WILLIAM KENT KRUEGER – Vermilion Drift. Atria Books, hardcover, September 2010; trade paperback, June 2011.

   A year after the death of his wife, Cork O’Connor has started a “confidential investigation and security consulting business.” He is hired by Max Cavanaugh, the owner of the Great North Mining Company, to investigate the disappearance of his sister Lauren.

   At the same time he is looking into who is sending threatening letters to those involved in a government investigation of the company’s shuttered Vermilion One iron mine as a possible place for long term storage of radioactive waste, which many locals violently oppose.

   When Cork is called upon to enter the mine to look at graffiti deep inside with the same threatening message, he figures there must be another entrance to the mine. While exploring a walled out passage that is marked on maps as a collapse, he discovers that it is still a viable passage, and exploring down the passage he stumbles on a side cavern that contains the remains of six victims — one recent and five older.

   The recent victim turns out to be the missing sister, but the others are half a century old, and may be the remains of “the Vanishings” — three Indian girls who disappeared in the summer of 1964, when Cork’s father was sheriff. Further investigation reveals that one of the Indian woman victims has a bullet lodged in her spine, and that the same gun used in that fifty year old killing was used to kill Lauren.

   And what may that have to do with the reoccurring nightmares Cook is having about being responsible for his father’s death? This reminds me a lot of the style of a Ross MacDonald novel — where past violence has led to tragedy in the present. The novel starts rather slowly, but about 100 pages in it turns into a compulsive page turner. Not as good as Heaven’s Keep, the previous novel in the series — this is number ten — but still a satisfying read.

Rating: B.

S. J. ROZAN – On the Line. St. Martin’s, hardcover, September 2010. Trade paperback: August 2011.

Genre:   Private Eye. Leading characters:  Bill Smith & Lydia Chin (10th in series). Setting:   New York City.

First Sentence: Crashing dark chords smothered the cell phone’s impertinent chirp, but the ringtone was “Ride of the Valkyries,” so it penetrated, and I stopped.

   PI Lydia Chin has been kidnapped. Her sometimes partner and friend who wishes he were more, has 12 hours before the kidnapper will kill Lydia. Bill Smith is led on a desperate chase through New York City following obscure clues and being chased by the police who set it up to appear Bill murdered a Chinese prostitute.

   He is also slowed down by the Chinese criminal who believes the same thing. Fortunately, Bill does have the help of Lydia’s techno-whiz cousin, Linus, his girlfriend Trella, and Lydia’s best friend, Detective Mary Kee.

   Let me start by declaring myself to normally being a huge fan of S.J. Rozan. However, I shall admit, this book let me down.

   Those of us who follow the series knew it was Bill’s turn to take the lead and there were some interesting supporting characters, particularly Linus and Trella. One of the most delightful characters of the series was completely missing from the story, however, except in reference.

   However, my biggest issue with the book overall had to do with characters. There was no character development. Once again, an author based the book on the assumption that readers had read previous books in the series, which I feel is such a mistake.

   The entire premise of the story is built on Bill’s search for Lydia yet there is little explanation, beyond the fact they are occasional partners, giving a new reader an understanding of the real depth of the relationships. This is true of all the relationships; what background is given is glancing at best.

   The story is fully plot driven. It starts off high energy and, with a 12-hour clock running, never takes a break. It is exciting and suspenseful but almost too much so. The technological information is fascinating but did seem a bit too easy.

   The very clever use of Twitter and Facebook demonstrates just how powerful and ubiquitous they have become and how hard it can be for those not technology-focused to be left behind the curve. However, the ease and speed at which much of the information Bill and his team were able to obtain did stretch credulity quite a bit.

   Having read all of Ms. Rozan’s books, I know how good her writing can be. I can understand an author wanting to try something new, but this almost had an action comic feel about it. If you’re looking for a non-stop, beat-the-clock, distracting airplane book to leave behind at the end of the trip, this would satisfy that need.

   For me, I shall hope Ms. Rozan returns to the quality of some of her previous books for her next one.

Rating:   Okay.

