Reviews

When Republic Pictures truncated the brief John Paul Revere series and re-designated it as Smiley Burnette Productions, no attempt was initially made to create out-and-out comedy westerns, despite Mr. Burnette's great success as a singing comic sidekick to Gene Autry and Roy Rogers...until British scenarist Randall Faye came up with the whimsical farce released by Republic as FIREBRANDS OF ARIZONA. The multi-talented Smiley Burnette, then voted by exhibitors as one of the foremost box office attractions in westerns, is cast in a dual role: that of Frog Millhouse, here presented as a pill-gobbling hypochondriac, and that of the despicable outlaw, Beefsteak Discoe - who looks exactly like Frog.

The outlandish adventure draws our hero into one hilarious situation after another, as a preposterous sheriff (Earle Hodgins) seeks to hang either Frog or Beefsteak, to advance his own political career and please the bloodthirsty townsfolk. Performances are uniformly excellent, with Tom London as a bewildered old codger who wanders into the proceedings; Roy Barcroft as a comic deputy; Peggy Stewart as Frog's exasperated young employer; Sunset Carson as Frog's pal and defender; LeRoy Mason as an irate rancher and Fred "Snowflake" Toones as a ranch cook sympathetic to the imaginary invalid.

Contemporary trade notices were very favorable, Motion Picture Herald's reviewer calling the film far superior to the average western, and adding that the audience at the screening chuckled all the way through the presentation. When filming ended on July 3, 1944, Smiley Burnette's agent, Mitch Hamilburg, obtained for him a heftier salary at Columbia. FIREBANDS OF ARIZONA thus became the final entry in the Smiley Burnette Productions series, and Smiley's last Republic film. The series ended on a highly entertaining note.

It has often been said that Herbert J. Yates loved titles, and it was indeed customary for Republic to announce the titles of forthcoming releases long before the corresponding screenplays had been fashioned. It appears that names were also loved, and Republic in 1943 announced the debut of a new cowboy hero named John Paul Revere - conjuring up the images of two figures in early American history - before the part was cast. Because the earliest trade reviews and advertising materials for BEYOND THE LAST FRONTIER listed John Paul Revere and Smiley Burnette as the film's co-stars, it would seem that Republic's original intent was to have the genial Eddie Dew actually become John Paul Revere, just as the talented Len Slye had earlier become Roy Rogers. The problem is that the studio had focused on "who?" without considering "what?" and "why?" Why a new character named Revere? What would make him different from the other cowboy stars then in motion pictures?

Whether Mr. Dew had second thoughts about actually becoming Revere or whether Republic began to think along other lines, the actor and the studio parted company before the first two films in the proposed series were released. Eddie Dew was excellent in the role, but the screenplays had been devised in such a manner as to highlight others in the cast. One early trade review stated the obvious: that Smiley Burnette (as "Frog") and Bob Mitchum (as "Trigger Dolan") outshone "Revere" in BEYOND THE LAST FRONTIER. This was through no fault of the perfectly adequate Eddie Dew. The script did not provide the hero with a colorful personality, a gimmick, or any sort of attention-getting device.

The rather complex plot, well worked out, presents Revere and Frog as Rangers involved in an undercover operation designed to entrap the nefarious Harry Woods. Mitchum well enacts the role of a good badman. Howard Bretherton keeps things moving at a fast trot, and John K. Butler's screenplay provides interesting situations and characters, although there is little evidence to support Republic's decision to inaugurate a "John Paul Revere Productions" series, as it was billed.

BEYOND THE LAST FRONTIER is a splendid Republic western, although it breaks no new ground and does not look like the beginning of a different concept. Eddie Dew made one more film as Revere. After his departure, the following release had Bob Livingston in the role. No sooner had the first film with Livingston appeared when Republic opted to advertise subsequent titles in the series as "Smiley Burnette Productions," and the John Paul Revere character soon disappeared.

Not very often do screenplay adaptations of novels adhere to the original story devised by the novelist, but in transferring to the screen Jackson Gregory's 1929 western, "Mystery at Spanish Hacienda," scenarist J. Benton Cheney does a commendable job. Most of Mr. Gregory's complex plot elements are included, the end result being that THE LARAMIE TRAIL is a charmingly atypical B western, its very complicated story unfolding in a swift, if at times slightly bewildering, manner.

Bob Livingston is cast as Rapidan, a Virginian who is a man of mystery, arriving in a California community and becoming involved in a series of related mysteries which even a film with twice the running time of this unpretentious feature would find it challenging to fully explain and unravel. An entry in Republic's "Smiley Burnette Productions" series, Mr. Cheney's script brings in the popular and always delightful Smiley, as Frog Millhouse - a character obviously not in the original novel - for an excellent comic performance. Mr. Livingston is splendid as the stalwart Rapidan, well supported by Emmett Lynn as a shyster attorney, and Martin Garralaga as proprietor of a large hacienda.

