User Reviews

B-movie fans are constantly filtering amid the dross in search of hidden gems and eccentric oddities in which verve and creativity peek through the routine cracks of low-budget filmmaking. Here's one really obscure title that fits the bill.

With a great premise reminiscent of DOA, this could have been a stunning noir. Unfortunately, some skeptic decided to play it mainly for laughs, not unlike many B thrillers of the 30's and 40s. Nonetheless, below the surface hides the bizarre interlocking relationships of lust among the characters across class lines, with Cathy O'Donnell's scheming nympho teenager a standout (reminiscent of the Martha Vickers character in the Big Sleep). There's also a more exotic temptress in a smaller role, as well as a muscular deadhead boxer to lure the posh ladies of the cast.

Of course, the giveaway is the presence of John Alton, whose luminous expressionist photography is again highly experimental and at times breathtaking. He combined with director Vorhaus for another hidden gem, The Amazing Dr X (aka the Spiritualist).

An inferno against a night sky opens Bury Me Dead, with the whinnying of high-strung horses as they're being led from their burning stable. Still inside the tinderbox, all those present assume, is a well-to-do young married woman (June Lockhart). But later, at the burial, a mysterious veiled mourner hitches a ride home with family lawyer Hugh Beaumont and reveals herself to be the presumed contents of the casket.

She does her own version of the dance of the seven veils by dramatically appearing to her various survivors, who greet her re-emergence with a multicolored outbursts of consternation, shock and relief. (Lockhart's such a sweetie she can't bring this off with the panache it demands.) Among the surprised are her husband Mark Daniels, whom she suspects of setting the fire, and her spoiled and wilful kid sister Cathy O'Donnell (who oddly takes top billing). One by one, they and others relate to the police, in flashback, their own recollections of the night of the fire. One big question remains: Whose remains were laid to rest?

Starting off with a great premise – the fantasy of being present at one's own funeral – Bury Me Dead soon finds itself running low on ingenuity. Not completely out, just low. On the plus side, it boasts expectedly fine cinematography courtesy of John Alton, just before he embarked upon his legendary collaboration with director Anthony Mann. But here the director was Bernard Vorhaus, nearing the end of his humdrum career if not of his life, which would last almost half a century after his last movie (he fell victim to the Hollywood blacklist and relocated to England).

In a style inexplicably popular in crime programmers of the late ‘30s and early ‘40s, Vorhaus decides to leaven the homicides with laughs. Yet Bury Me Dead manages to pull short of the brink of one of those ghastly slapstick mysteries – not by much, but still short. (As a beef-witted prizefighter, Greg McClure shoulders most of the ungainly comedy on his very broad frame.) With its pleasant but low-voltage cast getting little extra juice from Vorhaus, Bury Me Dead doesn't quite count as forgotten treasure, even by the forgiving standards of nostalgia buffs and film-noir freaks. But it's not a disaster, either, in length and appeal about as comfy and silly as an old episode of Simon & Simon or Matlock padded out for a slot on TV after the late local newscast..

Bury Me Dead is directed by Bernard Vorhaus and adapted to screenplay by Dwight V. Babcock and Karen DeWolf from a radio drama by Irene Winston. It stars June Lockhart, Cathy O'Donnell, Hugh Beaumont, Mark Daniels, Greg McClure and Milton Parsons. Music is by Emil Cadkin and cinematography by John Alton.

Barbara Carlin (Lockhart) surprises everyone by turning up alive and well shortly after she had been buried at funeral! This poses two immediate questions: Who was buried in Barbara's coffin? And who was it who attempted to murder her?

As has been noted by the few writers on line who have written about this film, it's a grand premise that unfortunately isn't exploited to the maximum. This is material that makes us lament that the likes of "Lang", "Siodmak" or "Mann" didn't have this written idea land on their desks. Compact at under 70 minutes, it's a film that, under Bernard Vorhaus' guidance, just doesn't know if to play it as straight or as a straight out murder mystery comedy. Something further enhanced by Cadkin's musical score, which, quite frankly, belongs in an "Abbott and Costello" movie. However, the film rises above average because the script is actually strong and John Alton weaves some magic with his photographic lenses.