KID MILLIONS. United Artists, 1934. Eddie Cantor, Ann Sothern, Ethel Merman, George Murphy, Berton Churchill, Warren Hymer, Paul Harvey, Jesse Block, Eve Sully, Stanley Fields, Edgar Kennedy, The Nicholas Brothers, Noble Johnson, Clarence Muse. Original screenplay and story by Arthur Sheeman, Nat Perrin, and Nunnally Johnson; photography by Ray June; color photography by Ray Rennahan; music by Alfred Newman; musical numbers directed by Seymour Felix; “Mandy” music and lyrics by Irving Berlin; additional music and lyrics by Walter Donaldson and Gus Kahn, Burton Lane and Harold Adamson. Director: Roy Del Ruth, with the Technicolor sequence directed by William (“Willy”) Pogany. Shown at Cinevent 40, Columbus OH, May 2008.

   I had already seen most of the Cantor Goldwyn musicals (of which Roman Scandals has long been one of my favorite ’30s musicals), but Kid Millions, the last of the films under Cantor’s contract with Goldwyn, had eluded me and I was determined to watch it, even if it was shown last on the program at the end of a long day.

   The film was probably not the best of the Cantor musicals, but it was certainly the feature-length film that I enjoyed the most. Busby Berkeley’s inventive staging of the musical numbers, a highlight of the earlier Cantor films, was sorely missed (Seymour Felix was a workmanlike but uninspired replacement), but apart from the major production number (which featured “I Want To Be a Minstrel Man,” “My Head on Your Shoulder,” and “Mandy” and was only rescued from mediocrity by the sensational dancing of the Nicholas Brothers), the songs, mostly integrated into the plot, were effectively performed by Cantor, Merman, Sothern, and Murphy.

   The opening number sung by Ethel Merman (“An Earful of Music”) and an ensemble comic number (“Let My People Go”) were probably the musical highlights. And then there was the technicolor finale, designed by the enormously talented book and magazine illustrator, as well as film production designer, Willy Pogany.

   This was a riot of color, a fantasy in which Cantor, finally coming into the fortune left to him by his father, presides over an ice cream feast for a horde of children, in a factory setting that is as much a feast for the eye as the ice cream is for the children. It should be noted that this sequence precedes the first all Technicolor film Becky Sharp that was released some months after the Cantor film, in 1935, and for sheer opulence surpasses the use of color in the prints I have seen of Becky Sharp. The sequence may not be tasteful but it’s eye-popping gorgeous.

   I bought a copy of a laser disc of the film in the dealers’ room on Sunday and copied it to DVD. Now you can all wait for the commercial release on DVD to see if you can experience the rush that I did at the late evening screening.

Editorial Comment: Kid Millions was released on VHS and can be obtained without much difficulty, but the only DVD release seems to be out of print and hard to find. In the meantime, perhaps this color clip on YouTube will suffice, the last seven minutes of the film.

C. ST. JOHN SPRIGG – Death of an Airman. Doubleday Crime Club, hardcover, 1935. First published in the UK: Hutchinson, hardcover, 1934.

   Fortunate it is for the minions of the law that Edwin Marriott, Bishop of Cootamundra, Australia, is in England on leave and wants to learn how to fly. For it is he who spots an anomaly when the flight school’s principal instructor expires after his plane crash: rigor mortis never sets in.

   A delayed post-mortem uncovers a bullet wound in the dead man’s head. It can’t be suicide. It also cannot be murder since the pilot was flying alone and no other plane was seen in the area.

   Scotland Yard Inspector Bernard Bray, one of Sprigg’s continuing characters, is called in to assist in the investigation. Even he can’t puzzle out the absence of rigor in the corpse, though he does get on the trail of drug smugglers and peddlers (yes, young people, like sex, this was not something invented in your generation).

   With the help of the Bishop, Bray and the locals break up the drug ring and finally figure out how the deceased pilot met his fate in an entertaining novel that provides some interesting information about the early days of flying.

   BIBLIOGRAPHY:    [Taken from the Revised Crime Fiction IV, by Allen J. Hubin.]

SPRIGG, C(hristopher) ST. JOHN. 1907-1937.

   Crime in Kensington (n.) Eldon 1933 [Insp. Bernard Bray; Charles Venables] US title: Pass the Body. Dial, 1933.
   Fatality in Fleet Street (n.) Eldon 1933 [Charles Venables] No US edition.
   Death of an Airman (n.) Hutchinson 1934 [Insp. Bernard Bray]
   The Perfect Alibi (n.) Eldon 1934 [Charles Venables; Insp. Bernard Bray]
   The Corpse with the Sunburnt Face (n.) Nelson 1935. US title: The Corpse with the Sunburned Face. Doubleday, 1935.
   Death of a Queen (n.) Nelson 1935 [Charles Venables] No US edition.
   The Six Queer Things (n.) Jenkins 1937.

