"Bannerline" and the Keefe Brasselle Story

"Bannerline" isn't much of a movie and Keefe Brasselle isn't much of an actor.

So why am I writing this?

Because Brasselle had a minor acting career, and, considering what came later, which we will detail below, it's kind of interesting to see him in action.

Also, to watch "Bannerline" is to watch a great movie studio -- MGM -- slowly dying, along with two of its acting stalwarts, Lewis Stone and Lionel Barrymore.

One of the last films produced under the watch of Louis B. Mayer, "Bannerline" takes place in the small town of Backlotsville, on the same streets which the late Mickey Rooney probably trod as Andy Hardy.
 
Brasselle plays Mike Perrivale, a cub reporter for the town paper, the Clarion. The paper's owner keeps assigning fluff pieces to Mike, and he's never allowed to write anything about the town's crime lord, Scarbine (J. Carrol Naish). Mike's fiancee (Sally Forrest) tips him to a story -- the town's beloved high school history teacher, Trimble (Barrymore), is on his death bed. Encouraged by the paper's wizened layout editor, Josh (Stone), Mike interviews Trimble, who expresses anger that the citizens (and the newspaper) are reluctant to take on Scarbine:



Mike gets an idea -- since Trimble is expected to die the next day, why not make up a fake edition of the Tribune that reports the end of Scarbine's corrupt reign so he can go happily? Josh helps out, and even the paper's editor chips in, with the understanding that they will produce only a few copies as souvenirs and one for Trimble.

Lewis Stone, twilight edition.

Then, after everyone has gone home, Mike and Josh get another idea -- to print and distribute the fake newspaper to everyone in town. Since this is an MGM movie made in 1951 under Mayer, the unthinkable comes true without a lot of fuss or bother, and your lowest expectations are met -- Scarbine is incarcerated, Trimble dies a fulfilled man and everyone else lives happily ever after.

"Bannerline" is MGM at its smarmiest -- full of fake sentiment (with Spring Byington as Mike's plucky mother-in-law to be), noble speeches (Barrymore is largely immobile but still bites off his lines with vigor) and cute romantic situations between Brasselle and Forrest. Both Barrymore and Stone were just a few years from death (two years hence, in 1953, Stone would collapse and die from a heart attack after -- seriously -- chasing some kids off his lawn) and they class up the joint a bit, but there's just nothing to get excited about here. There were a lot of interesting innovations happening in Hollywood movies in 1951, but "Bannerline" doesn't reflect any of them. It might just as well have been made ten years earlier.  

So much for "Bannerline." Now for a little more about Brasselle.

Born in Ohio as John Brasselli, he came west and made his movie debut in 1944, playing small parts in films like "The Babe Ruth Story" and "T Men." In 1951, the same year he made "Bannerline," he also appeared in a small part in "A Place in the Sun." In 1953, he was cast in what could have been a star-making role -- as the lead in "The Eddie Cantor Story," lip synching to songs while Cantor supplied the singing. He appeared on "The Colgate Comedy Hour" to promote the film in a swaggering, charisma-free performance:

Really?

Brasselle's work in the film was widely panned and it was a failure at the box office. He made only a handful of movies over the rest of the decade.

Then in 1961, Brasselle appeared in the news when the New Jersey nightclub he owned caught on fire -- with six gasoline cans found nearby. He was also dogged with rumored mob connections -- he was the godson of mobster Joe Profaci.

In the summer of 1963, Brasselle popped up, seemingly out of nowhere, on CBS as the host of a summer replacement variety show. When producer Greg Garrison yelled at Brasselle for missing an entrance, Brasselle put a hit on him. Garrison hid out at the apartment of a show regular, former prizefighter Rocky Graziano, who straightened things out. 

The president of CBS at the time was James Aubrey, a mercurial fellow who was known as "the smiling cobra." Aubrey had built CBS into a ratings powerhouse by scheduling light fare that emphasized, as he stated in a memo, "broads, bosoms and fun" -- hits like "The Beverly Hillbillies," "The Dick Van Dyke Show," "The Andy Griffith Show," "Gunsmoke," "The Red Skelton Hour," "The Lucy Show" and "Candid Camera."

For whatever reason -- the mob connections or just plain greed -- Aubrey threw his lot in with Brasselle for the 1964-65 season. On CBS's fall schedule were three new shows from Brasselle's Richelieu Productions. The company had never produced a TV series, and the shows didn't even shoot pilot episodes. What's more, they all had artificially high production costs that screamed "kickback." None of the three -- "The Baileys of Balboa," "The Cara Williams Show" and "The Reporter" -- lasted more than a season, and in early 1965 a CBS shareholder charged Aubrey and Brasselle with conspiracy to defraud the network.