Narratively it's a good who done it? The mystery is strong and the reveal is not easy to guess from the off, though in fairness the comedy moments in the flashbacks kind of distract you from any detective work you want to partake in. But coupled with some sharp lines given to Lockhart, who delivers them with a scorpion like sting, it proves to be well written stuff. Yet without doubt it's Alton's work that makes this well worth viewing, whenever the film gets indoors the film takes on another dimension. Alton creates stark images at every turn, angled shadows everywhere, the whites ghostly and the darks deathly black. The last 15 minutes of the film are played out on this atmospheric stage and it's everything that an Alton fan could want. Even if it ultimately is work that deserves a far, far better film. 6/10

The first ten minutes had me thinking 'sleeper' as the narrative moves from a raging inferno to a graveside funeral where the so-called corpse turns up alive and well in a heavy, black veil. It's a great audience 'hook'. So now June Lockhart must find out who among her circle tried to kill her. And, oh yeah, just who did they bury in her place.

Trouble is the movie gets pretty ragged from that point on. Director Vorhaus can't seem to make up his mind whether he's directing noir or pratfall comedy. The boxer, for example, is straight out of an Abbott & Costello romp. Add Mark Daniel's really erratic acting, plus Sonia Darrin's shaky turn, and an otherwise interesting mystery gets regrettably undercut.

Credit the rest of the cast for carrying on well despite the handicaps. Credit too, John Alton's expert noir photography for heightening the mystery part, even as it clashes with the ill- advised pratfalls. Too bad, as another reviewer points out, that a director like Mann or Losey didn't get the promising material first. Anyway, it's a good chance to see how well Lassie's mom gets along with Beaver Cleaver's dad away from TV.

Little-known Poverty Row noir which is fairly complex and interesting, but unbalanced by its humor. The best things about it are the cinematography (courtesy of the legendary John Alton) and the participation of the two female leads: June Lockhart (her role is not too dissimilar from that of SHE-WOLF OF London [1946] – she was on the point of being driven mad in the latter film, while here she's the object of murder, and the reason for both is her inheritance) and Cathy O'Donnell (actually top-billed but her role is subsidiary to Lockhart's – from what little I've read about it, her character has been played up as a femme fatale but she's really just a mixed-up kid, recalling the Martha Vickers of THE BIG SLEEP [1946]). Having mentioned THE BIG SLEEP, Sonia Darrin (who played the sharp-tongued bookstore clerk with whom private detective Elisha Cook Jr. was enamored) appears in BURY ME DEAD as an ill-fated schemer.

On the other hand, the male lead (Hugh Beaumont) is pretty bland – despite being deceived, beaten up and accused of murder, he keeps an incongruous jovial countenance throughout! Nonetheless, the suspense sequences towards the end are moderately well-handled (though the patronizing, thick-headed police inspector character is decidedly overbearing).

With regards to the renamed TV version, it runs a mere 27 minutes against the original 68: whole subplots are omitted, as well as most of the flashback sequences; consequently, it makes little sense – and, really, is only worth watching once for the sake of curiosity. Unfortunately, the print on the VCI DVD left a lot to be desired (the company's output over the years, while undeniably earnest, has also been alarmingly sloppy!): the audio was especially problematic with the presence of excessive pops and crackles (ironically, these didn't plague the Condensed Version as much) and, most bafflingly, a complete audio drop-out for a few seconds of dialogue!!

The film begins with a roaring fire and June Lockhart is assumed dead. However, she shows up at her own funeral and wonders WHO they just buried. If this sounds like a great beginning to a Film Noir flick, you'd be right. But, unfortunately, from this wonderful beginning, the entire film just crumbles into a boring mess. Instead of Noir (which the DVD box claimed it was), the film actually tried to be a bit of a comedy--with some very broad humor involving Lockhart's husband getting punched several times by a dim-witted boxer. The film just failed at every turn to take a promising beginning and make something exciting out of it. Certainly placing BAD comedy into the film seemed totally inappropriate and stupid. In fact, the film also featured (along with an awful script) some pretty poor acting and direction. While this film isn't bad enough to be enjoyed by bad movie aficionados, it is bad enough not to be enjoyable to anyone...except, perhaps, masochists. A cheap mess that you probably couldn't pay me enough to see again--take some advice from me and try something, anything, else!