Republic edited a number of films in this series for release to television, and THE LARAMIE TRAIL (the film's title having absolutely no connection to the story) ended up being among the titles chopped to 53 ½ minutes. With its ultra-involved plot, this is one film which should not have been cut, even slightly. Jack English keeps the well-photographed proceedings moving and maintains the desired mood of the piece. Mr. Gregory's elaborate plot is not the sort of material Republic generally used for westerns, but Lou Gray's production, Mr. English's direction, and an excellent cast combine to make this a pleasing feature.

"Four Star Playhouse" was regularly viewed and enjoyed in my home during the 1950s, at which time half-hour anthology series were in vogue. The long-time winner in the ratings race was Frank Wisbar's "Fireside Theatre" on NBC, skillfully produced and directed, with the emphasis on often suspenseful stories, well-cast with noted players who, for the most part, were not accustomed to seeing their names above a film's title to attract patrons to theaters. Dick Powell and his associates set about to produce a different sort of series, with the focus on rotating star players - their names, on the small screen, indeed appearing before the title of each half-hour play. All four stars had attracted fans to the box office over the years. We tuned in weekly to see Mr. Powell, Charles Boyer, David Niven, and often Ida Lupino in a variety of roles, ranging from melodrama to mild comedy. The shows were uniformly excellent.

After "Four Star Playhouse," several anthology series were built around star players, although this program initiated the pattern of using rotating leads. The show's dramatic entries have held up extremely well over the years, and considerably better than the whimsical stories and light comedies. Syndicated under the title "Star Performance," the series has enjoyed a long life on the small screen, and the majority of the episodes may be found in circulation today for home video or online enjoyment. In the late 1950s, Official Films syndicated a package of 153 episodes of "Star Performance," and only a small number are inaccessible today. Mr. Boyer, Ms. Lupino, Mr. Niven, and Mr. Powell were excellent actors - and, although each specialized in a certain type of role, the series permitted all four to occasionally step into less familiar territory, to display versatility. Each of us has favorites from the anthology, but the series as a whole was produced for the purpose of entertaining an audience - and the fact that we continue to enjoy the programs some seventy years after they were filmed is a tribute to those who created, produced, wrote and performed in them.

The first western ever released by Monogram Pictures co-starred Bill Cody and young Andy Shuford, whose "Bill and Andy" series was eventually concluded with "Texas Pioneers." Monogram's first two series of program westerns (those of Cody, and another group starring Tom Tyler) were released in 1931-32, but replaced the following season by "B" features with Rex Bell and Bob Steele. Ironically, the last of the "Bill and Andy" westerns was among the better received of the group, although director Harry Fraser's story adheres very closely to one of the genre's time-honored and often-utilized plotlines.

Cody is the much-admired Army officer who, in order to get the goods on treasonous scout Collins (LeRoy Mason) and his reprehensible cohort (Frank Lackteen), feigns defying military orders and being ejected from the service. It is, of course, a ruse designed to gain the confidence of the scout, who is providing guns to renegades from a tribe residing near the fort.

Colonel Thomas (John Elliott) has a charming daughter, Nancy (Sheila Bromley), who is in love with Bill. The latter also has a blood brother (Iron Eyes Cody) who risks his life to promote peace. The efforts of Bill, with assistance from Andy, to protect both the fort and a wagon train from a fearful attack and to stop the dastardly Collins from his nefarious plot, occupy most of the footage.

Mr. Fraser does an above-average job in incorporating appropriate stock footage from silent pictures, giving the film - in the estimate of several reviewers of the day - a more impressive appearance than one expects in a series western. Imaginative photography, plus the vigorous action footage from past productions, give the last "Bill and Andy" western a more lavish look than its budget might otherwise permit. Cody and Mason make good adversaries, and Sheila Bromley - who enjoyed a lengthy career as both leading lady and fine character actress - is effective in one of her earlier performances. Harry Allen has a pleasing bit as a sergeant of Scottish descent, who teaches red-headed Andy a new tap-dance routine. As Cody and Shuford save the day for their final Monogram fade-out, they conclude the studio's initial cowboy series on an entirely positive note.

"Rescue Squad" is an odd title for this unusual B picture. Directed by Spencer Gordon Bennett and with dialogue by Betty Burbridge, both of whom were frequently involved in making westerns, the title suggests an action-packed thriller - but this is more of a romantic melodrama. A beautiful, wealthy society girl (the modest budget does not provide a glimpse of the luxurious surroundings suggested by the screenplay) is pursued by a philanderer. Wealthy Norma (Verna Hillie) does not quite perceive the knavery of Lester Vaughn (Leon Ames), although her artist friend (Kathryn Stokes) is suspicious, and hopes to interest Norma, instead, in suave art collector DeWitt Porter (Ralph Forbes).

