3:45pm (EST) Rio Lobo (1970)
This is the last movie Howard Hawks directed and the law of diminishing returns applies. The first act is okay: John Wayne is a civil war colonel on the Union side. A gold shipment he is responsible for is stolen off a train by a band of Confederates (the train heist is fascinating and the best part of the picture). Wayne chases them down, is kidnapped by them and then ingeniously tricks them into getting near his own troops, freeing himself, and taking their officers prisoner. Then the war is over.
Now the film just gets to be bad. It’s just a bad, rambling screenplay. Wayne and those Confederates have developed a mutual respect, even a rapport. He enlists two of them to help him locate the Union traitors in his unit who had helped the Confederates (and killed his young lieutenant). The trail leads to Rio Lobo, Texas. Coincidentally, these bad guys are now involved with a crooked sheriff and a rapacious cattle baron. There are three nearly identical but absolutely gorgeous damsels in distress, all of whom are terrible actors. (although one them is nearly topless in one scene, one of the few modern touches in the film, along with the close up of a hand playing a guitar in the opening credits). Jack Elam is an ornery guy who holds out against the cattle baron. As in Hawks’ previous films, there are endless, aimless scenes of people waiting, talking, wondering what to do, then planning what to do without much conviction about the outcome. There is no mystery to it. For the third time in a row in a western (Rio Bravo, El Dorado), he has a scene of John Wayne and his group of friends barricaded in a jailhouse. (what is it with this?). Interesting trivia: George Plimpton is an extra in this movie.
5:45pm (EST): Four for Texas (1963)
A Rat Pack western! This movie definitely represents a paradigm shift in values from the traditional American western. Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra play a couple of unintentionally decrepit letches who take turns scheming against each other and the equally crooked town banker (Victor Buono, one of my favorite actors) and womanizing with the interchangeable foreign model actresses Ursula Andress and Anita Ekberg.
There is a word in traditional westerns for behaving as these men do: villains. Here, they are the purported heroes. It is the same amoral universe we encounter in many spaghetti westerns, only — horribly — homegrown. Sinatra is the town pimp and casino owner who also runs a protection racket on the side. He has siphoned off enough money from the town’s legitimate businessmen (supposedly OK because they too are “crooked”) to buy an old river boat. (The film is set in the Texas port city of Galveston). His plans are derailed at the beginning of the film when Buono’s hired thugs (led by Charles Bronson and including Jack Elam — who is shot in the films first five minutes by Bronson out of sheer orneriness) attack the stagecoach bearing the money, leaving passenger Dino to walk off with the loot.
Dino is marginally more palatable than Frank — he uses the stolen loot to rescue the riverboat for the widow who owns it as well as the orphanage he grew up in. But he also uses a portion of the stolen money to ride around town in a fancy carriage wearing a fine new suit of clothes and smoking expensive cigars. He is cut of the same cloth as Sinatra. In the end, Sinatra and a gang of thugs battle Dino and a gang of thugs. The two then team up to battle Bronson’s even bigger gang of thugs in an extremely tedious, lengthy brawl.
The film has it’s moments. Not the least of which is a brief scene featuring the Three Stooges as a trio of pornographic portrait painters. It is a classic Stooges routine, and deserves to be more widely known. Not sure the same can be said of the movie overall.
Think ya know what a stooge is, do ya? I’ll lay dollars to donuts that when you hear that word two definitions or associations will occur to you, and both of them are admittedly correct. But I am going to tell you about a third.
The meanings of “stooge” you already know I imagine are these 1) the dictionary definition: a fall guy, chump or idiot; 2) a well known comedy act, consisting of 3 such idiots, which made comedy shorts for Columbia Pictures between 1934 and 1959 and a few features here and there before and after.
