LAW OF THE JUNGLE. Monogram Pictures, 1942. Arline Judge, John King, Mantan Moreland, Arthur O’Connell, C. Montague Shaw, Guy Kingsford, Laurence Criner, Victor Kendall. Director: Jean Yarbrough.

   I didn’t begin watching this movie with high expectations, and after five minutes, I was ready to turn it off. I’d seen it all before, I thought, and far better done, and this assuming I wanted to see another girl-singer-stranded-in-the-African-outback movie again in the first place.

   But something caught my attention – maybe it was Arline Judge, a good-looking brunette with beautifully expressive eyes – or maybe it was Mantan Moreland, playing another comedy role in a low budget picture as “Jeff,” in this case the fellow heading up John King’s safari into the jungle looking for bones.

   Or maybe it was the only player in this movie who later on received two Oscar nominations, Arthur O’Connell, the grizzled, dissipated and thoroughly crooked owner of the traders’ bar where Arline Judge has been stranded without a passport, which O’Connell, unknowing to her, has in his possession.

   Palaeontologist John King, whom Arlene calls “Professor,” is her only lifeline out of Africa, as well as her means of escape from some Nazi-like fellows that O’Connell is in cahoots with.

   Which just about explains everything, including perhaps why I kept watching. And enjoying myself, especially the scene in the moonlight in the jungle with Arlene Judge’s head on John King’s shoulder, and he totally oblivious to her charms.

   In movies made by Monogram in their heyday, scientists were either mad, you see, or hopelessly naive. (John King’s acting is also as stiff as they come, but among other highlights of his career, he was one of the Range Busters in a series of early 40s B-westerns for Monogram after having the title role in the Ace Drummond serial in 1936.)

   There is also later on a guy dressed up in a gorilla suit, and Mantan Moreland learns not to say “Scrambola” to the head chief’s hefty-sized daughter when trying to persuade her to release him and the other two stars of this motion picture. Whenever Mr. Moreland is on the screen, this movie is a comedy. When he’s not, it’s a below average jungle adventure, but believe it or not, none the worse for it.

RIDE THE PINK HORSE. Universal, 1947. Robert Montgomery, Thomas Gomez, Rita Conde, Iris Flores, Wanda Hendrix, Fred Clark, Andrea King, Art Smith. Screenplay: Ben Hecht & Charles Lederer, based on the novel by Dorothy B. Hughes. Director: Robert Montgomery.

   Starring and directed by Robert Montgomery, Ride the Pink Horse is not a great film by any means, but interesting throughout. Montgomery had, by all accounts, an unusually high IQ, and it has always seemed to me that his films are all marked by an almost intangible quality of Intelligence.

   The failures as well as the successes seem to presuppose a certain degree of Smarts on the part of the movie-going audience (a classically underestimated group) and work from there.

   The well-known extended subjective camerawork in Lady in the Lake, for example, is hardly an unqualified triumph, but it’s the sort of thing somebody had to try sooner or later; all it took was a director who had some confidence in his audience.

   Likewise the sly references in Montgomery’s autobiographical daydream-movie Once More, My Darling, where Ann Blyth conveys a hitherto-unsuspected and startling sensuality while we wait for things to get funny, which they never really do.

   Montgomery’s intelligence often showed itself even in films he didn’t direct but merely acted in. There’s his effete quisling in The Big House; the blandly ingenuous psycho in Night Must Fall; the Detective/Prince in Trouble for Two; and the memorable Here Comes Mr. Jordan and They Were Expendable, all films marked by much more thoughtfulness than is common in movies of their sort.

   Oddly enough, it’s this very intelligence that mitigates against Ride the Pink Horse, in which Montgomery portrays Lucky Gagin, a not-too-bright petty crook out for revenge against Fred Clark as a murderous Political Boss; he just never convinces us that he’s as dumb as his character is supposed to be.

   Montgomery walks and talks just like a pug throughout the film, but every so often he visibly relaxes and just listens while another character talks, and in these moments his face betrays him with a perceptive, alert expression that all the Dis ’n’ Dats in his dialogue just can’t hide.

