Reviews

She has been so sorely maligned. Despite what has been claimed by others here, Glenda Farrell was not a bad actress. A little broad sometimes perhaps, but not bad. She is a dynamo of live energy, which the film badly needs, for the only other energetic character in the film is Atwill, and only Farrell has the force to bring him down(that the script does not let her do so personally betrays the character). It is not Farrell's performance or even her character which is the problem of the film, but the script which makes that character necessary. Chock Full O' undeveloped characters (only Atwill and Farrell qualify as more than ciphers)whose paths cross coincidentally,Farrell's reporter is the one in the middle bringing the disparate elements together. A reporter or policeman had to be the central character, for only one of those two would be privy to all or even enough of the info needed to solve the puzzle, or to even recognize that the puzzle existed. And only a female reporter could be Fay Wray's roommate, as female police detectives or beat cops didn't exist(at least not in Hollywood). And only a fast-talking, wisecracking, brash and fierce female reporter able to beat the stereotypical fast-talking, wisecracking, brash 1930's male reporter at his own game could find the story AND crack the case before the police. Others have objected to the attention given the comic relief, apparently misunderstanding the term. Comic relief characters are supporting characters, and in this film, despite third billing, Glenda Farrell is the female lead. Fay Wray was a freelancer and able to negotiate better billing even though her role doesn't deserve it. Had she not had a real lead in the companion film DR.X, it's unlikely she would have been asked to take such a small part. Charlotte is needed in the story only for a face, and her face and scream are all Wray is allowed to bring to the role. As outstanding as those two attributes are, they don't add up to a real character. And while Farrell cracks wise, she is doing serious work central to the tale. A role with comedic content is not automatically a comic relief part. The script is a mess, letting down the great concept. HOUSE OF WAX is a much tighter script, more linear, combining ingenue and snoop into one role, and beefing up the part of the disfigured sculptor. It drops the very extraneous playboy character and the loose ends which trail in his wake. But most agree that HOUSE is boring compared to MYSTERY, and in addition to the direction and editing, much of MYSTERY's drive comes from the girl reporter and the crack actress who played her. Even if you do find her grating, Glenda Farrell is never boring.

This film falls toward the middle of Mascot's serial output. It isn't as exciting as some (The Hurricane Express), as entertainingly ludicrous as others (The Whispering Shadow), as lavish as a few (The Phantom Empire) managed to be. The actors' performances are all on par with their respective usual standards, and stick fairly close to typecasting. The Tavern Hotel, where much of the action is set, is an illogical conceit: a large building seemingly in the middle of nowhere, housing no more than five people all of whom are familiar with the secret passages which honeycomb the walls. Of course, in Mascot serials logic is pretty much beside the point, and that's okay.

O.K., so you've read about Shearer, Crawford, Russell, et al. And they are great, but they are surrounded by such a flawless supporting cast that even with mediocre leads this would still have been a great flick. Lucille Watson as Shearer's mother is wonderful, as always. Muriel Hutchinson and Mary Cecil, who didn't make ten films between the two of them (what a loss for us!) are perfect as the maid and cook commiserating over their employers' break-up. Virginia Grey, Crawford's co-worker who tries to sabotage the phone call, is so beautiful and acts her part so well--watch her in this scene instead of Crawford--that it really shows the promise she had, and which Hollywood never took the trouble to properly develop. Former stars abound--Aileen Pringle, Judith Allen, and Flora Finch who was Hollywood's very first female comedy star in the 1910's.

Susan Hayward's powerful performance as Barbara Graham has been much written about, and it is the single best part of this film. But there are so many other perfectly pitched performances surrounding her as well, mostly by actors relatively unknown even to film buffs, or early turns by actors whose faces, if not names, did find a national audience--Virginia Vincent as Peg (she played the mother in The Hills Have Eyes), Gas chamber guard Dabbs Greer (the Rev. on Little House on the Prairie and Picket Fences), and especially Raymond Bailey who plays the San Quentin warden. His understated forthrightness and humaneness are a far cry from his later manic turn as Mr Drysdale on The Beverly Hillbillies (with the addition of a toupee). Robert Wise handles the execution preparations with a clinicism that turns the stomach more than any posturing would do, bringing the horror of impending death home. And following the clock's second with a moving camera closeup, instead of just cutting to the clock on the wall, done so many times, is craftsmanship of the highest order.

While no classic, this low budget thriller exceeds its reputation. Creating a truly oppressive atmosphere-just what the story calls for-it features a strong performance by Richard Basehart and good support from a young Lance Henrikson. Particularly creepy, though not in a horror movie way, is the sequence where Basehart picks up a little girl to be his next subject, which, while not graphic, may be a bit much for some viewers. Yes, it is a sleazy movie, but for this story that is appropriate. The only letdown is the total waste of Gloria Grahame, who is given little to work with. She deserved better.