An interesting sub-plot involves Porter's efforts to buy a scarce art treasure from mysterious antique dealer Azoor (Frank Leigh), against the wishes of Azoor's daughter, Jennie (Catherine Cotter). The treacherous antique shop proprietor plans to murder Porter, with Jennie's assistance, at the conclusion of the purchase - but the film reaches its happy fadeout with no further development of this sub-plot.

The rescue to which the title alludes occurs when firefighters extricate two of the principals from being trapped in the elevator of an apartment building. A more subtle interpretation could be the efforts of her friends to keep the lovely Norma from being defrauded by a fortune-hunter. Verna Hillie, Ralph Forbes, Leon Ames, Frank Leigh, and Catherine Cotter give good performances, and devotees of low-budget Depression-era independent productions will probably find the proceedings to be diverting.

Fulton Oursler (1893-1952) is best remembered today for his widely-read book, "The Greatest Story Ever Told," but he was a prolific author whose stories occasionally became screenplays. In his novel, "The Great Jasper," Mr. Oursler devised an interesting story based on elements and settings well-known to him. He grew up in Baltimore, as did protagonist Jasper Horn, and his father was in charge of a streetcar line - as was Jasper. The author and his lead character were skeptical of pseudo-spiritualism, but both had involvement in that field. Young authors are often exhorted to write about things they know best, and the off-beat, entertaining "Great Jasper" follows that advice.

Richard Dix is splendid in the title role, assuming a slight Irish-American brogue not indicated in the novel. He portrays the philandering motorman with charm and is splendidly supported by stage actress Florence Eldridge in the role of "Jenny," the faithful, long-suffering wife who disapproves of all the vices which Jasper beguilingly embodies. When the irresponsible motorman finally goes too far and has an affair with his boss' young and beautiful wife (Wera Engels), he loses both his employment and his deeply hurt wife. Jasper decides to get a new start in Atlantic City, where fun is the perennial byword, and takes along his young son (well portrayed by David Durand) so that he may learn to be uninhibited and to live for the moment as does his father.

A fortune-teller named Madame Talma (Edna May Oliver) leads Jasper into a new life as spiritualist "The Great Jasper," and the film closely follows Mr. Oursler's novel from that point forth - with unlikely but enjoyable plot twists and delightful coincidences abounding. As he did more than once on-screen, Mr. Dix ages as the story takes him from a fun-loving young adult to a repentant old man. Performances are uniformly excellent - with Bruce Cabot, Betty Furness, Walter Walker and others providing fine support. The story is far off the beaten path, yet unfolds convincingly, very well-directed by J. Walter Ruben.

When Spectrum Pictures released the first Bill Cody western, "Frontier Days," it attracted the most enthusiastic reviews and audience response of Cody's career. When Ray Kirkwood produced the second Cody picture (Kirkwood was not credited by name on the first entry), released just a couple of months later, it did not resemble its predecessor in any way. Bob Hill's direction is less sprightly, the usually smiling and cheery Cody is cast in the more serious role of a "good bad-man," and the hero's loyal steed - featured as Chico in the series opener - loses his name and prominence. "Six-Gun Justice," produced with a somewhat smaller budget, looks like part of a different series.

Oliver Drake sticks closer to the conventional western storyline than is customary for the wonderfully imaginative writer. Cody plays the son of a member of the bandit gang headed by the nefarious Nevada Joe (Wally Wales). The elder outlaw, portrayed by director Bob Hill - who, like Hitchcock and others, often gave himself a small role in films he directed - expires with a desire to reform. His son, Cody, saves the life of a deputy marshal (Donald Reed) on the trail of the gang, and takes him to the trading post of former surgeon Frenchy Duval (Budd Buster) for treatment. There he meets beautiful Marie Duval (Ethel Jackson), and romance blossoms.

Mr. Drake gives us some colorful characters, including Speed Hawkins (Ace Cain), villainous saloon proprietor, and a dance hall woman, Yvonne (played by producer Kirkwood's wife, Jean, billed as "Zara Tazil"), who repays the treacherous Hawkins for his two-timing by telling the local sheriff of his unlawful plans. Photography is very good, and the picture looks considerably better than most independent westerns of the day, but Mr. Hill's pacing does not match the livelier job he did with the previous Cody feature.

The likable Cody comes across nicely, as does the lovely Miss Jackson. This is an enjoyable entry in the series, suffering only when compared to the unusually entertaining Cody film which came shortly before.

When Screen Gems' "Jungle Jim" television series made its initial appearance in 1955, I found it as enjoyable as other adventure programs of its era, but it otherwise made no strong impression. Today, I regard it as a thoroughly delightful, exceptionally entertaining package - and I am astonished that, although some industry publications in the 1950s alluded to a full 39-episode set of "Jungle Jim" half-hour programs being available, only 26 were released. It is remarkable that the series had a lively and profitable syndicated run, reintroduced several times, with such a small number of episodes - yet excellent episodes they indeed are.