All true. My third definition of the word lies somewhere in between the other two and will perhaps illuminate both. In vaudeville, the word had a generic use — a stooge was a comedy performer who would pretend to be a member of the audience, or an usher, or stagehand or such like and thus enliven a comedy act by making a surprise appearance from an unexpected part of the theatre. Stooges weren’t the only vaudeville performers with at least one foot in the audience. Vaudeville acts lived or died by novelty and surprise. Many different kinds of acts employed surreptitious surrogates. For example, very often famous vocalists would employ “balcony singers”, apprentice warblers who would surprise the audience by joining in on a song from a place in the seats. Al Jolson (among scores or hundreds) got his start in this way. And, as I’m sure you know magicians and mind readers often employ confederates or audience plants who assist them in various ways to create their supernatural illusions. So the stooge is a subset of this larger group. A stooge is a comedian who pretends to be one of the public, and interrupts the comedy act on stage by heckling or causing some other disturbance.
That’s the genesis of the Three Stooges. Moe and Shemp Howard and later Larry Fine were hired to cause such commotions during Ted Healy’s act. The Howard brothers’ first dates with Healy happened right down the street from my house; the theatre where that historic occasion transpired is now a C-Town Supermarket. So these guys became “Ted Healy’s Stooges.” And Healy had many other ones, by the way. Sometimes he used more than just the well-known three. At other times he fired those three and hired others. Mousie Garner and Fred Sanborn were some of Healy’s other stooges. When the famous three finally broke with Healy for good they become something unprecedented — stooges without a lead comedian — and branded themselves The Three Stooges. And in time the world found itself thinking those three were the original and only three.
But the universe of stooges was and is much wider. There were scores of them in vaudeville, probably hundreds in the history of modern show business if we include night clubs, Broadway, burlesque and so forth.
For example, Frank Fay employed Patsy Kelly in such a role. Joe Cook had Dave Chasen. Olsen and Johnson’s Hellzapoppin was practically ALL Stooges (Joe Besser, among many others was one of them). Paul McCullough of Clark and McCullough, originally the lead comedian of the act, was gradually demoted to JUST the stooge. Jerry Lewis was Dean Martin’s stooge in nightclubs, and you can see their act re-created in their earliest films (and their 1952 comedy The Stooge paints a nice picture of what a vaudeville stooge did.) And comedians continue to use stooges, especially on television (I think particularly of Chris Elliott on the David Letterman show, although this is already decades ago, but comedy shows still use this technique).
Just some more news you can’t use!
To learn out more about vaudeville consult No Applause, Just Throw oney: The Book That Made Vaudeville Famous, available at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and wherever nutty books are sold. And don’t miss my new book Chain of Fools: Silent Comedy and Its Legacies from Nickelodeons to Youtube, just released by Bear Manor Media, also available from amazon.com etc etc etc
Happy Friday! Because people love nothing more than comedy that depresses them, I thought I would do a little post today about the sad exits of several classic comedy stars. By sad, I mean sad, in the literal sense. Most of these comedians are my heroes, who achieved the very highest heights of what it is possible to achieve in the comedy field. Their last films…well, they just kind of bring down their batting average.
The Heat’s On (1943)
Mae West’s last picture of the original Hollywood studio era (i.e. when she was relatively in her prime) although she would come back in the 1970s to do two more pictures, which we’ll get to. If you are a Mae West fan, The Heat’s On is disappointing; she’s only in about a quarter of the movie. In a normal Mae West movie Mae is the only important person, she is onscreen almost every minute, and she gets all the funny lines. In this one she is horribly upstaged by Victor Moore, William Gaxton and Xavier Cugat and a million musicians and singers in a crummy conventional plot about putting on a show. Ironically, West was the one whose name director/producer Gregory Ratoff relied upon to raise the financing to make the film. It plays with Mae’s image some, but has nothing like the normal ratio of Westian witticisms. A pale reflection of her earliest Paramount work.
Love Happy (1950)
Love Happy by some measures is the Marx Brothers’ last movie as a team, although Groucho’s turn is essentially a cameo, and Chico’s is somewhat underwritten. It was originally devised as a starring vehicle for Harpo. The other two got involved because Chico, a problem gambler, needed the money.
The movie also has the reputation for being the “worst” Marx Brothers movie, although I don’t happen to agree. Love Happy is a relatively bad movie; it is weird, and it has problems, but personally I wouldn’t call it their worst picture by a long shot. For various reasons, I would give that dubious honor to either Room Service, Go West or The Big Store. Perhaps it is a three way tie.
The plot of Love Happy (co-written by Frank Tashlin) is the usual contemptible claptrap about a troupe of actors desperate to put on a Broadway show. It is manifestly impossible to care whether they succeed or not. Doubly so, in light of the undistinguished musical numbers we are obliged to sit through. On the other hand, the cast of the show is literally starving for food and that IS an interesting plot. Harpo, the inexplicable mute who appears to be part of the company, although I’m not sure in what capacity, goes to the basement of a grocery store to steal food for them and wanders away with several cans of sardines. Little does he know that one of the cans contains…stolen diamonds! Such plot as there is involves several wicked crooks trying to recover the jewels, which Harpo doesn’t even know they have. Which is ironic, because they could finance a Broadway show and several groceries if they could just fence these rocks, get me?
What is Chico’s role in all of this? Chico plays Harpo’s Italian friend.
And Groucho? He is a detective who narrates the story and shows up at the end. By now he was a solo movie star (Copacabana, 1947) and a game show host and had taken to wearing a real mustache and glasses rather than the fake ones that had been his previous trademarks. He is almost literally phoning it in here.
Most memorably, when financing for the film ran out the producers struck product placement deals, giving us the unusual spectacle in the big chase scene at the climax where the Marx Brothers run across rooftops past billboards for Mobil, Bulova, Kool and General Electric. Why, it’s just like watching television!
Utopia a.k.a Atoll K a.k.a Robinson Crusoeland (released in the U.S. in 1954, but released in Europe three years earlier)
Laurel and Hardy’s last film. The team’s last previous Hollywood film had been in 1945. In the meantime they had been touring with live shows. This being their only film offer, they took it. The film was a French/ Italian co-production. Both Laurel and Hardy suffered a wide variety of health problems as they were filming (see photo above). And the film is almost unwatchably bad. It concerns Laurel inheriting a private island. He and Hardy, and some friends go there in a shabby, broken-down boat. When they arrive, uranium is discovered. That’s the extent of the plot. The script is not funny, and the performances are painful. It’s one of the saddest exits in film history.
The 30 Foot Bride of Candy Rock (1959)
This is Lou Costello’s last film, released posthumously. He had broken up with Bud Abbott two years earlier. In this spoof of the typical drive-in movie fare of the day, he plays a schlub who is forced to marry a girl who has been exposed to radiation and has grown to the size of, well, Grape Ape. This is the only film on this list I have not seen, although I’ll trust the conventional wisdom that it’s a stinkeroo. Which only makes me want to see it all the more.
A Countess from Hong Kong (1967)
Charlie Chaplin’s last film and first foray into color and widescreen casts Sophia Loren as a White Russian aristocrat who is now a taxi dancer and prostitute in Hong Kong. She stows away in conservative diplomat Marlon Brando’s state room. After much resistance on Brando’s part, they fall in love.
Unfortunately, despite the involvement of these stellar artists the film veers way off course in amazingly basic ways for so major a filmmaker. For starters, when does it take place? Originally written in the ‘30s, it has now been tweaked to be “sometime after World War II” (as an opening title tells us), but the fashions and some of the music and dancing seem to tell us it is contemporary (1966). Certainly there is nothing in the film to tell us that it’s a period piece, set in an earlier time. That being the case, our White Russian taxi dancer must be substantially older than Sophia Loren, even if she was a child at the time of the Revolution. And if it is 1966, why on earth is Marlon Brando’s character taking an ocean liner to travel to an important diplomatic post, needlessly taking several days as opposed to several hours by airplane? And if it is supposed to be set in an earlier decade, why do we have a scene in which Angela Scoular dances a Watusi as though she were in an episode of Shindig?
So Chaplin (then 77) was showing signs of being woefully out of touch. Further, the attitudes in his sex comedy are perplexing to say the least. The key to such comedies is to keep them light, fast, and ribald. The tone of A Countess is dark, plodding, and prudish. In My Autobiography, Chaplin reveals himself to be surprisingly Victorian on the subject of sex for someone who had apparently had so much of it, and with so many partners. Brando’s character is a kind of mouthpiece for that perspective in this film, and the movie sort of oddly takes his point of view rather than (as most such comedies do) making him a figure of fun. Since this is a film by the world’s greatest comedian, fun is just what we would expect a lot more of in such a film. Door slamming, for example. Farces are predicated on the hilarious choreography of such comic business. Such had been the case with his early films. For a more recent example of how it’s done, see Noises Off (1992). Chaplin does stage some of this kind of business in the film, but it is amazingly flaccid and perfunctory, it never ignites.
While Sophia Loren is actually great in it (and could potentially have been even better), Brando almost single-handedly sinks the whole movie. As we have said, Chaplin’s cinematic style is passive —it depends entirely on the performances within the frame to achieve its effects. But though Chaplin’s style is set up to support a performance, Brando steadfastly refuses to give one. As we know, while Chaplin was laissez-faire on the photographic side, he micromanaged his actors right down to demonstrating to them every gesture to make. Brando, a method actor, couldn’t stand this, and rebelled. In A Countess from Hong Kong his body is moving through a performance according to Chaplin’s instructions, but his interior life has checked out. You can see his hostility and unhappiness right there on the screen. He doesn’t seem to want to be in Chaplin’s movie. And since Chaplin’s entire film depends on Brando’s performance, A Countess from Hong Kong becomes a turkey.
After a lifetime of reading about it (being as it was Groucho Marx’s last film, among other things) I finally got to see this cult classic on TCM about five years ago. They played it in the pre-dawn hours, much where it belongs. The film is almost impossible to describe, so I’ll just try to hit it in fragments. Directed by the great Otto Preminger at a time in his career when he was desperately trying to remain au courant, this nutty film stars the Great One Mr. Jackie Gleason as a retired mobster, whom with his wife Carol Channing, is worried about his hippie daughter and her hippie boyfriend.
Forced by the top mobster “God” (Groucho) to do one last hit, he goes undercover into a jail so he can bump off fellow gangster Mickey Rooney before he can testify before a Senate commission. While in jail, Gleason does LSD. His trip is enjoyable in just the way you would imagine (“I can see MATHEMATICS!” he screams at one point).
Along the way, we meet just about every character actor in Hollywood, a mishmash of old and young: Austin Pendleton (in his first Hollywood role — and bald!), Frankie Avalon, Burgess Meredith, Cesar Romero, George Raft, Peter Lawford, Fred Clark, Frank Gorshin, etc etc etc. Harry Nilsson, who also wrote the soundtrack and its several songs (including the famous musical closing credits), also has a small role as a prison guard.
At the time, when there was a lot of this kind of stuff going on, it no doubt seemed less than the sum of its parts, and it bombed with both press and public. Now however, it has the added value of being a historical curiosity, and I highly recommend seeing it at least once in your life just to say you did.
And how does Groucho come off? Well…oddly, Grouchy. He’s not too funny in this, though we are sort of conditioned to laugh at things he says in a deadpan voice, even when they aren’t jokes, and it can be hard to turn that reaction off. He’s kind of mean and scary in this movie, a pool playing, homicidal gangster. He never leaves the tiny confines of his yacht, an undeniable reflection of the fact that the actor was 78 years old.
We’re lucky to see him standing at all. Believe me, Groucho was capable of doing shows where he DIDN’T stand. In 1976, not long before he died, I saw him on this Bob Hope special, where, in the aftermath of several strokes, he sat in a chair and uttered quips that were difficult to understand because his diction had gone. It was a sad spectacle, and to me as an 11 year old, a confusing one. Was I supposed to get this? No, son, the grown-ups have just done something very ill-advised. Get used to that!
Kook’s Tour (1970)
The Three Stooges’ final product may be the saddest of all. Intended as the pilot for a tv series, it’s essentially a lot of MOS film footage of the three elderly men pretending to goof around on vacation, with Moe Howard providing travelogue style voice over narration. There is no plot, and the slapstick is almost nonexistent. Really Kook’s Tour looks like it exists just to give the old guys something to do. Sadly, Larry Fine’s stroke right after filming spoiled the prospects of a series. As awful as this program is, it’s still got to better than the movie Moe was trying to get off the ground in 1975 undoubtedly would have been.
Blazing Stewardesses (1975)
This bizarre film concerns three porn-refugee stewardesses who help a bordello madam (Yvonne De Carlo) and two cow pokes (B movie western stars Bob Livingston and Red Barry) save their dude ranch.
Along the way they are helped (hindered) by the two surviving Ritz Brothers, Harry and Jimmy (Al had died in 1965). Their roles were originally to have been played by the remaining Three Stooges, but Larry Fine and Moe Howard both died in 1975, and no one wants Curly Joe de Rita. The film’s title was a craven and rather pathetic attempt to capitalize on the recent success of Blazing Saddles, which is as a Himalaya next to this ant hill of a comedy. Naughty Stewardesses, which features some of the same creative personnel, had come out a few months earlier, though this is technically not a sequel. Seeing two Ritz Brothers in their mid 70s cut up as though they were still in their 30s is quite a spectacle.
Mae West was a pro — she had been in show business for several decades. In fact, it would be technically accurate to say that she had been a professional actress and performer since the 19th century.
Thus, Mae knew that the key to success is: whatever happens, you gotta keep hustling. Keep your mind on your goals, and keep hustling to realize them. Sometimes there may be layoffs. There may be some down time between projects. But always keep a hand in, because the wheel will eventually turn around again.
And so it was that in 1978 — 35 years after her last starring vehicle and over 40 years since starring in a vehicle that could be called her own — Mae West finally got the chance to make her next script, Sextette. She’d written the script in the early 1950s, when she was already a shade long in the tooth, but roughly age appropriate. Then she’d starred in a stage version of the play about ten years later. And now here she was…not 50, not 60, not 70, not 80, but 85 years old, starring in this picture. The iffiness springs not from the fact she was elderly. Hey, look at The Whales of August and On Golden Pond. Nor does chagrin emerge even from the fact that her character is 85 years old and SEXUAL. Hey, look at Cocoon. But what is strange (uncanny? Halloween-like?) about Sextette is that West insisted on playing her character as though the 40 years hadn’t passed at all. The idea was that she was STILL the same sex symbol (a notion that had already become questionable among audiences in the late 1930s). And so in this movie her character gets married to her sixth husband (hence the title), a young Timothy Dalton who was some six decades her junior.
An to prove that she Got By With a Little Help From Her Friends, there was also Ringo Starr! Dom Deluise! Tony Curtis! George Hamilton! Alice Cooper! Keith Moon! All flirting with her (and presumably doing it with her on a large canopy bed with silver, space-age pillows) just as though she were half a century younger. Hey, what the hell. It was the 70s. Sex was in. Even gross sex was in. And not only that, it’s a musical! With crazy disco numbers! Some of which Mae sings herself!
How did this even happen? you may well ask. Well in 1970, Mae had appeared in another of the era’s more notorious films, Myra Breckenridge, an x rated adaptation of the Gore Vidal novel about a transsexual, which despite the adventurous subject matter was a critical and popular flop. Still, Mae was back in the game again and presumably bankable on some level, and so financial backing was found.
At this stage of her life, Mae’s hearing, sight and memory were all gone, so throughout the picture her lines were fed to her through a special ear piece, and you generally see handsome young gents leading her around by the arm. Which a gentleman should do anyway. None of the major studios would distribute the film, so its initial release wasn’t the huge splash one might expect given this major star’s emergence from forced retirement. But over time it has become a cult favorite among, oh, people like me. Everyone should see this film at least once. No one should ever see the film more than once.
But there’s an up side to all this. West passed away two years after Sextette’s release. I think it’s really nice that she passed at a moment when she felt like she was back in the game.
Cracking Up (1983)
Okay, Jerry Lewis is still with us, but he is 89 years old, and I think it safe to say that Cracking Up will prove to have been his last comedy film as both director and star. In every case we’ve discussed in this blogpost the movie occurred because the artist didn’t know how to quit while they were ahead. And we have to bring some humanity to the contemplation of that. Because that is obviously a hard thing to know how to do. Now Jerry, like many of the folks above (Groucho, Mae West) had more than one “last film”, but kept coming back to the well. First there was his previous last film as comedy auteur Which Way to the Front (1970), set in Nazi Germany during World War Two. And then there his was aborted Holocaust movie The Day the Clown Cried (1972). (I like to refer to the years 1970-72 as Jerry’s “Third Reich Period”.) After which he ostensibly and perhaps wisely retired.
But…no, eight years later he returned to the big screen for his big “come back” film Hardly Working (1980). The interesting thing about this phase is what he didn’t do. In the last phase of his previous career, Jerry had been trying to “grow”. From around 1965 through 1972, you can see him trying to adjust his previous screen character to account for the fact that he was now a middle aged man. But when he returned in 1980, it was as though he had said “to hell with that.” He just returned to doing what he always did, only much worse. Audiences had grown more sophisticated on some level since Jerry had left the screen. The big stars were SNL alum who made satirical, daring and hip comedies. Jerry ignored what was going on around him at the time and made a film where he just fell down a lot (at the age of 54). Moderate audiences checked out Hardly Working out of curiosity, and I guess Jerry took that as positive reinforcement for his bad behavior.
So…in 1983 he went back to the well yet again with Smorgasbord , which he renamed Cracking Up. Co-written with his old screenwriting partner Bill Richmond the film does everything it can to ignore the commercial will of audiences in 1983, by phoning in Lewis’s own 2o and 30 year old screen behavior, and populating the rest of the movie with over-exposed tv comedians like Foster Brooks and Milton Berle and football player Dick Butkus. After a single preview, it was decided not to distribute the film to theatres. It went straight to cable tv. (Fortunately, Jerry has had many chances to redeem himself as an actor since 1983. This is his last hurrah as actor/director).
To find out more about the history of show business, consult No Applause, Just Throw Money: The Book That Made Vaudeville Famous, available at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and wherever nutty books are sold. And check out my other book Chain of Fools: Silent Comedy and Its Legacies from Nickelodeons to Youtube, released by Bear Manor Media, also available from amazon.com etc etc etc
Today is the birthday of the great comedy film producer and director Jules White (1900-1985).
White is alternately revered and reviled among comedy and film fans; I am unabashed in my admiration for him (we’ll get to his flaws anon). His mark on comedy history was as the head of Columbia’s short subject division from 1933 to 1959, a period during which all the other big and small studios were closing their doors or simply phasing out comedy shorts: (Mack Sennett, Hal Roach, Educational Pictures, RKO, Warner Brothers, MGM, etc) giving White for a time a virtual monopoly. White was not just the production chief for this division, but kept his hand in as director and producer.