Aubrey resigned shortly thereafter, and Brasselle became bitter. He wrote a work of fiction, "The CanniBalS," based on the experience. In interviews he blamed everyone in Hollywood for his failure, and Hollywood reciprocated by leaving him totally alone.

Brasselle's last film, which he co-directed, was "If You Don't Stop It ... You'll Go Blind!," a R-rated drive-in quickie that was released in 1975. He died of liver cancer in 1981, at age 58.

Just one more thing -- Brasselle's "Colgate Comedy Hour" appearance reminds me of the episode of "The Dick Van Dyke Show" where Rob, Buddy and Sally are forced into writing a nightclub act for the no-talent nephew of a mobster (played by executive producer Sheldon Leonard):

"Strictly Dishonorable," or The Fox and the Hound

Preston Sturges's "Strictly Dishonorable" is a story about love, honor, happiness and the relative merits of living in West Orange, New Jersey.

The play had been a hit on Broadway, and Universal bought the rights for a then-unprecedented $125,000 -- not bad for something that Sturges wrote in six days.

The 1931 film version of "Strictly Dishonorable" is basically a filmed play, and as a pre-code film it has an adult tone that the 1951 remake would lack, although it isn't nearly as spicy as the poster at left (boiinnnnng!) would imply.

True, the story is stage-bound in many ways -- the plot is very linear and director John M. Stahl shoots the scenes in long takes; characters are disposed of and re-introduced the old-fashioned way, through old-school entrances and exits. But there are plenty of examples of Sturges's trademark wit, and a bit of cheerful cynicism that blends well with the sweet, romantic story.

We open in a speakeasy in a New York City apartment hotel. The place is run by the genial Tomasso (William Ricciardi, repeating his Broadway role), who treats his long-term guests like family. One of them is Judge Dempsey (Lewis Stone), a philosophical type who provides free legal advice to Tomasso in exchange for an old-fashioned or three. Dempsey was the maiden name of Sturges's mother, and the judge is very lovable and sympathetic.

Into the speak walks Henry Greene (George Meeker) and his fiancee, Isabella Parry (Sidney Fox). They've driven from their home with Henry's folks in West Orange, NJ for a night on the town, and Henry can't wait to have a nightcap and then escape from the "dirty" city. On the other hand, Isabella, a Southern belle from Mississippi, loves it. Henry's a bond broker, and as humorless and as pompous as a contemporary Wall Streeter.  

We learn Isabella's story -- she grew up on a plantation where things were flush, but tough times came "when cotton got high [and] women stopped wearing underwear." Henry came along as her knight in shining armor, and he never lets her forget it. "You just leave your happiness to me," he tells her, "and you won't have a thing to worry about." She, on the other hand, seems frighteningly ready to be subservient to him.  

The Judge can't help but notice this -- and when Henry starts pontificating about life in West Orange, the Judge becomes one of the first in a long line of Sturges characters to give the raspberry to small-town life:


The Judge's joshing brings Henry to a boil, and it gets worse when Gus Di Ruvo (Paul Lukas) enters. Gus is another resident of the hotel. He's a bit of a hound where the ladies are concerned, and he's also -- although he doesn't make a big deal about it -- a famous opera singer.

Isabella loves opera. Gus likes Isabella. Henry no like. He explodes and starts throwing the word "dago" around, which is a bad idea in a room where seven-eighths of the occupants speak Italian.

And, at last, Isabella reaches her limit. She gives him back her engagement ring and he leaves in a huff. (A two-door huff, to paraphrase Groucho Marx.)

Isabella: There's been something the matter with me for months and I didn't know what it was.

Judge: What was it?

Isabella: It was Henry. Entirely too much Henry.

The Judge agrees, adding that Henry threw "honor" around as if it was a weapon. "Honor should be tempered with the milk of human kindness," he says, "if you can temper anything with milk. And I'm afraid too much honor is apt to curdle the milk."

At any rate, Isabella is stranded at the hotel, but she doesn't mind. She'd like to spend the night with Gus, and at first he's open to the idea, until he realizes how young and inexperienced she is. Then HIS honor comes into play, even as he wishes it wouldn't:


The Judge hovers like an overprotective parent to make sure Isabella stays out of harm's way, but he doesn't need to -- Gus ends up sleeping in the Judge's apartment. The next morning, Isabella awakens as chaste (and as chased) as ever, but Henry returns and immediately starts assuming the worst.

Henry: Are you pure?

Isabella: Are YOU pure?

Henry: That's entirely different!

