World Film and Television Progress (1938)

have to go and tell her." Tracy gives one of those superbly fine performances that seem so easy to him. He seems to key up the tension of the whole picture by his quiet, restrained, yet emotionally effective acting. Myrna Loy is the girl. She, too, goes through all the emotions from gaiety to hysteria. It is also the best thingshe has done. Lionel Barrymore, Samuel Hinds and several other well-known people are in the cast, but the trio of stars carry it, stepping into the tense, thrilling, ominous, splendidly courageous spirit of the film. Test Pilot sets an altitude record for the films : it will probably do the same thing for the takings at the box-office. — Richard Haestier, The Star The flying scenes in this picture are about the best since HelVs Angels. But what points the film gains on flying, it rather tends to lose on sentiment. Gable is the tough, drinking pilot of test machines . . . the man who has to take a brand new machine up and put it through tricks it will never be asked to do again. The batting average works out at around a crack-up every three trips. Gable gives one of the best performances of his career. He is tough, but moving and tense. That grand actor, Spencer Tracy, again turns in one of his deceptively easy-looking bits of acting. His quiet, unemotional playing serves to heighten the tension of Myrna Loy and Gable. Myrna shows that crazy comedy hasn't robbed her of the power of portraying grief and drama. It is unbelievable that the same firm could turn out Test Pilot and Girl of the Golden West. And, by the way, a lot of this picture is in close-up. Nearly every shot of Clark Gable and Myrna Loy is a full-face close-up. Which leads me into thought. Myrna Loy is now over thirty, Gable bordering forty. For ten years they've been at the top of the tree. And there's nobody to succeed them. The star building system of Hollywood doesn't seem to be working. Five years, they used to say. Then you're through. M.-G.-M. have proved how wrong that system is. In ten years they've made practically no attempt to build any new stars other than their present list of Gable, Garbo, Loy, Crawford and the rest. —Jasper Long, The Sunday Pictorial Otrd Bob (Robert Stevenson — Gainsborough.) Will Fyffe, John Loder, Margaret Lockwood. A Scottish folk-tale of a cantankerous old sheepherder and his dog, Black Wull. Both are treacherous, sly creatures, distrusted by the town folk and feared by neighbourhood sheep owners. McAdam, the sheepherder, is a drunkard; Black Wull is part wolf, so when sheep are found slaughtered on the fells every morning, the townsfolk band together and accuse the whiskey-befuddled McAdam of the crime. The penalty is that he must kill Black Wull. Throughout this legend is a refreshing and authentic atmossphere of an unfamiliar cinema people. The leisurely excitement of the sheepherding contests, the caustic humour of the rustic, hardy partying*, the poignancy of McAdam's moment of retribution — all these are beautifully, serenely done. Both the photography and the acting have the same unpretentious sturdiness of the moors upon which they take place. Folk-lore of infinite riches. -Stage I have just seen Owd Boh and like it so much that I find it difficult not to write extravagantly about it. I am anxious not to spoil it for you by overpraise, because the film itself is so very slight and simple. It is just a story of Cumberland shepherds and their dogs, the annual excitement of the sheepdog trials, and the common threat to the dales of a dog that runs wild and becomes a killer. People who like their pictures smart and spectacular may find it tedious. I thought " Has taken herself more seriously ...'"' it fascinating, and, as a born Northerner, I was grateful for the Eskdale scenes, and couldn't have enough of them. To see those dark, rain-piled skies again, after the hard brilliance of Caiifornian sunshine, and the decorum of Elstree and Denham, was as good as a holiday to me. — C. A. Lejeune, The Sunday Observer The way in which the camera follows the movements of the sheep-dogs leaves an impression of great beauty and extreme intelligence. The sheep-dog Owd Bob, like his only serious competitor Black Wull, is seen momentarily on the skyline, and in every action of his body there is something akin to poetry. The film might well have gained considerably by an unhappy ending for the humans and a longer innings for the does. — The Times ll«»*r#* lioitifi to bv It if it (Monty Banks — 20th Century-Fox.) Gracie Fields, Victor McLaglen, Brian Donlevy. The Elysian Fields has not yet been photographed. I mean that our Gracie, the cheerful Melba of the music-halls, has not been translated satisfactorily to the screen. Twentieth Century-Fox sent an exhibition to the English hinterland to find, photograph and flaunt her. The expedition cost something more than £200,000. It vowed to get away from the "mill girl makes good on stage" theme, done to death by British producers. It said, presumably, "This is our chance to make Gracie an international star. Let's go". They've gone, and I do not think that the resulting picture, We're Going to be Rich, shoves Miss Fields any nearer the Caiifornian stars. Miss Fields is subdued. She cracks only one music-hall joke after a song called "Walter, Walter" ("take me to the altar"). And I thought her best number was "There is a tavern in the town", a distinctively appropriate ditty in view of McLaglen's thirst. Apart from the singing, the really satisfactory events are the fights, the bareknuckle affair between McLaglen and Don McCorkindale, and the tin-tray knock-down by Gracie, McLaglen being again the loser. Considering the money that it cost, We're Going to be Rich is a disappointment. What they call "production value" is there, but the story lies buried underneath it. — Ian Coster, The Evening Standard It has been said that Gracie Fields's most ardent admirers will not take kindly to We're Going to be Rich. If this is so, it is hard to see why. Here for once she has been given a good, if albeit a simple, story, as well as a capable supporting cast who can help to take the weight of the production off her shoulders, and a most satisfactory background. In consequence she has less to do, but in the past she has always had too much. Moreover, her comedy is kept in its place, and although she sings as wide a selection of her famous songs as anyone could desire, she yet makes us laugh only while she is singing them, and for the rest is concerned with a serious part which she plays with conviction and restraint. That she should be thus cast is surely no mistake. She is still "Our Gracie", no doubt, but of recent years she has taken herself more seriously, and her public have seemed willing that she should do so. For these reasons we are of the opinion that this is her best picture, and there are other reasons as well. Monty Banks's Johannesburg provides a fine period setting, and his crowd of extra players have risen nobly to the occasion. For those who like their entertainment straightforward and \ igorous, we can confidently recommend We're Going to be Rich; it has about it the flavour of the good old Westerns, when the villain hit the hero over the head with a table, and the hero then threw him down three flights of stairs. — H. E. Blyth. World Film News 129