I think it’s telling that he learned the movie trade first as an editor working for his brother Jack White, a producer at Educational Pictures. Comedy is about rhythm and timing, and one of the things I love about the house style during his reign at Columbia is the way the comedies are cut. From editing, he graduated to directing the likes of Lige Conley and Cliff Bowes. In 1930 he launched a series of hokey all-dog comedies called “Dogville” at MGM, in which trained pooches dressed in clothes enacted parodies of hit films, with offscreen actors supplying voices. While at MGM, he and his colleague Zion Myers also co-directed the 1931 Buster Keaton talking feature Sidewalks of New York.
Then in 1933, the opportunity at Columbia, where White was responsible for turning out hundreds of comedy shorts starring the Three Stooges (nearly half his output), Hugh Herbert, Harry Langdon, Buster Keaton, Andy Clyde and dozens of others. Some may be appalled but I would list Jules White among my favorite comedy film directors, possible among my top ten, but definitely among my top 20 or 25. Broad and fast-paced, and invariably violent (sometimes admittedly too violent), it’s the closest live action slapstick has gotten to the energy of animated cartoons (with the exception of Frank Tashlin’s work, and of course Tashlin started in animation). White’s style is unmistakable at every level: how it is shot, how the actors are directed to behave, how it is edited, and how it is scored (often with cartoonish sound effects). White has a STYLE. How many directors of comedy — in fact, how many directors can you say that about? Furthermore, he achieves clarity: clarity of vision, clarity of intention and clarity of result. Again, how many can you really say this about?
It isn’t for all audiences, nor was it for all performers. Buster Keaton, who liked to take his time on a bit, was a fish out of water in White’s universe, and his Columbia comedies came out terrible. And towards the end of his tenure, White grew lazy, and in the name of expedience he would re-use gags, plots and even footage from old films. Some of the critical scorn White has earned has to do with this later period.
White dabbled in tv after Columbia closed its shorts division and then retired in 1961. His last film short was Sappy Bull Fighters (1959).
To learn more about slapstick comedy film history please check out my new book: Chain of Fools: Silent Comedy and Its Legacies from Nickelodeons to Youtube, just released by Bear Manor Media, also available from amazon.com etc etc etc
To learn about the history of vaudeville, consult No Applause, Just Throw Money: The Book That Made Vaudeville Famous, available at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and wherever nutty books are sold.
In honor of the Halloween season we share this funny Three Stooges spook comedy from 1943, which mixes elements of World War 2 espionage, some very hoary business concerning mysteriously thrown pies, and that old stand-by gag of Curly mistaking a balloon with a face drawn on it for a ghost. A special treat is the uncredited appearance of Charles Middleton in the cast. I have probably watched this one with my kids three dozen times. Just why the spies feel the need to dress like a devil and a skeleton must be one of the central enigmas of World War Two.
For more on slapstick comedy don’t miss my new book Chain of Fools: Silent Comedy and Its Legacies from Nickelodeons to Youtube, just released by Bear Manor Media, also available from amazon.com etc etc etc
All week I’ll be sharing vintage Halloween themed comedy-horror tidbits like this one. The Spook Talks is a fairly hilarious Three Stooges short from 1949 (the Shemp era) wherein the boys are furniture movers charged with the task of moving everything out of Smorgasbord Castle, whereupon they encounter a haunted, talking suit of armor. The film is one of practically a dozen Stooge’s comedies that features that old gag of an owl or other bird somehow getting inside a human skull and flying around so that everyone thinks it’s a ghost. In a film that has ACTUAL ghosts, that gag doesn’t make too much sense, but that doesn’t stop me from relishing every moment!
For more on comedy film history don’t miss my new book Chain of Fools: Silent Comedy and Its Legacies from Nickelodeons to Youtube, just released by Bear Manor Media, also available from amazon.com etc etc etc
To learn out more about show business history consult No Applause, Just Throw Money: The Book That Made Vaudeville Famous, available at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and wherever nutty books are sold.