   What we have here is an educated man playing a Dummy, and for all his brains, Montgomery just ain’t a good enough actor to hide it.

   I should go on to add, though, that except for this, Ride the Pink Horse is just about everything you could want in a film noir and more, with moody lighting, long, expressive takes, a host of skillfully limned minor characters, and the showy stylistic flourishes one expects from this genre.

   Yet even the standard film noir brutality takes an oddly thoughtful turn here: for though the Good Guys in this movie take an awful lot of physical abuse — very graphically portrayed — the Baddies get their lumps off-camera, if at all.

   And this is not a small point when you’re talking about film noir. One of the staples of Classic noirs no one ever mentions is that grin of Guilty Pleasure lighting the features of Bogart, Powell, et al. as they prepare to deliver a well-deserved ass-kicking to their erstwhile tormentors.

   Nothing like that ever happens in Ride the Pink Horse, as if Montgomery were trying to subtly convey that violence is, after all, the province of the Bad Guys, and we grown-ups must look elsewhere for catharsis.

   Hmm. Bob Montgomery may not be the best movie-maker ever, but he maybe deserves more attention than he’s getting.

COLIN DEXTER – The Wench Is Dead. St. Martin’s Press, US, hardcover, 1990; Bantam, US, paperback, 1991. First published in the UK: Macmillan, hardcover, 1989. Reprinted many times since. TV Film:   ITV/PBS; Season 11, Episode 1 of Inspector Morse in the UK. (11 November 1998), with John Thaw as Chief Inspector Morse.

   Colin Dexter borrows the premise of one of the finest Mystery novels ever, despite what some may think, Josephine Tey’s The Daughter of Time, and has Inspector Morse try his hand at investigating a historical crime from his hospital bed.

   This crime, however, isn’t nearly as famous as the Richard III murders, and judging by the book’s Dedication, the names of people involved in the case were changed and some of the circumstances fictionalized.

   Morse, in Hospital (as they say over there) with ulcers, is given a short Vanity Press tome by the widow of its author, who was Morse’s short-lived roommate. Bored nearly to death himself, Morse reads what seems to be a straightforward account of an 1859 murder; slowly, over several days, absorbing all the facts of a case in which three Oxford canal boat crewmen were convicted of a passenger’s murder, Morse becomes convinced that there was something wrong about the case, and with the aid of Sgt. Lewis and the daughter of another patient, comes up with his own solution.

   I sampled a couple of Morse novels several years ago, well before he became Hot Stuff on Mystery!, and I must admit they didn’t make much impression on me. I picked this one up for its resemblance to the Tey classic, and because the nice lady running the Library Used Book Sale kept insisting I could squeeze a few more books in my bag for the “Buck a Bagful” sale.

   All I can say is I enjoyed it much more than I had expected.

   There is no simple credit line for Rocky Jordan. The radio series had many lives leaving it with a confusing history. This is an attempt to simplify that history and reveal a few surprises along the way. We begin where Rocky began:

A MAN NAMED JORDAN. Columbia Pacific Network (aka CPN or CBS West Coast). 15 minutes. Monday through Friday. January 8, 1945 through August 17, 1945. Written and directed by Ray Buffum. Jack Moyles as Rocky Jordan, Paul Frees as Ali, Jay Novello as Duke, Dorothy Lovett as Toni.

   The story was told in the format of a radio serial complete with cliffhangers. With only two episodes surviving, it is difficult to judge the entire series, but one hopes the entire series was as fun and entertaining as the surviving episodes.

   Set in Istanbul, the Cafe Tambourine’s owner Rocky Jordan is an adventurer who enjoys taking on bad guys in his search for profit. Rocky has little interest in the native culture and has a native Man-servant, Ali.

   The two episodes feature a story of danger and adventure as Rocky seeks profit by busting a bad guy’s plan to smuggle Nazi war criminals and their loot out of Germany.

A MAN NAMED JORDAN. CPN. 30 minutes. Weekly. November 3, 1945 through September 27, 1947.

   No episodes survive but it is assumed the same staff and cast returned.

ROCKY JORDAN. CPN. 30 minutes. October 31, 1948 through September 10, 1950. Produced and directed by Cliff Howard. Jack Moyles as Rocky, Jay Novello as Captain Sam Sabaaya.

   Most of the episodes from this series survives.

   Rocky and his Cafe Tambourine are now in Cairo. Trouble weary, Rocky tries to avoid adventure, but seems destine to always find himself stuck in the middle of trouble. Effort is put in using authentic music and locations, respect is paid to the different culture, and because of that Cairo comes alive to the listener.

   The series mimics such films as Casablanca. There is a mystery to the characters. It is never revealed why Rocky can never return to America. Moyles is perfect as Rocky, while Novello as Captain Sabaaya is his equal. The relationship between the two characters was the backbone of the series’ appeal.

   The next time Rocky resurfaced CBS was thinking television: “George Raft, movie actor, takes title role of CBS’s Rocky Jordan radio show tonight. It goes on TV this fall.” (Los Angeles Times, June 27, 1951)

   Billboard (March 31, 1951) reports CBS plans to convert a number of their radio shows to television, including Rocky Jordan.

   Broadcasting (September 10, 1951) mentions Rocky Jordan was “now in preparation” for TV.

   Meanwhile, radio’s Rocky Jordan, with George Raft replacing Moyles, returned as a CBS summer series. It would be the only time Rocky would air over the entire country:

ROCKY JORDAN. CBS. June 27, 1951 through August 22 (*) 1951. Produced and directed by Cliff Howard. George Raft as Rocky Jordan, Jay Novello as Sabaaya, Four episode of the series’ eight plus the audition tape still survive.

   (*) While radio logs from both the New York Times and Washington Post has Rocky‘s last episode August 22, the Los Angeles Times has an episode for August 29.

   Raft plays Rocky as a tough guy with a heart of gold, making one miss the talents of Jack Moyles. Besides Raft, the only other real difference was having bartender Chris annoyingly talk directly to the listeners as he narrated the action.

   There is no evidence that Raft continued to play Rocky beyond the CBS summer series. Using the Los Angeles Times logs (this post would not have been possible without JJ’s Radio Logs), I was unable to find any Rocky Jordan episode airing after August 29, 1951 and before October 13, 1952.

   According to Broadcasting (October 6, 1952) Rainer Brewing signed to sponsor Rocky Jordan on CPN for fifty two weeks starting October 13, 1952.

ROCKY JORDAN. CPN. October 13, 1952 through June 26, 1953. Jack Moyles as Rocky Jordan.

   None of these episodes survives. We know of Moyles’ return because Broadcasting twice (November 10, 1952 and March 30, 1953) referred to Moyles (using present tense) as starring in the title role of CPN’s Rocky Jordan.

   There are surviving audition tapes from attempts to bring Rocky back in 1955 and 1957.

ROCKY JORDAN. August 25, 1955. Two fifteen minute episodes. Jack Moyles as Rocky, Jay Novello as Sabaaya.

   Rocky is caught in the middle of a story of intrigue as his attempt to save a friend and Tribal leader backfires. The story is in the style of Rocky Jordan but uses the cliffhanger format of A Man Named Jordan.

ROCKY JORDAN. Armed Forces Radio Service. 1957. Jack Moyles as Rocky, Jay Novello as Sabaaya. Recreation of the episode “Nile Runs High” (September 18, 1949)

   Rocky Jordan, with Jack Moyles, was a quality program with intelligence, wit, and style. This was radio at its best, telling a story with words and sounds so vivid it would awaken our imaginations and take us away to experience ancient cultures and exotic lands.

      SOURCES:

JJ’s Logs:   http://www.jjonz.us/RadioLogs

Thrilling Detective:   https://www.thrillingdetective.com/jordan_r.html

Rand’s Esoteric OTR:   http://randsesotericotr.podbean.com/category/rocky-jordan

Radio Archives:   Volume 1.
      Volume 2.
      Volume 3.