Upon re-discovering "Jungle Jim," many years after its first run, I was immediately charmed by the performance of Johnny Weissmuller, so understated as to appear refreshingly artless. As a guide in the African jungle (and everywhere else on the globe where a script may take him), he is capable of surmounting all obstacles - as do all protagonists in 1950s adventure programs - but he does so in such a quiet, offhanded, poker-faced manner as to render even the most far-fetched plot development acceptable. As the jungle-savvy guide and advocate for fair play and integrity, Weissmuller is outstanding.

Norman Fredric (later performing as Dean Fredericks) is Jungle Jim's loyal friend and assistant, Kaseem, playing the role with quiet dignity and resolve. Martin Huston, formerly the title character in NBC's short-lived radio series, "My Son Jeep," is excellent as Jungle Jim's teenage son, and Paul Cavanagh is splendid as the British commissioner. Supporting casts are uniformly good and feature some fine character players.

What makes this such a satisfying series for those who either remember or have learned to love the Saturday Matinee-style entertainment of long ago? Good triumphs over evil, and even unacceptable plotlines are made believable through the earnest enactment of the well-directed cast. Jungle Jim - firm friend to the people of the jungle, compassionate handler of wild animals, loving and strict parent, and nemesis of all lawbreakers and mountebanks - is a memorable "good guy" from a time when people aspired to incarnate goodness and to heed their better angels. Unfortunate it is that only 26 episodes of this classic series were produced!

Lobo the Marvel Dog, a German shepherd similar in appearance to Rin Tin Tin, receives top billing in this unusual and off-beat western melodrama, directed by Scottish-born Stuart Paton. The screenplay is credited to Jack Jevne, who authored or co-authored screenplays for "Topper," "Topper Takes a Trip," "Way Out West," and numerous Our Gang comedies, yet he stays clear of all comic relief in this melancholy work, telling an unhappy story in a bleak framework, some of his characters surviving only through stoic resignation to the terrible situations in which they are placed.

Bob McKenzie, in one of his best roles, is the honest sheriff and widowed father of Bobby Nelson, who also turns in one of his best performances. The incredibly evil Krouse (Barney Furey), trying to retrieve incriminating evidence from the sheriff's home, kills the youngster's beloved dog. While burying the dog, the boy is stunned to see another animal who looks exactly like his deceased pet - this dog owned, as it turns out, by a wandering prospector (Kane Richmond).

Jevne's tragic plot has enough twists and contrivances to keep it interesting. A teenage Fay McKenzie (Bob's daughter) plays a mistreated waif, and Eva McKenzie (Bob's wife) has a nice bit as a kind neighbor. Mr. Richmond hasn't much to work with and is given no opportunity for heroics, and stuntman/actor Frank Hagney does little with his assignment as a treacherous deputy.

Mr. Paton, veteran of silent films, allows no subtlety to detract from the struggle between unspeakable evil and laudable good. He hastens to tack on an artificially happy ending. At the time of its release, "Thunderbolt" received withering condemnation from Variety. Today, a lifetime or two later, devotees of 1930s B pictures, fans of the McKenzies and of Kane Richmond (and others in the cast), view this little melodrama from a vastly different perspective. Neither a typical western nor a typical dog story, "Thunderbolt" survives because cast and crew do their best to add life to a script filmed very swiftly and with no production niceties whatsoever, to serve as the bottom half of a double bill in the Depression years. Through that lens, its entertainment value is retained.

Harry Fraser wrote and directed this picture for Trem Carr's "Bill and Andy" series, the net result falling somewhat below the standard set by other releases in the group. An early talkie retaining characteristics of the silent era, this one opens very abruptly with Bill Cody bending over a fallen individual on the plains. He is immediately pursued by a group of townsfolk who believe him to be a murderer and, despite the protestations of his young friend (Andy Shuford), Bill is trapped and jailed. The story concerns his efforts to prove, in a very roundabout fashion, that he has been framed by an old nemesis (William L. Thorne).

Nadine Dore is the very pretty leading lady, and there is a bit of humor by Al St. John, with whom Trem Carr was associated in silent comedies. One does not find, however, the strong plot, suspense, brisk direction, lively stunt-work, or good character support which are present, to varying degrees, in other entries in the series. One must keep in mind that theater patrons who followed a series usually did so because they liked the basic premise, the characters, or the actors involved. Bill Cody fans no doubt cheered him on to the final fadeout in this one, and eagerly awaited the next Cody western from Monogram Pictures - which, alas, would also turn out to be the last.

Bill Cody's series for Trem Carr occupies a spot between the silent era and the world of sound westerns, having characteristics of each. Screenplays at that time were often credited separately to "authors," "scenarists," and "dialoguers." Harry Fraser was hired to both write and direct the "Bill and Andy series," in which Cody co-starred with juvenile player Andy Shuford. Often participating in the writing was George Arthur Durlam, enterprising producer/director/author who worked at Monogram, and independently, during that period. This one, however, is credited to Fraser alone.