Editorial Comments:   There is a longer biography of Sprigg on the Golden Age of Detection Wiki, along with a photo.

   A challenge I might present to you I’m sure I would win is to have you collect all of the books above, or try to. I do not believe you could do it. If you have a collection already, you must have put it together some 40 years ago or more. At one time the US editions of his books were relatively common, but no more, especially in jacket. (The one shown above came from a Sun Dial reprint.)

   As to this particular book, I’ve had a copy since forever, but I’ve never read it. I do wish that Bill Deeck had commented on how clever the “impossible crime” aspect was. At the moment, all it is is a tease.

If you ever get tired of reading about mysteries, old movies and old TV shows (and some new ones too), could I make a couple of suggestions?

My daughter Sarah’s blog, Reading the Past, focuses on Historical Fiction, with loads of penetrating reviews, insightful interviews, and previews of forthcoming books, lots and lots of them.

And my son Jonathan has a new website, Financial Review of Books, which is exactly as it says. If you’re interested in up to date discussions of derivatives, economic theory, tax policy and the world of finance, his site is the place to go.

   The chances are that the 1957 to 1961 TV phase of the American Private Eye will be remembered as the most slickest in the TV genre. (“Slick,” as in the sense of smooth and efficient, streamlined.) There had been nothing else like before and nothing since has managed to equal the quintessence of its visual style.

   In short, it was a curious phenomenon seemingly belonging to time, by way of inspiration, aided and abetted by style. This unique time period ranges from, say, Richard Diamond, Private Detective (CBS, 1957-59; NBC, 1959-60) to Michael Shayne (NBC, 1960-61). Fortunately, the phase didn’t last long enough to become a parody of itself (unlike the later TV Spy cycle) and remains therefore a largely unblemished sub-genre.

   Hollywood films of the 1940s such as the obvious contenders The Maltese Falcon (1941), the 20th Fox “Michael Shayne” films with Lloyd Nolan (1940 to 1942), Murder My Sweet (1944) and The Big Sleep (1946), featuring private detectives, and fashionably now termed as film noir, had as their inspiration the modern literary genre: from early hard-boiled works by Hammett and Carroll John Daly to more contemporary authors such as Jonathan Latimer, Brett Halliday [Davis Dresser] and Chandler. All except Latimer had been contributors to the pulp magazines (Black Mask, Dime Detective, Spicy Mystery, Thrilling Detective, etc.).

   This Hollywood studio period embodied the on-screen noir tough guy, epitomized by a Humphrey Bogart or by an unlikely Dick Powell (Cornered, 1945). They were tense and tight-lipped, yet agile. Men of a cynical disbelief that slipped easily into bemused irony. Their film world was often corpse-littered and bafflingly plotted.

   The early period of TV Private Eyes (around 1949 to 1954) tended to stem from radio or were under the executive thumb of proprietorial sponsors. One of the earliest series was Martin Kane, Private Eye (NBC, 1949-54), which seemed to change its leading actor with each season. Charlie Wild, Private Detective (CBS, 1950-51; ABC, 1951-52; DuMont, 1952) was an extension of sponsor Wildroot Cream’s The Adventures of Sam Spade, Detective radio series (Howard Duff).

   The Cases of Eddie Drake (DuMont, 1952) was followed by The Files of Jeffrey Jones (syndicated 1954-55); Don Haggerty played the featured PI in each. Disappointingly, these on-screen characters and their milieu belonged strictly to 1940s Hollywood.

   The TV Private Eye phase of the late 1950s, on the other hand, appeared to be the result of several exciting events. Primarily, the advent of paperback priginals led by Fawcett’s line of Gold Medal books in 1950 (previously, paperback books had been reprints of hard cover editions). Genre authors published by Gold Medal in the 1950s or its companion imprint, Crest, included Richard S. Prather (with the Shell Scott novels), William Campbell Gault (Joe Puma novels), Stephen Marlowe (Chester Drum novels), Curt Cannon [Evan Hunter] (Cannon/Matt Cordell stories).

