the mystery.

Meanwhile, back at the Coe mansion, assumptions are being jumped to. Suicide, says the ever-reliable Heath, but Vance proves it isn't. He figures out that Coe was murdered, and the killer used an ingenious little pulley system to lock the door behind him:



Vance's next job is to narrow down the suspects from the list of approximately eight million people who hated Coe's guts. And when Sir Thomas ends up being hurt in an attack that no one actually witnessed, suspicion falls on him:



"The Kennel Murder Case" includes several flashback sequences, which were unheard of in 1930, and a fair amount of humor, mostly involving Etienne Giradot as a fussy coroner who keeps getting his meals interrupted by the number of dead people who turn up at Coe's house. Powell isn't quite as droll here as he would be as Nick Charles in the next year's "The Thin Man," but he's just as sharp and dapper.

Here are the credits for "The Bishop Murder Case," and a trailer:



Here are the credits for "The Kennel Murder Case," and a trailer: