Copyright as How Doooo You Do 7 January 1946 by P.R.C. Pictures, Inc. No New York opening. U.S. release: 24 December 1945. U.K. release through Pathé floating from October. 8 reels. 80 minutes.
SYNOPSIS: Local sheriff forces a group of radio actors to remain put in a desert resort hotel when the body of a murdered theatrical agent is found in one of the rooms. So the group sends for some famous movie detectives to help solve the mystery.
COMMENT: What turns out to be a novel and rather entertaining film doesn't start any too promisingly in a mock-up of an NBC recording studio where straight man/announcer Von Zell and "The Mad Russian" (Bert Gordon) run through a few very mildly amusing routines, Cheryl Walker sings "Twelve Hour Pass" and Ella Mae Morse belts out "Boogie-Woogie Cindy". All this in long takes, straight in front of the camera, with a couple of inserted close-ups of Miss Walker, and a few limited pans to the studio stage exit and entrance.
Even when the action finally (after a long scene in the Von Zell-Gordon dressing room) transfers to the lobby of the holiday hotel, there is little lift in directorial imaginativeness. In fact Ella Mae has yet another musical interlude up her sleeve - pleasant though it is - whilst Gordon (I must admit I love his get-up with that ridiculous upswept hair accentuating his pliably floppy ears) and Von Zell (looking as dapper as possible for a stubby little man with unlimited funds for his tailor) engage in more light - if marginally diverting - banter.
Just as one is beginning to wonder if the paper-thin plot, with its increasing absence of credibility, is meant to be taken even half-seriously, the movie detectives arrive in a bunch. Not well-known detectives of course. No Basil Rathbone, Ralph Bellamy, Chester Morris, Sidney Toler, George Sanders, Tom Conway or the like. But second-string and bit players: Fred Kelsey, the perennial house dick; Thomas Jackson, a familiar police lieutenant; James Burke, comic off-sider to James Gleason and company; Leslie Denison, a Basil Rathbone impersonator; and the pick of the bunch, Keye Luke, Charlie Chan's number one son who partnered Warner Oland in six movies from 1935 to 1938. These were the only players PRC could afford. What to do? Well at this point the script starts to agreeably slide away from any pretence at reality. There are in-house jokes and cracks about "B" movies as these "detectives" crowd the sets, plus some wonderful chiller-spoof scenes with Bert Gordon in his element, abetted by marvellously atmospheric photography from Benjamin Kline, and all capped by a rib-tickling Hellzapoppin-type double finale.
By PRC standards, production values are amazingly lavish. The hotel sets have a certain spacious attractiveness, the girls' costumes are reasonably stylish, and - once he gets a chance to pull out the lighting stops - Kline's cinematography is really first-class. Even Murphy's direction improves dramatically once he has a few people to work with. In fact we love the way he blocks out the action with these crowds of stumble-footed amateurs racing up and down stairs and then lining themselves up in tight, symmetrical groups for the dialogue scenes. Very tight. In many shots there are no less than ten actors lined up across the screen. Fourteen is the limit.
In all, a very pleasant film. Kidding the "B" movie thriller is a novel idea, the lighting is great, the songs (all of them in the first half) are zesty, the players are good company and even at his corniest Bert Gordon is one amusing guy.
SYNOPSIS: Local sheriff forces a group of radio actors to remain put in a desert resort hotel when the body of a murdered theatrical agent is found in one of the rooms. So the group sends for some famous movie detectives to help solve the mystery.
COMMENT: What turns out to be a novel and rather entertaining film doesn't start any too promisingly in a mock-up of an NBC recording studio where straight man/announcer Von Zell and "The Mad Russian" (Bert Gordon) run through a few very mildly amusing routines, Cheryl Walker sings "Twelve Hour Pass" and Ella Mae Morse belts out "Boogie-Woogie Cindy". All this in long takes, straight in front of the camera, with a couple of inserted close-ups of Miss Walker, and a few limited pans to the studio stage exit and entrance.
Even when the action finally (after a long scene in the Von Zell-Gordon dressing room) transfers to the lobby of the holiday hotel, there is little lift in directorial imaginativeness. In fact Ella Mae has yet another musical interlude up her sleeve - pleasant though it is - whilst Gordon (I must admit I love his get-up with that ridiculous upswept hair accentuating his pliably floppy ears) and Von Zell (looking as dapper as possible for a stubby little man with unlimited funds for his tailor) engage in more light - if marginally diverting - banter.
Just as one is beginning to wonder if the paper-thin plot, with its increasing absence of credibility, is meant to be taken even half-seriously, the movie detectives arrive in a bunch. Not well-known detectives of course. No Basil Rathbone, Ralph Bellamy, Chester Morris, Sidney Toler, George Sanders, Tom Conway or the like. But second-string and bit players: Fred Kelsey, the perennial house dick; Thomas Jackson, a familiar police lieutenant; James Burke, comic off-sider to James Gleason and company; Leslie Denison, a Basil Rathbone impersonator; and the pick of the bunch, Keye Luke, Charlie Chan's number one son who partnered Warner Oland in six movies from 1935 to 1938. These were the only players PRC could afford. What to do? Well at this point the script starts to agreeably slide away from any pretence at reality. There are in-house jokes and cracks about "B" movies as these "detectives" crowd the sets, plus some wonderful chiller-spoof scenes with Bert Gordon in his element, abetted by marvellously atmospheric photography from Benjamin Kline, and all capped by a rib-tickling Hellzapoppin-type double finale.
By PRC standards, production values are amazingly lavish. The hotel sets have a certain spacious attractiveness, the girls' costumes are reasonably stylish, and - once he gets a chance to pull out the lighting stops - Kline's cinematography is really first-class. Even Murphy's direction improves dramatically once he has a few people to work with. In fact we love the way he blocks out the action with these crowds of stumble-footed amateurs racing up and down stairs and then lining themselves up in tight, symmetrical groups for the dialogue scenes. Very tight. In many shots there are no less than ten actors lined up across the screen. Fourteen is the limit.
In all, a very pleasant film. Kidding the "B" movie thriller is a novel idea, the lighting is great, the songs (all of them in the first half) are zesty, the players are good company and even at his corniest Bert Gordon is one amusing guy.