"Mason of the Mounted," this observer's pick as the best of the series, is a feather in the cap of Mr. Fraser, who did a good job in devising a screenplay which played well, moved swiftly, and enabled a straightforward story to unfold without extraneous footage and non-essential ramifications of the basic plot. Archie Stout's photography is characteristically excellent, the editing is splendid, and Fraser's direction is on-target.

Cody's role as a Mountie suits him well, and young Shuford turns in his best performance, in a believable role. Leroy Mason is fine, as usual, as the lead heavy, well supported by prolific character actor José Dominguez as a crafty accomplice. Very pretty Nancy Drexel, who appeared in few talkies, is the leading lady, and Jack Carlyle is fine as the no-nonsense rancher whose stock is rustled by the outlaws pursued across the border by Cody (without his Mountie uniform).

The film, which received favorable trade reviews at the time of its release, was produced with some care, the vigorous scenes in the saloon featuring a fair number of extras and a couple of nice stunts. The opening sequence was filmed in the high country, with snow being tossed about by the hooves of galloping horses. It is among the best sound features starring the amiable Cody.

Producer Ray Kirkwood's wife, Jean (billed as Zara Tazil), added a timely touch to her screenplay for this entry in the Bill Cody series by having a group of cowboys sing a chorus of "Red River Valley" in a saloon to open the picture, immediately after which Bill Cody enters and is also prompted to sing. He and Frank Yaconelli perform "She'll Be Comin' 'Round the Mountain," and quite pleasingly. Cody had some musical ability and proved to be a good whistler in a later scene, but one may only speculate as to whether there was a thought of bringing him into the circle of singing cowboys, soon to occupy the spotlight in the world of series westerns. The rest of the script goes quite overboard in feeble attempts at humor and inconsequential dialogue, impeding the movement of the narrative.

Peterson (the versatile Budd Buster) is attacked and robbed of his savings by the nefarious Max (former child actor Gordon Griffith). Peterson's daughter, Virginia (Gertrude Messinger), rides after the fleeing criminal - who switches horses with Cody while the latter cleans up beside a stream. The rancher's daughter believes Cody to be the guilty party, and he must prove his innocence.

Bill Cody, a native of St. Paul, Minnesota, had begun his screen career in silent features. Not always up on his lines when doing talkies, Bill nevertheless projected a likeable personality. Overlooking the imperfections brought about by a very modest budget, little rehearsal and few re-takes, this is a pleasant western - made near the end of the Cody series.

In our era of multi-million dollar productions, it is with interest and amusement that we may survey the work of a Depression-era filmmaker who, virtually without a budget, managed to put together some feature films derided today for their tackiness, yet shown to audiences in theaters and on television - and still being viewed by cinema historians who write about their deficiencies. Robert J. Horner turned out a number of very low-budget westerns, this one being part of an intended series of six Bill Cody features, only three of which were completed.

Cody, a native of St. Paul, Minnesota, who was not related to the famed Buffalo Bill, had begun starring in films a decade earlier and was available in 1933-34, when Mr. Horner approached him about doing a series. It is believed that the screenplay for "Border Guns" was written pseudonymously by the prolific, ever-creative Oliver Drake, though the latter claims no such credit in his autobiography. The supporting cast is very strong, including Franklyn Farnum, William Desmond, Wally Wales, Nelson McDowell, and George Chesebro. The plot has undercover agent Cody riding into town with a severe cough (turning out to be only a cold), and finding himself attracted to both the pretty daughter of the physician he visits and a lovely dance hall girl. He develops a friendship and a rivalry with Fred Palmer (Franklyn Farnum), whom Cody discovers to be involved in gun smuggling across the border, rustling, and other nefarious acts.

The story and the cast are more than adequate, but actor/director Jack Nelson had an uphill climb in hastening to do each scene on the first take, getting little support in the editing department. Some very feeble humor is injected, and the time required to turn out vigorous stunt sequences of real quality, so dear to the hearts of western devotees, was simply not available. No purpose would be served by seeking to compare this feature with more elaborate productions of the era. Accepted for what it is: a very low-budget cowboy picture from the heart of the Depression, it is not without its merits - and a viewer willing to take it on its own terms may even find some of the production shabbiness endearing,

Director Harry Fraser, also credited as co-writer of the story for this entry in Trem Carr's "Bill and Andy" series, focuses on atmosphere and characterization, rather than plot, and does not pace the proceedings too briskly. It is the tale of a newspaper editor, Bill Temple (Bill Cody), who arrives in Boomtown with his sidekick, Pete (Si Jenks), and a printing press - determined to get the goods on swindler Jim Blane (Walter Miller), with whom he had previously tangled. For reasons unknown, Blane has married a widow named Ruby (Kate Campbell), whose young son (Andy Shuford) dances for the raucous crowd in Blane's saloon. The nefarious Blane is also Boomtown's self-styled banker, whose large safe holds all the townsfolk's deeds and other legal records.

Cody, an agile and lively scuffler, has a fight with expert Charlie King, and devotees of series westerns are given some gunfire and chases, but the story unfolds at a rather leisurely trot, as compared with other "Bill and Andy" westerns. Bill's role suits him nicely, however, and Helen Foster provides him with a pretty young lady to rescue from the unscrupulous villain. Those who enjoy early western talkies should find "The Ghost City" diverting.

This 1931 Monogram feature seems closer to a mid-week western melodrama than the typical Saturday matinee cowboy film to which most viewers are accustomed. Bill Cody is cast here as Oklahoma Jim Kirby, a gambler who has come to run the tables of chance at the Indian Range Trading Post and Saloon, operated by Lacey (William Desmond) - but in reality owned by Lacey's deceased partner's city-bred niece. In reviewing the film at the time of its release, Variety's critic opined as how "Bill Cody always looks more like a matinee idol than a western star, but he gets by with it more effectively in this try as a suave gambling shark from down Oklahomy way." All the trade reviews at the time were generally positive, and the film is, indeed, despite a complex plot, one of the better entries in Cody's Monogram series.

Director Harry Fraser is also credited as co-writer of the story, in which an Indian princess kills herself after an unnamed white man has compromised her honor. Oklahoma Jim, the gambler, seeks to protect the rights of a pretty lady from Boston (Marion Burns), legal owner of the trading post coveted by her unprincipled adversaries. In doing so, the identity of the villain who mistreated the chief's daughter is brought to light. The film is among Mr. Fraser's better efforts, both as director and writer. Cody, Desmond, John Elliott, and Ed Brady turn in good performances. Young Andy Shuford, co-star of the series, is cast as the child survivor of a massacre who is raised by the Indians, but the role is written and played as though he were a contemporary youngster.

Iron Eyes Cody and J. W. Cody are both cast as members of the outraged tribe. Decades after the film's release, Iron Eyes wrote "My late brother knew Bill Cody. I made a picture with him before he left here, with a boy named Andy Shuford." That 1931 melodrama still holds interest as an early talkie with a plot more akin to the silent films which preceded it than to the typical series westerns which followed.

Oliver Drake, as was his custom, supplied an imaginative screenplay for this Ray Kirkwood production, although reservations articulated by reviewers at the time of its release were understandable: that Bill Cody and others in the cast were not ideally suited for the comparatively heavy emoting called for by the story content. Bill has been a rustler, simply seeking to right wrongs done to him by unsavory loan sharks. His young friend is a Mexican cowboy who long ago left his mother's ranch in search of adventure, and was soon joined by the mother's faithful top hand, commissioned to bring the young man home to Mexico. The three companions break with the rest of the outlaw band and head for the border, but the Mexican cowboy is shot and dies on the Arizona desert. Cody and the ranch hand go to their late pal's mother's ranch - where the old woman, now blind, incredibly believes Cody to be her long absent son.

The very complex plot is worked out with more dialog than one expects to find in a series western, yet director Bob Hill tosses in some fights and chases before the final fadeout. Nina Quartero has little to do as the leading lady, while Donald Reed - supporting player in several films in the Cody series - is supposed to be the Mexican son of Soledad Jiménez, the latter not being too convincing as the blind mother. Producer Ray Kirkwood's wife, Jean (billed as Zara Tazil), plays a rather animated servant at the hacienda. Former screen comic Eddie Gribbon's New York accent makes him an unlikely Arizona badman, but versatile Earle Hodgins does well as Cody's sidekick, Pancho González.

The film begins with an ensemble performance of Drake´s song, "Ride On, Vaquero," which he revised a few months later for a script he wrote for the Gene Autry series ("Oh, Susanna!"). This screenplay is rather ambitious for a series western, but there is some nice photography, and the essential happy ending carries a pleasing message - although the film's title, which looked appealing on the marquee, has absolutely no connection to the story.

Nat Levine's Mascot Pictures may be best remembered today for swiftly-paced serials, or for occasional feature films in the adventure or melodrama categories, but the company's last credited release before forever becoming a part of Republic Pictures was this delightful, quirky comedy. Veterans Louise Fazenda and Maude Eburne are the bickering co-owners of a coffee shop specializing in fresh doughnuts, each lady being a widowed mother. Miss Eburne's daughter (the delightful Ann Rutherford) loves Miss Fazenda's son (Eddie Nugent), but when a sudden, outlandish bit of good luck brings great wealth to Miss Eburne, her lifelong dream of crashing into high society breaks up the partnership - and the young people's romance.