Despite the threat -- I mean appeal -- of life with Henry, Isabella can't resist the charms of Gus:


"Strictly Dishonorable" doesn't exactly move at a fast pace, but there are pleasures to be had in Sturges's dialogue and the performances of Lukas and Stone. Most impressive of all, however, is the petite Fox, whose career flagged in the mid-1930s. She gives Isabella a quiet charm and warmth -- you understand exactly what Gus sees in her and why he's ready to give up his playboy days. Unlike her placid, centered character, Fox was plagued by depression, and she died of a sleeping pill overdose in 1942. Here is a tribute to her career:

"Mata Hari," or A Kiss Before Spying

Toward the end of the 1931 film "Mata Hari," our titular heroine (Greta Garbo) has come to a military hospital to see her lover, Alexi (Ramon Novarro), who has been blinded. She is carrying flowers, and when she encounters another blind soldier who is embittered and helpless, she is touched by his vulnerability and leaves them with him. Then she walks past yet another blinded vet who is sitting in the hallway playing "Ave Maria" on the violin before entering Alexi's room, where she takes the place of a nun who is nursing him.

And at this point, you start to think, if it hasn't occurred to you already, that "Mata Hari" lays it on a bit thick.

The movie is, after all, the story of a German spy, not Mother Teresa. True, even in this highly fictionalized form, Mata has her mean moments. But most of the movie is devoted to building a pedestal for Garbo to radiate from -- the character's exploits take a back seat to costuming, bejeweling, set decoration and lighting designed to make Mata Hari look like a cross between a Madonna and a courtesan.

See?

We open on a firing squad, where men who have given secrets to Mata (even Mischa Auer!) are now facing their doom. The French investigator DuBois (C. Henry Gordon, aka Evil Fred Astaire) is unable to get anything out of the men, so shots ring out and down they go. DuBois decides he must see this Mata Hari for himself and decides to attend her performance that evening.

"Such is war," a man says to DuBois. "Some dance and some die."

"And some," says DuBois, "will do both."

That night, there's a packed house to see Mata do the hoochi-coo. Also in the audience, along with DuBois, is the Russian General Shubin (Lionel Barrymore) and Lt. Alexis Rosanoff (Novarro). Once Mata comes out the men snap to attention, even though they're sitting down:



In case you haven't figured out by now, and I'm not sure how you haven't, Mata Hari's beauty and smooth dance moves drive men mad, mad I tell you! And by using her feminine wiles, she picks up military secrets for the Germans all over the place. Sometimes she takes the secrets and slips them inside a vaginal-shaped orchid she carries around with her.

Lewis Stone and his toupee play Mata's boss, the inscrutable Andriani. Barrymore is one of her many conquests. And Mata is blase about men until she meets Alexi. He comes to her chambers. She pays no attention to him and starts playing the piano, but when he kisses her right on the glissando, she changes her tune.

Then Mata realizes that she has to steal secrets from Alexi, too. So the next night she visits him and allows him to seduce her:   



Alas, Mata has begun to fall in love with her target. And this displeases Andriani. "A spy in love," he says, "is a tool that has outlived its usefulness." He sends an assassin to dispense with her -- a guy with a clubfoot who follows her everywhere. And she doesn't even notice him. Some spy.

"Mata Hari" ends where it began, in the shadow of the firing squad. Mata is in prison, but she has tricked Alexi, who can't see, into thinking that it's a sanitarium where she has gone for minor surgery, and the guards all play along:



If anyone could sell the absurd romanticism of a movie like "Mata Hari," it's Garbo, but even for her this is heavy sledding. Still, even when she didn't play exotic characters, she was still capable of driving men mad, mad I tell you!

Here are the full credits for "Mata Hari," and a trailer:



 

"The Big House," or Slammer Time

In the 1930 film "The Big House" people are constantly dwarfed by their surroundings. The prison where most of the story takes place is full of high walls and towers but it's also claustrophobic, crammed with sweaty prisoners sleeping three to a cell and filling the courtyard like a swarm of ants.


We first see the prison from the viewpoint of a new prisoner, Kent (Robert Montgomery). The paddy wagon that transports him to the gates is overwhelmed by the structure itself in a striking opening shot:



Once he enters, Kent is systematically reduced from a normal guy to just another convict -- they're givin' him a number and takin' way his name.

Kent is there because he's been found guilty of being a standoffish prig -- oh, and also of killing some guy in a drunken car accident. His cellmates are Butch (Wallace Beery at his Wallace Beery-ist, full of childlike bluster and yet handy with a machine gun) and Morgan (Chester Morris). They urge Kent not to hang out with the prison stool pigeon -- he's the only convict who's wearing a necktie -- but Kent hopes that he can trade inside information for a reduced sentence.

