Hmm. 23:40 and I've just finished editing today's Shakespeare youtubery. I don't mind if the videos are going to take this
long, I just need to plan it all a bit better, that's all. But while I wait
for that to upload...
... here in a similar vein is a beautifully
developed and tender bit of love at first sight featuring a travelling brush salesman from Million Dollar Legs (W.C.
Fields' first feature, although he didn't write it and he's not in this scene). Red Skelton was also a travelling brush salesman in that Bela Lugosi sketch I remember. It was
definitely a thing. I'll post today's video below once it's uploaded. I've only cut the one blatantly anti-semitic line from it, and I tell
you what that was in the introduction, so this is still the complete
works.
Contained within my W.C. Fields box set is If I Had A Million, a Depression-era portmanteau from 1932 in which various strangers are bequeathed a million dollars by an eccentric tycoon. Its tone varies wildly and on purpose. One recipient is a former vaudevillian played by Alison Skipworth who now runs a tea room, and spends her million on a series of cars which she and husband Fields proceed to total by slamming into motorists who've rubbed them up the wrong way.
Alison Skipworth and W. C Fields emerge from ther latest purchase.
Another recipient is a convict about to be sent to the electric chair, who knows a better lawyer would have saved his life if he'd only been able to afford one, and can't now quite process that the cheque in his hand has arrived too late.
Noboby in this episode is credited.
It's an extraordinary film, which might be why its owners never allowed the copyright to lapse and why I can't post the clip above on youtube: this episode follows directly on from Gene Raymond (above centre) being dragged screaming to the chair. Directed by Ernst Lubitsch, and starring Charles Laughton, it is at two minutes by far the shortest episode in the film, and it is perfect, and it knows it, and that's one of the things that makes it perfect.
Alison Skipworth again, painted by Frank Markham Skipworth (1854-1929)
I received some charity out of the blue today myself, as I explain in the introduction to today's episode of Defoe, whose title "The New Undertaking" is not as obviously a pun as I'd like:
I'm still dithering about what to do with my Wednesdays, but even if I haven't yet committed to reviewing my W.C. Fields box set I've still been enjoying re-viewing it, so here's the"short" that first got me into him. It's not necessarily typical of Fields' comedy, he's spoofing virtue here rather than flaunting corruption, but all his best work was gooey with a juggler's disdain for melodrama, and I still find it delicious a century later, despite having no idea what was originally being parodied. What could be typical is the pacing, slow but restless, the kind of thing that might generate exponential waves of giggling in a live audience, but play quite differently to someone watching alone. Rewatching it I also now notice a strong influence from his dulcimer-playing upon my own musical output. (There's at least as much W. C. Fields in Mirrorboy as there is Buster Keaton.) Enjoyez.
As a final Frankenstein Wednesdays postlude, here is one of Bela Lugosi and Lon Chaney Junior's last appearances together (and Lugosi's frist appearance with Vampira, five years before Plan 9 For Outer Space) a shabby sketch show starring a shabby comedian sponsored by something called Geritol. I've only stuck it here to dispel the myth that Lugosi's one foray into live television was a total disaster, and that Red Skelton's improvisations caused him to jeopardise the show because as you can see, that's not what happens at all. Bela forgets a line, but that's it. It's fine. It's even charming. Live theatre was Bela's livelihood, and I know he looks shockingly ill, even standing next to Chaney who looks like Bill the Cat, but it still makes me happy to see him doing work this good with material this bad (including his own mortal tissue). It's nothing like the scene in Ed Wood, is what I am saying. The curtain's not brought down.
I love this movie. But.
Moving on though: What am I going to do for Wednesdays now? I know I didn't aways make the deadlines, and that last Abbott and Costello post went on for eight days, so maybe I should give myself a break and not dedicate Wednesdays to anything for a while. But if I were to, here are some candidates...
Clockwise, from top left:
A box set of the first six Star Trek films: in which the original crew of the Enterprise grow old and realise they've nothing but each other. In trying to wring adventure out of Reason rather than Romance Trek's impact on popular science fiction, and by extension the popular subconscious, might be as deep as Frankenstein's. But do I really want to chunter on in that vein for six weeks? Conventional wisdom says the odd-numbered films are bad and the even-numbered ones are good, so at least I'd be kept on my toes. Or if I wanted to stay in the thirties...
A box set of seventeen W. C Fields Features: I adore W.C. Fields, am always happy to recommend his work, and know there are at least five films in here I'd want to say something about. Also this would let me delve deeper into the thirties, nor do I remember any of them being stinkers. Still five out of seventeen's not a great ratio, and maybe I should be careful how much of the thirties I dabble in. There's always earlier...
A box set of Early Hitchcock. Nine films, all British, some silent. There's a lot here I haven't seen, so that would be one reason to go for this. And I love Hitchcock's early British stuff. But maybe too niche. Maybe I could review some telly instead...
A box set of the Bardathon. Clive James' name for the BBC's televising of every single play known to have been penned by Shakespeare at the time of broadcast, the early eighties. Thirty-nine plays, each about three hours long. So a hell of a project, but I have already watched them all, and enjoyed most of them. Then again, I'm an English graduate. Also I've no idea what these posts would look like. A bit curious to find out. Also piquing my curiosity...
Twenty-two Ingmar Bergman films I inherited from my godfather. Again, a very heavy exercise. I've seen very little Bergman though, so like the Hitchcock this would be an excuse to finally watch something, rather than an opportunity for closer study. And Bergman definitely deserves closer study. And maybe now's not the time. Or maybe he's completely up my alley. I've no idea, this is the biggest blind spot on the current list. Unlike...
The complete Ulysses 31. Space. Robots. God. Bad acting. Good design. Great music. Twenty-six episodes. Last-minute thought. I still haven't read the Odyssey. Back to the thirties...
The Complete Thin Man Collection. William Powell and Myrna Loy get pissed and solve crimes in the thirties. Six films. I love the first two - maybe too much to have anything interesting to say about them - and I haven't seen the last four. Speaking of Powells...
Two box sets of films by Powell and Pressburger. Some absoute wonders here, but I haven't seen them all, so again I'd be using this as an opportunity to cath up. A lot has already been written about the films I have seen though, and I'm not sure I'll be bringing much to this party. And finally...
The complete Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce Sherlock Holmes. Fourteen films, which I love, which is a reason for choosing them. Also I'm not sure I've seen them all, which is another reason for. Also there'll be some continuity of talent with Universal's Frankensteins, another reason for. But I might love every film for the same reason, and there's fourteen of them, so I might not have that much new to say about each. Then again, maybe "not that much" is eactly the right length for a blog.
Okay, just searching for those screengrabs has made me keen to do definitely something. Feel free to make suggestions below.