   Additionally, Henry Kane for Avon & Signet Signet & Avon (Peter Chambers), Thomas B. Dewey for Dell (Pete Scofield) and Frank Kane also for Dell (Johnny Liddell). Reprinted from hardcover were Mickey Spillane for Dutton then Signet (Mike Hammer, of course), a publishing phenomenon, and Brett Halliday for Dodd Mead and Dell (Mike Shayne). Hard-boiled private eye stories seemed to be flavor of the month (or should I say, decade?).

   Another strong influence appeared to be the increasing sophistication of jazz music and the contemporary jazz musicians’ sartorial inclination toward what was known as the Ivy League Look (think jazz saxophonist Gerry Mulligan or Craig Stevens in the 1958-61 Peter Gunn or even Dick Van Dyke in the 1961-66 sitcom The Dick Van Dyke Show).

   Collegiate, soft-shouldered suits with button-down shirts and slim ties. Rather timely, for four albums which are now considered seminal jazz records (Dave Brubeck’s Time Out, Miles Davis’s Kind of Blue, Charles Mingus’s Mingus Ah Um and Ornette Coleman’s The Shape of Jazz to Come) were all released in 1959.

   I remember reading somewhere that the tough-as-nails TV Western hero evolved from his place on the prairie to the mean streets of the TV Private Eye. Interestingly, the Private Eye phase was active during the time of the TV Western stampede (where kiddie actioners like The Lone Ranger and The Gene Autry Show gave way to “adult” Westerns like Cheyenne, Rawhide and Gunsmoke in the mid-1950s).

   For me, Scott Brady’s Shotgun Slade (syndicated 1959-61) may have been enjoyable for its account of a gun-toting investigator in the Old West — complete with jazz score! — but I am not at all sure about the theory that Jim Hardie (Tales of Wells Fargo), for instance, might have become someone like Stuart Bailey (77 Sunset Strip).

   A listing of relevant TV Private Eye series during this period would include The Investigator (NBC, 1958), Markham (CBS, 1959-60), 21 Beacon Street (NBC, 1959; ABC, 1959-60), Coronado 9 (syndicated 1960-61), Bourbon Street Beat (ABC, 1959-60), Hawaiian Eye (ABC, 1959-63), Philip Marlowe (ABC, 1959-60), Johnny Midnight (syndicated 1960), Surfside 6 (ABC, 1960-62), The Brothers Brannagan (sic) (syndicated 1960-61) and Michael Shayne (NBC, 1960-61).

   Some interesting-sounding pilot shows from the decade include “The Girl from Kansas” (1952) with Barry Sullivan as sleuth Nemo Grey (I can’t tell if the would-be series, to be called Nemo Grey, would be about a police or private detective); “Death the Hard Way” (1954) had William Gargan as PI Barry Craig (directed by Blake Edwards); “Mike Hammer” (1954) was an early try-out starring Brian Keith (written and directed by Blake Edwards); “The Bigger They Come” (1955) from A.A. Fair/Erle Stanley Gardner’s first Cool and Lam novel; “Man On a Raft” (1958) had Mark Stevens as Michael Shayne in an early attempt for a series; “The Silent Kill” (1959) was based on author William Campbell Gault’s Brock Callahan p.i. character.

   I left my personal favorites until last. The phase included also the bloodthirsty Mickey Spillane’s Mike Hammer (syndicated 1958-59) with a suitably brutal, street-fighting, crew-cutted Darren McGavin (and yes, the author’s and character’s names together is the full title). The enterprising (answering service/car phone) Richard Diamond, Private Detective (CBS, 1957-59; NBC, 1959-60) with the always-watchable David Janssen (his first series) and an outstanding jazz score by Pete Rugolo.

   Perhaps the best of the Warner Brothers TV private eye shows of the time, 77 Sunset Strip (ABC, 1958-64) was the first to offer an agency-based ensemble private detective team as well as a snappy signature tune. Blake Edwards’ Peter Gunn (NBC, 1958-60; ABC, 1960-61) stands as the epitome of late 1950s TV Private Eyes for me, dealing out action and sophistication in equal doses, along with Henry Mancini’s entirely jazz-based score.

   The latter presentation went on to influence many other TV shows, most notably Staccato (aka Johnny Staccato; NBC, 1959-60; ABC, 1960), John Cassavetes’ gift to the small-screen as jazz pianist/private eye working out of a small Greenwich Village jazz club, often accompanying house band musicians Barney Kessel, Shelly Manne, Red Norvo and Red Mitchell.

   They were all were taut crime dramas which if anything improved as they went on. The writing and direction was efficient, being vigorous and well-staged despite some unavoidable weaknesses in plotting and performance. The 1950s private eyes were indeed masterful but mannered heroes. By contrast, later makers of TV Private Eye series seemed to suffer from that garish and nervous over-sophistication which bedevilled so many producers in the age of color television.

   A significant TV phase of the past that was sadly brought to a halt by two unrelated forces — the Federal Communications Commission (FCC) and the 1960s TV Spy craze — was the TV Gangster period, led by Quinn Martin’s The Untouchables (ABC, 1959-63). It’ll be my next project.

Note:   The introduction to this series of columns by Tise Vahimagi on TV mysteries and crime shows may be found here, followed by:

Part 1: Basic Characteristics (A Swift Overview)
Part 2.0: Evolution of the TV Genre (UK)
Part 2.1: Evolution of the TV Genre (US)
Part 3.0: Cold War Adventurers (The First Spy Cycle)
Part 3.1: Adventurers (Sleuths Without Portfolio).
Part 4.0: Themes and Strands (1950s Police Dramas).
Part 4.1: Themes and Strands (Durbridge Cliffhangers)
Part 5.0: Theatre of Crime (US).
Part 5.1: Theatre of Crime (Hours of Suspense Revisited).
Part 5.2: Theatre of Crime (UK)

CURTAIN CALL AT CACTUS CREEK. Universal, 1950. Donald O’Connor, Gale Storm, Walter Brennan, Vincent Price, Eve Arden, Chick Chandler, Rex Lease, I. Stanford Jolley. Director: Charles Lamont.

   As I have noted before, Universal was best-known for its horror films — not all of them classics — and their comedies tended toward dire efforts with the likes of Francis the Talking Mule. But now and again, quite unexpectedly (perhaps unintentionally) they came out with an off-beat and lightly enjoyable piece like Curtain Call at Cactus Creek, written and directed by the folks who usually worked on Abbott & Costello comedies. This hasn’t aired on TV in a generation, but I found it on DVD recently and fell in love.

   Curtain / Creek offers Donald O’Connor as the one-man stage crew of a threadbare theatrical troupe, shooting off amusing stunts and sight gags as he juggles props and struggles for stardom, worshiping ingénue Gale Storm from anear while handling deadly desperadoes and discontented customers with gawky aplomb.

   It’s the kind of part Harold Lloyd and Buster Keaton made their own in the silent movies, and O’Connor wears their mantle quite capably, jumping about at the least excuse and generally making the film fun to look at. Gale Storm is also rather nice as the romantic interest, projecting a predatory vitality that has its moments, but the movie really belongs to its supporting players, Eve Arden, Walter Brennan and Vincent Price.

   Brennan here plays an aging bank robber who years ago fell in love with a picture of stage sensation Lily Martin (echoing his role in The Westerner a decade earlier) and delighted now to meet her in the impoverished person of Eve Arden.

   As the story jumps along, Brennan hides out with the acting troupe and takes an avuncular interest in O’Connor’s struggle to make himself worthy of Gale Storm, softening his (Brennan’s) crusty exterior — another familiar theme of the silent days, and the source of some fun here.

   Then there’s Vincent Price, strutting about as the Leading Man, dressed in elaborate-looking but rather tawdry outfits, looking aristocratically down his nose at the world in general (and O’Connor in particular) and dumping spectacularly eloquent abuse on Walter Brennan. It’s the kind of part Price was born for, and he’s consistently funny here, constantly quoting Shakespeare, but usually from the lesser plays — a nice touch that, and one you don’t expect in a Universal comedy.

   Chief delight, however, is Eve Arden as the sadder-but-still-arch faded star, ruefully accepting the worship of Brennan’s grimy outlaw and taking the world with that weary-but-game humor that she made her own. Tossing off her reaction to a near-sighted admirer (“That explains a lot!”) or trying to cheer up Donald O’Connor as he faces twenty years in jail with “See you (pause) later,” Arden adds a layer of thoughtfulness to a film that already has plenty of charm.

CASTLE. ABC. Season Premiere: “Rise.” September 19, 2011. Monday at 10e/9c.

   I really want to like Castle. Everyone tells me how wonderful it is, the mysteries, the characters, the actors, the romance, but, sorry, I can’t make it through one episode without throwing something in anger at my TV. And I like my TV.

   For example, currently available on YouTube is this clip:

         CASTLE-4×01 Sneak peek (Episode 1 Comic Con Preview)

   Should the link stop working, the following is a detailed description of what happens:

   Visually we open with cuts between black screen and gunshot victim series female lead Kate Beckett (Stana Katic). Beckett is unconscious on a moving hospital gurney. Shots start at extreme close up and pull back shot by shot. We hear the sound of the heart monitor beep despite that there is no machine anywhere to be seen. Finally we hear the sound of flat-lining and fade to black.

   BANG! Hospital doors fly open. We see two paramedics racing from one hallway into the next section of the long hallway.They are running with the gurney Beckett is on. Also on the gurney is Beckett’s best friend, Dr. Lanie Parish (Tamala Jones) who is maintaining hand pressure on the bloody wound and ordering Beckett not to die.

   Cue violins in soundtrack.

   Cut to Beckett. Then Castle (Nathan Fillion) running to keep up. Still moving down the long hallway the camera intercutting between Lanie, her bloody hand and Beckett. Shot of hallway wall and help coming. More of the gurney ride. Help arrives and tells Lanie to let him take over.

    “She is my friend, you understand that? She’s my friend.”

    “Then let us save her life.”

   Lanie is standing in the hallway when Castle catches up and they watch the gurney continue its journey down the hallway. Laine and Castle look worried. Go to black.

   What the writers hope to accomplish with this scene is to make you feel the emotions of Lanie and Castle over the possible death of Beckett, and to do so in an exciting visual way. So what is wrong with this scene? Why is my TV shaking in fear as I look for something to throw?

   First, running is not visually exciting unless there is a threat of danger behind it. Becket is not going to die. The only danger is if Lanie falls off the gurney.

   Second, the scene is supposed to emotionally effect us. We should share the feelings of the characters. But everything is too over the top, from the soundtrack of the beeps from nowhere and sad TV music to the incredibly awful dialog such as “Then let us save her life.”

   Third, no hospital in any Universe would force an emergency patient to travel down a long hallway to get to the doctors. Beckett is a police officer with a gunshot wound and brought to the hospital by an ambulance. Wouldn’t the ambulance park closer to the Emergency Room? Wouldn’t someone have called ahead so emergency personnel would be waiting for the ambulance when it arrived? When every second could mean life or death, they take the scenic route.

   So, how did this melodramatic scene affect me? Well, when I stopped laughing at the Calvary charge down the endless hallway, I became annoyed that the writers held such little respect for the viewers they thought this manipulative scene would be so emotionally moving we would not notice how stupid it is.

   Jeopardy is an exciting powerful dramatic device that rarely works on television because TV writers are in denial that everyone knows stars don’t die without media spoilers.

   Castle and Beckett are the only two characters on Castle who can’t die or the series is over, This is why jeopardy is usually left to the supporting or guest cast, but who cares about them? Because the nature of the series format, jeopardy can still work but rarely involving death.

   While you don’t see it in the clip above, Castle did set up an effective season ending cliffhanger involving jeopardy. The death of supporting character Captain Montgomery left open the possibility new Captain Gates might interfere with Castle tagging along on murder investigations or even worse interfere with his on-again off-again romance with Beckett.

   Fans did not worry about Beckett possibly dying, but they did respond to the jeopardy Gates could cause Castle and Beckett’s relationship. Me, the thought of yet another logic defying obstacle to Castle and Beckett having sex is enough to have me whimpering for mercy.

   Yes, Castle is only a TV show. You just want to enjoy it, not think. It is just one scene of many. And the series is a comedy mystery where reality is an occasional visitor. But logic is still required. Riding a gurney with a dying woman down an extra long hospital hallway is so stupid it rips me out of the story and rudely reminds me I could be wasting my time more productively with another TV series.

   I really want to like Castle I really do, but my brain won’t let me.

● COLORADO SERENADE. PRC, 1946. Eddie Dean, Roscoe Ates, David Sharpe, Mary Kenyon, Forrest Taylor, Dennis Moore, Abigail Adams, Warner Richmond, Lee Bennett, Robert McKenzie. Screenplay: Frances Kavanaugh. Director: Robert Emmett Tansey.