"The Big House" is full of scenes that have become prison movie cliches, showing up in films from "White Heat" to "Birdman of Alcatraz" to "The Shawshank Redemption." One of the best is the mess hall riot, not just because of Beery's violent protest of the dehumanizing effects of prison, but because of the silence -- and the hopeless panorama of convict faces -- leading up to it:



Beery's character is punished for the riot by being sent to "the dungeon," but before he goes he passes his knife to Kent. Then, during a surprise search, Kent slips the knife into Morgan's jacket. As a result, Morgan, a day away from parole, also gets sent to the dungeon. After his 30-day stretch of living in darkness, Morgan fakes illness and escapes through the infirmary. While on the outside, he seeks out and falls in love with Kent's sister (Leila Hyams), and she with him. But it isn't long before Morgan is nabbed and sent back to stir.

While Morgan's been out, Butch has been planning a massive escape to take place on Thanksgiving Day, while the place is low on guards. In a witty scene taking place that morning, all the convicts end up at a church service, singing "Open the Gates (of the Temple)." Then as they all kneel in prayer, Berry starts passing guns and bullets down the row to his fellow escapees.

Morgan refuses to be involved in the break, but he won't rat on Butch, either. That task falls to Kent. When the escape turns into a standoff between the convicts and the guards, Butch blames Morgan. But he finally figures out the truth. Meanwhile, Kent seems to be melting into a puddle of sweat:



Kent is killed in the riot, and Morgan is forced to shoot Butch. But Butch forgives him just before he dies. "The Big House" ends with a focus on Morgan, who's given an early release for his role in stopping the escape and saving a guard's life. The "decent" prisoner, Kent, is revealed as a coward and a stool pigeon, and Morgan effectively takes the place of Kent within the family.

"The Big House" won an Oscar for screenwriter Frances Marion, who adapted the script from Lennox Robinson's play. It was smoothly directed by George Hill, Marion's husband at the time. It represented a career-saving role for Beery, who got the role as a result of the death of Lon Chaney, Sr., who passed away after making only one talkie, "The Unholy Three."  

Here are the complete credits.

"The Mask of Fu Manchu," or Khan You Dig It?

The 1932 film "The Mask of Fu Manchu" begins in London, where Smith of the Secret Service (Lewis Stone) calls in explorer Sir Lionel Barton (Lawrence Grant).

Smith: The British government is asking you to risk your life again.

Barton: Oh, very well.

Barton's mission: To lead an expedition to China to find Genghis Khan's tomb and bring the artifacts back to England. What, you think they'd leave them with the "savages"? Preposterous!

Barton goes to the British Museum to get his team together, but on his way out he's taken hostage by bad guys dressed as mummies, except that they have pleated pants. And before you can say "yellow peril," Sir Lionel is face-to-face with the evil Fu Manchu (Boris Karloff).

Barton: You're Fu Manchu, arent you?

Fu Manchu: I am a doctor of philosophy from Edinburgh. I am a doctor of law from Christ College. I am a doctor of medicine from Harvard. My friends, out of courtesy, call me doctor.

Barton: All right, "doctor."

"The Mask of Fu Manchu" -- the film as well as the character created by Sax Rohmer -- is built on a foundation of pro-colonial sentiment (this is 1932, after all). But beyond that, the movie has classic cliffhanger action (if the people behind "Raiders of the Lost Ark" didn't see this movie, I'll eat my shoe), steamy torture scenes and Myrna Loy in one of her last faux-Asian roles as Fu's daughter. The idea is that Fu Manchu wants the scimitar and death mask of Khan so that he can proclaim himself the warrior's reincarnation.

Like Loy, Karloff is done up in heavy-duty makeup and costuming. Here's the first glance we get of him:



Meanwhile, the British team has come to China looking for Barton, including Barton's daughter (Karen Morley), her fiancee Terry (Charles Starrett) and a professor played by Jean Hersholt. The team finds the tomb:



Then Terry visits Fu Manchu in an effort to obtain Barton's release, but all he gets is goo-goo eyes from Fu Manchu's daughter. Soon he is held hostage, too, and injected with a special brainwashing serum while daughter smokes some opium and looks on longingly:


Fu Manchu then captures everyone else, and gets a chance to use all of his cool torture devices:



In the best tradition of movie villains, Fu Manchu's lair is ultramodern and fully staffed -- hey, those hydraulically-operated spiked walls aren't going to oil themselves!

As was the case in "Thirteen Women," Loy's character is much more interesting than the other woman in the film, the explorer's daughter played by Morley. And, as in most of his films, Karloff's character exists to be killed. Or IS he?!? And by the way, for a guy who specialized in monstrous types, Karloff had a very endearing lisp.

Here are full cast and credits for "The Mask of Fu Manchu," and a little about the character's history in books and other media.