Hollywood Spectator (1937-39)

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Hollywood Spectator Page Thirteen finally to the rating he enjoyed years ago. It is one of the few such transactions of genuine benefit to both producer and audience. We’re On The Jury gives Moore ample opportunity to please his audience. Translated by Franklin Coen from John Frederick Ballard’s Ladies Of The Jury, JVe’re On The Jury is little more than a laugh provoking sketch of the satirical type. Deftly etching the vanities and foibles of a typical jury, it moves lightly to a silly fade-out that reminded me of the two-reel Keystone era. But Ben Holmes does such a masterly job of directing and the cast is so completely excellent that the weaknesses are forgotten in the onrush of laughs. Helen Broderick is, of course, splendid, her subtle, rhythmic comedy ranking in the top bracket of grin getters. That her characterization is inconsistent was no fault of her own, she is depicted as a silly, practically empty-pated lady who suddenly develops almost super-intelligence in solving the murder. That Helen Broderick could make her role as believable as she does, is a vast tribute to her ability. Particularly effective were Robert McWade and Maxine Jennings; check also an even excellence for the rest of the cast. As usual, Nick Musuraca gives us an effective job of photography, and Van Nest Polglasse is in his expected form. But for allowing the childish fadeout, Ted Cheesman’s editing is irreproachable. W e’re On The Jury is strong support for any double bill. Distinctly Entertaining MIDNIGHT COURT, Warners production and release. Bryan Foy production. Directed by Frank McDonald; original screen play by Don Ryan and Kenneth Garnet; assistant director, Elmer Decker; photographed by Warren Lynch; film editor, Frank Magee; art director, Hugh Reticker. Cast: Ann Dvorak, John Litel, Carlyle Moore, Jr., Joseph Crehan, Walter Miller, William Davidson, John Sheehan, Stanley Fields, Gordon Elliott, Gordon Hart, Harrison Green, Charles Foy, Eddie Foster, Lyle Moraine, George Offerman, Jr., Joan Woodbury. Running time, 60 minutes. Reviewed by Paul Jacobs CONSIDERING the very important fact that director Frank McDonald quite evidently knows considerably more about direction than most of his confreres, Midnight Court is mildly disapppointing. It merely goes to prove that regardless of thoroughly competent direction and skilful acting, a film must support a large part of its weight on its story-translation. The progression of events, and their relation to the outcome is excellently done, a tribute to Don Ryan and Kenneth Garnet, but the totality of effect in the plotting somehow lost its elan in the translation from the original writing to screen adaptation. It is a subtle point, but justified and discernible to the audience. John Litel scores as the fast-thinking lawyer whose regeneration is achieved through the characterful commonsense of Ann Dvorak. Carlyle Moore, Jr., is quite believable, and Stanley Fields as “Slim” Jacobs, makes me look with dark suspicion on the family escutcheon. The cast is long, but uniformly capable, so I am justified in labeling it collectively fine. In keeping with a precedent he has personally established, Bryan Foy gives Midnight Court the best in physical production. In fact, the production end characterizes the whole picture; it is utterly competent, with several scenes distinctly outstanding. That its total effect is not as vivid as its components, is no bar to its audience-appeal, because Midnight Court is distinctly entertaining. Cinematic ^Pulse By Paul Jacobs MONG the many and usually justified criticisms heaped upon the average picture, the most pertinent, perhaps, is its lack of originality. And although producers doubtless will greet this statement with smiles, I state definitely that originality is achieved easily, that it is simple in its make-up, and quickly reducible to its mechanical components — in the same way that theme, tempo, mood, and all the other subjective factors of the films can be objectified and measured. There is no unit of the filmic whole which cannot be isolated, dissected, and studied while functioning under laboratory methods. First, let us see exactly what originality is, and what the ingredients are that make it up; in a later article we shall examine the human equation to find what typical habit-patterns in our nervous and mental machinery bar the average producer and writer from achieving originality. According to the dictionary, originality is the quality of being fresh, new, or novel. Thus, the films that are lacking in originality are trite, hackneyed, or bromidic. From this net of definitions the materials of originality are sifted easily. Originality obviously must demand the unusual , the unexpected or the undetermined. So a plot which presents an unusual situation or characterization is bound to prove interesting. Here, of course, you may ask how to find an unusual situation. The answer lies in our definition. Place a “usual” character against an "undetermined,” background, and you have contrast, or unusualness. For example, put the Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court. There you have a usual or pragmatic character contrasted with an unfamiliar background. The result is fresh, or original (or was, when Twain first used it as story material.) HE same, almost mechanical process can be made to produce unlimited, sparkling novelty. All one has to do is to search the apparently commonplace, and pull from it an unusual conception, an unexpected twisting of the dramatic threads. By reversing the Connecticut Yankee idea, for instance, one could have a wild (unusual) man get lost in Hollywood. Or, as Rogers did in another picture, have a sprite from another world visit a prosaic atmosphere here, with amazing results. I do not mean these preposterous examples are valid ; I simply am pointing out the limitless possibilities for originality by contrasting the known against the unknown, the usual against the unusual; a common type against an uncommon character, an uncommon person against a usual problem, a common type against an unusual problem, an uncommon type against an unusual background, with a usual problem— and so forth, inexhaustibly.