● THE TIOGA KID. PRC, 1948. Eddie Dean, Roscoe Ates, Jennifer Holt, Dennis Moore, Lee Bennett. Screenplay: Ed Earl Repp. Director: Ray Taylor.

   Personally, speaking for myself, Eddie Dean is the unlikeliest of B-western heroes that I can think of, although perhaps I’m not thinking hard enough. From a distance he doesn’t have the body build of a cowboy, and in the movies he’s been in that I’ve seen, he’s far more handy with a guitar and a song than he is with a gun. On the other hand, in The Tioga Kid, he has a huge smash-up-the-bunkhouse fight with another guy that busts up the stove, the bunks, the table and several chairs to boot. Very nice!

   As far as songs are concerned, there are more in Colorado Serenade than there are in the later movie, four to maybe only three, but the latter makes up for it by adding an equal amount of time in watching the bad guys being chased by the good guys on horses, or is it the other way around? Who can tell.

   One big difference between the two movies is that the first one is filmed in color, and this I found impressive. Not many B-westerns were filmed in color in 1946. (Were there?) It also has a story line that’s actually interesting, one which has Eddie and his pal Soapy (Roscoe Ates) giving a helping hand to a circuit judge (Forrest Taylor) being sent to clean up one of those towns in the west being run by a gang of outlaws.

   But wait. There’s more. Unknown to the judge, always willing to give a bad man the benefit of the doubt if he decides to go straight, is that the head of the gang he’s after is his son, who kidnapped by a really bad guy when he was just a boy. In fact neither father nor son knows the relationship between them, which gives the movie a deeper meaning than do most films of this caliber.

   No such luck when it comes to The Tioga Kid, which is about as dull as it could be, even though Eddie Dean plays two characters in this one, two brothers, one good, one bad. This is a fact unknown to either one of them, but since the two are all but identical, there are some who suspect they’re related. But while the resemblance really is uncanny, you can easily tell which one is the Tioga Kid. He’s the one who dresses in black with a cigarette dangling from the left side of his mouth.

   There’s not much more to the story than this. It is a remake, although never mentioned, of an earlier Eddie Dean film, Driftin’ River (PRC, 1946), written by the same Frances Kavanaugh who was responsible for Serenade. In the latter several scenes are taken – not remade, but simply taken from the former and inserted into this one (see below). I wonder how it happened that pulp western writer Ed Earl Repp got credit for the screenplay. From the description of Driftin’ River, he added very little. (One source says about 15 minutes’ worth.)

   Amusingly (sort of), there is a scene in Tioga in which a grizzled old ranchhand (William Fawcett, I believe) appears briefly perched on a fence as the ranch lady tries to break a bronco, then disappears mid-scene, never to show up again. Tioga, as it turns out, was either the last or next to last movie produced by PRC. They’d reached the bottom of the barrel, the end of the line, and it shows.

   But getting back to Colorado Serenade briefly, I see I’ve failed to mention famed stuntman David Sharpe. He has a rare starring role in this one, a mysterious young cowboy with a big handsome smile. No one in the movie seems to know how he gets around or which side of the fence he’s on, but I think somebody missed a bet. Eddie Dean was OK, but charisma, he was a little short of. It’s only a thought in passing, but I wonder how David Sharpe would have fared if he’d been the star of long line of B-western movies too. Says IMDB, he “probably holds the honor of being in more films (albeit, often uncredited as a stuntman) than any other person in Hollywood history.” Four or five thousand, can it be?

Hurricane Irene is all but over where we are, and we made it through OK. The predictions had the storm aimed straight toward Connecticut all week long, and they were right. But hitting land a couple times along the way took its toll on Irene, and by the time it got here it had been downgraded to “only” a tropical storm.

The rain has stopped and there’s a hint of sun shining through the clouds, but with the center of the storm going north, the winds coming around the southern side are starting to blow, with some strong gusts making the house shake every so often.

We didn’t lose power, as I was sure we would, but with the ground soft and the wind still strong, there’s a chance that some falling trees will take some power lines with them. There are some 800,000 people without power, just here in Connecticut. The state is pretty much a mess. What it’s like lower down the Atlantic coast, I hate to think.