Many droll events quickly unfold, as the two ever-quarreling leads seek to outdo one another, and their children find their lives disrupted by their parents' stubborn shenanigans. A wide variety of character people, from Hedda Hopper to Franklin Pangborn to Rafael Corio to Smiley Burnette, enliven the proceedings. The script may break no new ground, as reviewers squawked at the time of its release, but "Doughnuts in Society" is great fun, well-played by a good cast and briskly directed by Lewis D. Collins, veteran of scores of westerns.

Robert North Bradbury outdid himself, creating a story and screenplay to star his son, Bob Steele, and providing swift direction to sustain interest throughout the proceedings. For devotees of the fights which are an integral part of western pictures, experts Bob Steele and Charlie King (the latter given a good role here) provide a lively one. Moreover, the story about a young cowboy's receiving title to a ranch in the Panamint in payment of a debt unfolds with the participation of a slew of renowned western character actors - Milburn Morante as a sidekick, Earl Dwire as sheriff, Ed Cassidy as a despicable outlaw (with Eddie Cobb as his associate), Jack Rockwell as an honest homesteader, Bob McKenzie as a gambler, and many others, all warmly remembered by devotees of the genre.

Catherine Cotter, a former child performer on Los Angeles radio, who appeared in stage plays in Southern California, makes an attractive and interesting leading lady. She appeared in few films, despite showing considerable promise.

Mr. Bradbury provides enough twists of the plot to enable suspense, and keeps things moving, the physical action augmented by well-inserted stock footage. Nothing is lacking but the musical scoring which, within a short time, would make most well-produced westerns more exciting for audiences during action sequences. As it stands, this entry in Bob Steele's series for Supreme is a fine one which reflects his father's expertise.

Tom Tyler is always good in his vigorous portrayals of cowboy heroes, and he is here surrounded by a large cast of renowned players in westerns - in addition to individuals seldom found in product of this nature, such as George Walsh, who plays the lead heavy with a thick, sinister accent. Pretty Catherine Cotter, formerly a child performer on Los Angeles radio station KHJ's "Children's Hour," (where she was billed as "Sweetheart of Radioland" and fellow child performer David Durand was called "Little Boy Blue") is the leading lady - and quite good. Miss Cotter had played "Emmy" in a Los Angeles stage production of Lula Vollmer's "Sun-Up" before appearing in a handful of films, mostly westerns.

The script does not vary from standard western territory, with Tom going undercover to avenge the murder of his father by a despicable band of rustlers and thieves. Al St. John is excellent as his assistant. None of the production niceties found in more prestigious productions may be evidenced here, but this remains an enjoyable, lively entry in Tyler's series for Reliable Pictures.

Veteran screenwriter Oliver Drake tells us, in his autobiography, that he was asked by producer Ray Kirkwood to take a break from writing screenplays for Kirkwood's series of Bill Cody westerns, and to generate some stories for a series starring Creighton Chaney, to be henceforth billed as Lon Chaney, Jr. Mr. Drake acquiesced, but was interrupted by a case of influenza. Upon his recovery, he found that others were busily writing the Chaney stories, but only two films were produced before Kirkwood's career as a producer concluded, "The Shadow of Silk Lennox" being one of them.

It is a leisurely-paced feature, with Kirkwood himself credited as director - but Jack Nelson, veteran director and actor, is usually credited as co-director, though neither gentleman succeeded in injecting much movement into the proceedings. Lon Chaney, Jr. Performs well in a decidedly unsympathetic role, while veteran Jack Mulhall provides good support. Others in the cast have little to work with in this tale of a villainous night club proprietor who has succeeded in avoiding prosecution for his activities as a gangster. Dean Benton provides some pleasant songs. Specialty dancer/actress Marie Burton - niece of actor/director Lowell Sherman - is seen here as a night club entertainer.

As part of a proposed series starring Chaney, the script for this one does not provide the lead character with either an appealing role or an uplifting denouement.

Produced immediately following his summer tour with the Downie Brothers Circus, Bill Cody's "The Lawless Border" is exceptionally good, despite the lack of typical B western movement. Producer Ray Kirkwood's wife, Jean (billed as Zara Tazil), devised a script which veers away from some of the traditional elements of the genre, yet maintains interest with a sound plot and well-motivated characters.

Director J. P. McCarthy succeeded in getting from Cody what is perhaps his best performance on-screen, with the help of nice photography by Robert Cline and the best editing of the series, judiciously executed by Jarrell Gose. Cody is a government agent this time, investigating the smuggling of arms across the Mexican border. To support him is perhaps the strongest cast Kirkwood assembled for the Cody series, including Molly O'Day as the love interest, Martín Garralaga as a splendid sidekick, Ted Adams as a criminal struggling with conflicting impulses, and Joe de la Cruz as a scurrilous would-be dictator - all provided with better material than one might expect to find in the typical series western script.

