Motion Picture Herald (Sep-Oct 1934)

18 MOTION PICTURE HERALD October 13, 1934 "PLENTY OF GOOD PICTURE ANCLES" A SHIP COMES IN A grand theme handled by a man who didn't know how to key it. He wabbled between comedy and tragedy, between melodrama and farce, and wound up by producing one of the flattest failures of the season when he should have had a gate-crasher. There are plenty of good picture angles in it; but for such purposes it will have to be overhauled as completely as my 1918 ulster. The play is in ten scenes. It is by Joseph Anthony, with Augustin Duncan directing (produced by Richard Herndon and John C. Mayer). The alleged theme is the inherent humbug in some forms of psychoanalysis and psychiatry. The scenes are laid in Vienna and on the high seas ; but for picture purposes I recommend that Vienna be cut out — that burg has enough trouble without loading it with further crimes. Dr. Bard, greatest of all psychiatrists, is coming to America to claim the milliondollar award offered by H. Gordon Mortimer, American Croesus, for the man who can best do wonders with complexes. On the S.S. Manhattan we find, besides the doctor, Mortimer himself, his sex-wild niece, a former sweetheart of Doc. Bard's (the majestic Nana Bryant, the idol of the Coast), and two of Bard's recently cured assistants — a fine cluster of thin-shelled nuts. There are an attempted murder ; an unblushing proposition from a woman to a man ; a sobersides takes to booze — and, worst of all, Doc. Bard himself relapses to his donjuanery. Now, all this should be played comically. An idea with these magnificent possibilities should not be lost. Give the script to Ben and Charley. It's a perfect Hecht-McArthur spoof. The play was still further reduced to b. o. nix by the Dr. Bard of Jacob Ben-Ami, who talks like an actor, walks like an actor, and, worst of all, acts like an actor. The only two believable characters in this mess are portrayed by Miss Bryant and Calvin Thomas as Mortimer. However — Picture value, 70 per cent. ALLEY-CAT Alan Dinehart came out of the West long enough to concoct a play with Samuel Shipman based on a story by Lawrence Pohle. Some of the dialogue and wisecracking are particularly skunkified. The play is called 'Alley Cat" (Alan Dinehart directing and Bernard Klawans producing). Mr. Dinehart no doubt has ideas about doing this on the Coast, so he also took over the lead in the play, which, truth to tell, is a threadbare, creaky affair, but which will make, I doubt not, one of those pictures you drop in on when you've got an hour to waste. The lead is Carl Vinal. Carl is living in enforced modest circumstances in Greenwich But "A Ship Comes In" Must First Be Overhauled, Says DeCasseres; Three Other Stage Plays Analyzed By BENJAMIN DECASSERES Village. I may say, in passing, that any one who deliberately goes to live in that section of New York deserves all that is coming to him. Anyhow, Carl is a broker. He's broke. His wife is getting a divorce from him. So he thinks he'll take the short-cut to Oblivion— gas. Just as he is about to do what is probably the only gentlemanly act in his life who should pop into the window but a Village alley-cat. This is Audrey Christie, the "Stonewall Jackson" girl of "Sailor, Beware !" Audrey is his Little Eva. She jacks up Carl's spirits. Eating and drinking, he begins to laugh. Why not live — and see what Mr. Farley's next new stamp will look like? Well (again — in fact, well, well) , in strides the wife (Kay Strozzi). She hadn't got the divorce, and besides Carl has a genuine, blown-in-the-bottle three-months-old baby. Carl and his Audrey are As One finally. The wife knows Real Village Love is Indestructo. Dr. Dinehart did a good job with a messy play. There are several Village characters for "comic relief," as they say in "Hamlet." Picture value, 50 per cent. THE DISTAFF SIDE Maybe I ought to like the play (and potential picture) by John Van Druten in spite of the fact that most of Mr. Van Druten's theatre seems to me to be a mixture of water and sugar poured into arteries laden with anemic corpuscles. For "The Distaff Side" shows up the weaknesses and charming imbecilities of woman — woman from her twentieth year to the toothless-bitter age of eighty or ninety. Therefore we men ought to chortle. But I must report that for all the good acting, in the main, of this British importation ; for all the high-priced English deahs and theyahs (which is not English for dear and there) ; for all the vivid characterizations of Mr. Van Druten's men and women — "The Distaff Side" is a hollow piece of work cleverly stuffed to look like a great domestic crisis. It is hollow because it is all shell. And this shell fooled most of the critics. The picture angles in the play are threadbare and not at all exciting. It might hit the big dough with a strong cast — for most of our fans go to see their screen sweeties and heroes, and not a story. The picture stuff lies in the love-affair between Alex Millward (the gorgeous Viola Keats, a grand picture pick-up) and Toby Chegwidden. They have been living clandestinely in sin. And the "drama" is the revelation of this fact to the mother, Evie, a voluntary widow, serene, bloodless, bromidic. But the mother says in exquisite Mayfair the equivalent of Boloney ! And then she later rejects handsome Charles Bryant as a husband. It is an unsympathetic role. Toby is, unconsciously, a scream of a crea tion. He is on his way to Hollywood to become a camera-man, or maybe a pencilholder for Sir Cecil. He has puny spells, the flu, gets delirious, and refuses to have his hair cut. This guy would last about one hour in the old Bear Pit out thar where the San Gabriel doesn't flow. The mother, Evie, is Sybil Thorndike, who hasn't been here for twenty-five yeahs. She has been made a Dame Commander of the British Empire. If there is any psychological depth to her role, she does not exude it. I have never seen such listless acting. There's a deadly-dry picture script in this — maybe. But, picture Caliphs, grab the beautiful Viola Keats ! Picture value, 40 per cent. THE GREAT WALTZ "The Great Waltz" is the most gorgeous and riotously hollow musical show that has hit our stage since my memory runneth not to the contrary. It is a scenic souse and a color blare done by Max Gordon (producer) and Hassard Short, who conceived and directed it. But its picture value will lie in the b. o. return of its predicted long run at the mammoth Rockefeller Centre Theatre, its title and the fact that the musical score is made up of the rhythms of the elder and younger Johann Strauss. In spite of the lavish display of costumes of old Vienna Military and art life; in spite of the corybantic and gyrating sets, the movable orchestra, the blazing columns, the fireworks and the chandeliers ; in spite of the beautiful dancing of the Strauss waltzes by the Albertina Rasch Ballet; and in spite, finally, of the superb finale of the "The Beautiful Danube" (the finest stunt ever seen on our musical stage), "The Great Waltz" simply does not click for me. The book is dull, static, outmoded, and is merely an excuse to sing the grand Strauss waltzes, and the Strauss waltzes do not gain by being sung. They are purely instrumental. A voice deflects from the sheerly sensuous ear-charm of these immortal compositions. The story bores along fritteringly and raggedly on the theme of the rivalry between the elder Strauss and "Schani," the younger Johann, who was destined to become the immortal Strauss. There is a love-affair, of course (Vienna, without the ladies ? — you may as well try to think of Hollywood without picture studios). And many characters (many, many) flit through this tale. Of persons you know there are Solly Ward, Jessie Busley, Ernest Cossart, Guy Robertson, H. Reeves-Smith, Alexandra Danilova and Robert C. Fischer. There is no action in the picture sense whatever. The Great Waltz" is for the eye and ear only, and the big noise is Hassard Short. But you can't sing Strauss ! — not for me. Picture value, 30 per cent.