   Episodes are available to listen at archive.org and a variety of other places on the internet.

DONNA LEON – Fatal Remedies. Wm. Heinemann Ltd., UK, hardcover, 1999. Penguin, US, September 2007. Reprinted several times.

Genre:   Police procedural. Leading character:  Commissario Guido Brunetti; 8th in series. Setting:   Italy.

First Sentence:   The woman walked quietly into the empty campo.

   Commissario Guido Brunetti is in a difficult position. It is his job to uphold the law. However, his wife, Professor Paola Brunetti, wants to stop a local travel agency from
running sex tours for men. She demonstrates her cause by vandalizing the agency.

   With added pressure from above to solve a robbery and murder with possible Mafia connections, Brunetti is concerned both about his relationship with his wife and his career.

   A book that starts without a prologue but with an unexpected, intriguing opening will always capture my interest and Leon wrote a great first chapter with Fatal Remedies.

   But there are so many things to which I look forward, and enjoy, from Donna Leon. Her characters are wonderful. Brunetti has a very normal family with normal conflicts, even when they are demonstrated in not-so-normal ways.

   I appreciate Brunetti’s seeming pragmatism and understanding that his job is to uphold the law, which is not always just; and the police secretary, the wonderful, smart and enigmatic Signorina Elettra is endlessly fascinating, for Brunetti as well as for the reader.

   Leon creates a rich sense of place through sensory descriptions of sight, sound and particularly, smell. She also uses humor and introspection well… “There are days when I think everything’s getting worse, then there are days when I know they are. But then the sun comes out and I change my mind.”

   In spite of the light moments, Leon always reminds us that this is a true police procedural in which there is violence and tragedy. Well done, Ms. Leon.

Rating:   Very Good.

Bibliographic Note:   Scheduled for 2012 is number 22 in the series, Beastly Things. For a complete list, check out the Fantastic Fiction website.

H. C. BAILEY – Call Mr. Fortune. Methuen & Co. Ltd., UK, hardcover, 1920. E. P. Dutton, US, hardcover, 1921. Mckinlay Stone & Mackenzie, hardcover, 1921. Macdonald, UK, hardcover, 1949.

   This is the first collection of Reginald Fortune short stories and, if the problems I had getting a copy are any indication, the scarcest one. Six stories are in this volume, and they range in quality from very good to excellent. There are, I might add, no bad or even poor Fortune short stories in any of the collections.

   Fortune investigates usually with great reluctance and frequent complaints. In one case he says, “I believe the beggars get murdered just to bother me” and “They only do it to annoy because they know it teases.” Indeed, at one point he is “elaborating a scheme by which the murder and the cricket seasons should be conterminous.” In those cases where he willingly joins in the chase, children or friends are usually involved.

   Fortune is not to everyone’s tastes. He, like most males, hasn’t really matured, only he never pretends that he has. While he is something of a gourmet, he has a penchant for sweets and muffins. He likes to play with puppets and write his own scenarios. Cold and discomfort he complains about bitterly, as would a small boy, particularly when he is taken away from his toys or his leisure, and when he drives an automobile it is with the complete abandon of youth.

   Certainly even less mature, however, are Stanley Lomas of the Criminal Investigation Department and the various policemen that Fortune works with. Despite the unfailing accuracy of the Fortune eye and intellect, they continue to scout his ideas and ignore his warnings.

   Read this collection, if you can find it, or any of the Fortune short story collections. Each puzzle in all of the books ranges from good to superb. And if Reggie irritates you in the beginning, as he did me when I first read him 30 years ago, you may find, as I did, that he grows upon you if he is given a chance.

Editorial Comment:   Bill was quite right about the price of a First Edition of this book, a “Queen’s Quorum” title — there is one currently offered for sale on ABE for $500 — but I doubt that he suspected a future in which those of you with a Kindle could have a copy zapped to you in seconds for only 99 cents.

MARTIANS GO HOME. 1990. Randy Quaid, Margaret Colin, Anita Morris, John Philbin, Ronnie Cox. Based on the novel by Fredric Brown. Director: David Odell.

   There may not be any underlying significance in what happens in this science fiction movie — it’s about an invasion of obnoxious green Martians who know everybody’s secrets, to their great rollicking delight — but there’s certainly thirty minutes worth of good laughs in their antics.

   As far as how they get here, the composer of theme music for TV shows accidentally sends a message into space inviting then to cane visit our planet, and so they come — by the millions! (Truth in advertising. We see only about a dozen of them at different times on the screen — this is not a big budget movie.)

   Bedrooms are not safe, the president’s office can’t keep them out, they’re all over the world; and they’re here to stay until our hero can find out a way to get rid of them. “Invaders can be dealt with. These guys are tourists!”

   I think the book may have been clearer on one point, though — sorry, it’s been 30 or 40 years since I read the book – that human society exists only by maintaining secrecy and privacy and (therefore) complete dishonesty in all our affairs.

   It’s a cynical point, and even though I enjoyed the movie, I think it’s one the people involved in making it let slip right through their fingers.

[UPDATE] 10-17-11.    While I was researching the credits for this movie on IMDB, I discovered that I must be one of the elite. There are perhaps only four or five people in the world who have liked this movie, and I am one of them.

   It has been released as a Region Two DVD in the UK, but I’ve found a copy on VHS, and it’s on its way to me now. With Margaret Colin in it, really how bad could it be? (That’s assuming I was wrong about it the first time, which I am not conceding.)

IT’S IN THE BAG. United Artists, 1945. Fred Allen, Jack Benny, William Bendix, Binnie Barnes, Robert Benchley, Jerry Colonna, John Carradine, Gloria Pope, William Terry, Minerva Pious, Sidney Toler, George Cleveland, John Miljan. (See also below.) Screen treatment: Lewis R. Foster & Fred Allen. Screenplay: Jay Dratler & Alma Reville. Director: Richard Wallace.

   Alma Reville is, of course, Mrs. Alfred Hitchcock and I would like to think that some of the comic bite of this film reflects the deliciously wicked humor of the Hitchcock films.

   Many of the players in this crime comedy were better known for their work in radio than in films, and I must confess that some of my least happy hours as a child were spent watching the disappointing spectacle of radio material that did not work on the screen.

   This, I am delighted to report, is a happy exception to that experience, from the opening commentary by Fred Allen, as he “reads” the credits to the audience, to the satisfying conclusion.

   There is a gallery of funny supporting performances: William Bendix as a tender-hearted gangster leader who doesn’t like violence (he inherited the mob from his mother); Jerry Colonna as a neurotic psychiatrist; Don Ameche, Victor Moore, and Rudy Vallee joining Allen to form one of the must improbable — and worst — barbershop quartets you are ever likely to hear; Dickie Tyler as Allen and Binne Barnes’ precocious, unbearable son (with Allen’s bags under his eyes); and the unflappable Robert Benchley, who delivers a comic monologue that is one of the two comedy highlights of the film.

   (His son “invented” an aquarium that he converted into a universal mouse, trap requiring some remarkable gymnastics from a gullible mouse; as Allen puts it: “Why would a mouse go to all that trouble to get a piece of cheese instead of going into a restaurant like everybody else?”)

   The other highlight is also unrelated to the main plot (Allen has been left a fortune by an eccentric uncle who hid the money in one of the five chairs he also left his nephew). As Allen and his family enter a movie theater to see a zombie film for which they are promised immediate seating. It very quickly becomes clear that there are no seats available, and for about ten hilarious minutes the increasingly desperate group attempts to find seats.

   The film turns up occasionally on TV and I can recommend it for either prime time or late night viewing.

PATRICIA MOYES – Death and the Dutch Uncle. Holt Rinehart & Winston; hardcover, 1968. Owl, paperback, 1983. Original UK edition: Collins Crime Club, hardcover, 1968.