A case of mistaken identity over charred, human remains (necklace i.d.) precipitates a declaration of death for a wealthy young woman (Lockhart) who then secretly attends her own funeral, revealing herself to selected people in attendance that include her husband (Daniels), step-sister (O'Donnell) and lawyer (Beaumont), all coming under suspicion for trying to hasten Barbara's end. Bernie Vorhaus (B) directs on a screenplay by Karen DeWolf (B) & Dwight Babcock, based on Irene Watson's radio mystery of the same title. Bury offers a rare leading role to June who plays it cool as a cucumber in this nifty little noir, co-star Mark, aka, Stan Barton, reminding of popular-at-the-time Dennis O'Keefe, coincidentally to utter in dialogue the title of DO's soon-to-be-released Tony Mann vehicle ("raw deal") but sans the smoke, Mr Carlin instead tossing back a brandy whenever the noose tightens (gulp). Watch for top billed Cathy O'Donnell as Rusty, Hugh Beaumont of later Leave It to Beaver fame, John Dehner in an early reporter role, the ubiquitous Charles Lane whose characters put the rank in crank and Sonia "Do so!" Darrin as hard luck schemer, Helen. One of the brevity beauties of post-War, Sonia's stunning looks, sharp features & thin frame had her typecast the femme fatale, best recalled as Geiger's Agnes Lowzier, aka, the "grapefruit" gal who does battle with bookworm Bogie in Hawks' The-Big-Sleep (46). All of it is captured by the creative camera of John Alton (Raw-Deal American-in-Paris). Movie ratings, like lab values, will look to trends and rest within a range. I call Bury-Me-Dead a variant of good (2.5/4).

This is a really bad noir film. It starts out with a terrific story idea: a woman wearing a veil is driven up to a funeral in a cemetery, with everyone standing round the grave. It is her own funeral! Someone else is in her coffin, but who? Who has tried to kill her? She had better try and stay dead for a while to try to find out. Naturally, she is glamorous (June Lockhart), as this could not happen to someone who was not, could it? The script and the film are terrible, and the whole idea is thrown away, is tedious, and is not worth watching. Even the presence of Cathy O'Donnell in the film cannot save it. Director Bernard Vorhaus's first film 'The Ghost Camera' (1933) was far better than this. Maybe making 'Ice-Capades Review' (1942) froze his brain and reduced him to making something as terrible as this. What a waste.

A rich woman, supposedly killed in a fire, watches her own funeral and sets out to investigate whether she was the intended victim and who was buried in her place.

After opening with an intriguing scenario the film sadly lapses into a series of comic flashbacks before the truth eventually emerges.

This film could not make up its mind whether it wanted to be a light comedy or a serious mystery. It tried to be both and failed at that attempt. The actresses in this film were a bit better than their male counterparts, but it still felt like it was a filmed version of Clue, without the various rooms. It also had a strange connection to Mel Brooks and his film "Young Frankenstein". When you watched Young Frankenstein, a great film, you knew it was a spoof right from the beginning. In this film, you are not sure if the writer and/or the director want you to consider the film to be a light-hearted romp, or if they intended it to be a serious thriller. I thought it was a bit funny; but not funny enough. And it certainly was not serious enough to be a good mystery. Watch at your own discretion.

June Lockhart returns home and goes to a funeral. It's her own. When she presents herself to husband Mark Stevens, adopted sister Cathy O'Donnell, everyone has mild hysterics in turn. Even butler Milton Parsons faints on the stairs after he backs out of his employer's' presence. That leaves two questions: who was the woman they buried, the woman whose body was burned beyond recognition in a fire at the stables? And was it murder?

This movie is a very rare example of film noir: one with a sense of humor. Even as it fulfills all the tropes of the genre -- the characters flooded in striped shadows from Venetian blinds, the flashbacks, the two woman, one of whom is borderline psychotic -- it is filled with comedy bits. Even the scene where they are sweating the suspect, the head cop is Charles Lane, going on about criminology textbooks. Neither do the gags interrupt the story. Instead, they form the characters, make them individuals and point out the little things which can endear one individual to another.... or drive one to murder. It's a fine little movie.

Ambitious director Bernard Vorhaus never got out of the Bs, and the Blacklist put an end to his directing career. by 1952 He came back a few years later as an assistant director for Miss O'Donnell's husband, William Wyler under a pseudonym. He retired from credited participation in the industry in 1960, moved to England where he had directed in the 1930s, and died in 2000, aged 95.