More melodrama than western, and with fine performances and good direction, "The Lawless Border" is a standout in Ray Kirkwood's series of Bill Cody features, distributed by Spectrum Pictures.

Producer Ray Kirkwood hired veteran western screen writer Oliver Drake to come up with vehicles for genial Bill Cody, and the ever-creative Mr. Drake was never at a loss for offbeat plot elements to make his screenplays stand out. This time around, Cody is co-starred with his 10-year-old son, Billy, in a wild tale set in a ghost town - its sole occupant being versatile Budd Buster in an old-timer role. The despicable outlaw, Wolf Lawson, is terrorizing lovely Joan Stanley (Ethel Jackson) in order to gain control of her ranch. Wally Wales/Hal Taliaferro outdoes himself in the role of the nefarious Lawson, and the amiable Cody offers to help the pretty young woman by putting an end to the rustling and other atrocities.

In view of the fact that outlaws are "known to be superstitious," Cody Sr. And Cody Jr. Demoralize the evil-doers by posing as spooks, wearing skeleton-themed shrouds and attiring their horses in the same manner. The youngster plays a major role in bringing the criminals to justice, to the delight of his young fans.

There can be no comparison between this fun-to-watch, independently produced Spectrum Pictures release and the more lavishly mounted pictures of the era. Among the Cody films produced by Kirkwood, however, this one delights the devotees of the series with its outrageous plot and unlikely situations - and the expected outcome, with the cheerful Codys restoring justice and peace to the community.

One tends to think of the "B" picture as the second feature of a twin bill, used by many exhibitors from the 1930s to the 1950s to attract more patrons, for a longer afternoon at the neighborhood theater. The "B" picture often had a shorter running time, was produced on a smaller budget and rented for a modest fee, and sometimes had casts with less marquee strength. Nat Levine's Mascot Pictures specialized in serials and lower-budget features, but his comparatively lavish production of "Little Men" has many of the attributes of an "A" production. It generally stood alone in showings around the Christmas 1934 season and attracted favorable reviews. It is probably Mascot's most prestigious feature film.

Louisa May Alcott's classic 19th century novels, "Little Women" and "Little Men," the first being semi-autobiographical, were adapted for the screen on more than one occasion. Levine's well-mounted production was assigned to long-time director/cinematographer Phil Rosen, who successfully recreated the era in which the story was set, with a very strong cast. Erin O'Brien-Moore charmingly portrays "Jo," the character with whom Louisa May Alcott identified, while the dependable Ralph Morgan portrays her husband, Professor Bhaer, owner and teacher at Plumfield School.

David Durand, one of the best child actors of the era, is excellent as "Nat," an orphan befriended by Jo, while Frankie Darro contributes a spirited performance as "Dan," a troubled adolescent. Screen adaptations seldom closely follow the novel on which they are based, but Rosen keeps the characters and situations appealing and interesting. The photography of Ernie Miller and William Nobles is consistent with their typically high standard. Any viewer not repelled by sentimentality will find this Mascot feature highly enjoyable, with fine performances and direction which pleasantly take us back to Louisa May Alcott's era - a time far removed from our own.

Versatile, wondrously gifted 17-year-old West Coast radio actress Ann Rutherford was signed to a contract to star in Nat Levine's "Waterfront Lady" when the performer originally scheduled for the lead role was unavailable. Levine used her in numerous subsequent features and serials while she was under contract. Decades later, Ann recalled that she was delighted at the prospect of playing, at the age of 17, a "waterfront lady," and this - her first film - began for her a long and fruitful career in motion pictures.

Mascot employed a lot of seasoned professionals and turned out a good product, and this feature, well-scripted by Wellyn Totman and nicely directly by Joseph Santley, provides a fine cast with many opportunities to shine. During a raid on a gambling ship, the owner (Charles Wilson) accidentally kills a detective. The gambler's protégé (Frank Albertson) seeks to protect him, thus taking the blame for the crime, and making his escape to a house-boat on the dock, where he meets lovely Ann Rutherford and her unreliable father (J. Farrell McDonald). Romance ensues.

A subplot involves beautiful Barbara Pepper in one of her best roles, portraying the unfaithful sweetheart of the gambling ship's boss. Character parts are vividly enacted by Grant Withers (as Miss Rutherford's dull suitor), Smiley Burnette (as a one-man-band performer), Wally Albright (as an urchin on a houseboat), Ward Bond, Jack LaRue, Mary Gordon, Purnell Pratt, Mathilde Comont, and others - all excellent.

Such actors as Gene Autry and Smiley Burnette often remarked that Ann Rutherford was as thoroughly nice off-screen as she appeared to be in the roles she enacted. In later years, this writer found that assessment to be accurate. She was, indeed, an exceptionally pleasant and kind individual. This entertaining Mascot feature provided a fitting start for her splendid career.