   After not reading her books for years, for no good reason I can think of, I’ve recently enjoyed several of Patricia Moyes’ detective novels, coming to think of her as one of the few remaining practitioners of the old-fashioned detective novel.

   As this book shows, however, she should stay away from writing thrillers, or books where Inspector Tibbett (and wife Emmy) get tangled into international intrigue.

   It begins innocently enough, with the gangland slaying of a small time gambler and miscellaneous hoodlum (appropriately nicknamed “Flutter Byers”) in a private bar. What connection could there be between this death and PIFL (the Permanent International Frontier Litigation)? A recent squabble between two obscure African nations brings this backwater London agency into the headlines, and Tibbett surprisingly finds himself right in the thick of it.

   As long as he stays in London, he seems to be on solid ground. It’s when he takes off for Holland (with wife Emmy) as part of a one-man (plus wife) effort to save one of the members of PIFL from an assassin’s bullet that that the novel began to lose its way.

   Not even the mention, several times over, of Inspector van der Valk helps that much, although it does give Tibbett some sort of support in a jurisdiction the recently promoted Scotland Yard superintendent simply doesn’t have. (Van der Valk himself never makes an appearance.) And of course Emmy gets into trouble…

   What I objected to even more, however, was the clumsy attempt to have a clue that means nothing to the reader (*) become a major key to the mystery. Moyes then compounds the insult by refusing to let us in on the explanation Henry gives Emmy on page 171.

   A minor matter, perhaps, but after spending as much time on this case as I had up till then, I thought I deserved something more than being blown off like this.

    (*) Well, unless you know Dutch, that is. I certainly don’t, and I’m also still miffed about the time it took to go back through the previous 170 pages to see if there was anybody with the name Filomeel I’d missed. (As it turns out, I did and I didn’t.)

Rating:   D plus.

[UPDATE] 10-16-11.   As you can tell, I felt let down by this one. What I can’t tell you is anything more about the book than this. I don’t remember it, not at all.

   Let me return, though, to my first paragraph, in which I referred to Moyes as one of the last practitioners of the old-fashioned (British) detective novel. I still believe this to be true, some 18 years later, though of course there have been some contenders who have come along since then.

   Kathi Maio’s 1001 Midnights review of A Six-Letter Word for Death, to be found here on this blog, agrees with this stance. On the other hand, I fear that in the same passage of 18 years, Patricia Moyes has become all but forgotten. I can’t say why, and perhaps it is not so. Opinions welcome!

BELA LUGOSI MEETS A BROOKLYN GORILLA. Realart, 1952. Bela Lugosi, Duke Mitchell, Sammy Petrillo, Charlita, Muriel Landers, Al Kikume. Director: William Beaudine.

   Now here is a film that single-mindedly redefines the Bad Movie Genre. Admirers of Bad Films talk glowingly of the ineptitudes of Ed Wood or the excesses of DeMille, but BLMABG is that rarity, a pure, ugly, abomination of a film, a high-concept atrocity that has few equals and no betters (or Worsers) in the ranks of Awful Cinema.

   Start with the basic premise of making a Dean Martin & Jerry Lewis Picture — a dubious notion in itself. Only instead of Martin and Lewis, substitute the team of Duke Mitchell and Sammy Petrillo, who spend the film doing godawful impressions of Dean and Jerry. And until you’ve seen a really bad impression of Jerry Lewis, you just haven’t lived.

   Add to this the sight of poor, palsied, Bela Lugosi, clearly a sick man by this time, clinging to the bare shreds of his career.

   Throw in a comic-relief monkey, a few men in cheap Ape Suits, set the whole thing on a back-lot Tropical Island, then wrap it around a tired, tired plot of Shipwrecked Zanies and a Mad Scientist.

   And you still can’t picture how bad this movie is till you see it. Unlike the films of Ed Wood, BLMABG is suffused with a thin veneer of professionalism. The sets and photography have a nice look, and there are none of the Continuity Gaps so beloved by Wood aficionados.

   Somehow, though, it makes it even worse to realize that Actual Filmmakers spent there time on this.

   Needless to say, I loved it.