‘The Case of the Howling Dog’ on TCM

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Raymond Burr remains the defining screen incarnation of Perry Mason, the defense attorney created by author Erle Stanley Gardner, but he wasn’t the first. Long before Burr stepped into the role for the long-running TV series (and many subsequent made-for-TV movies), Warren William played him in the movies, starting with the first screen appearance of Perry Mason in The Case of the Howling Dog (1934).

Lawyer-turned-author Erle Stanley Gardner began writing stories for pulp magazines in 1923. He created Perry Mason, his most successful fictional character, in 1933, with the novel The Case of the Velvet Claws, which also introduced secretary Della Street and investigator Paul Drake, his loyal team in what would eventually number more than 80 novels and short stories. The Case of the Howling Dog was his fourth Mason novel, serialized in Liberty Magazine in 1934 and quickly purchased by Warner Bros.

Jack Warner took a personal interest in this production, which he hoped would launch a successful new series for the studio. After considering Edward G. Robinson for the role, Warner chose William after his turn as Philo Vance in The Dragon Murder Case (1934). He assigned director Alan Crosland, an old hand and reliable craftsman with a long career handling big Warner productions in the silent era (such as Don Juan, 1926, and Old San Francisco, 1927), and famous for directing the first talkie, The Jazz Singer, in 1927. He plied Crosland with notes that bordered on micromanagement. “We want plenty of animation out of William,” he wrote. “Don’t let him cross his eyes through the picture. Let him do one or two twists of the mustache and three pinches of the nose and about four pulls of the ear. Also, have at least half a dozen shruggings of the shoulder and fourteen quick look-backs with the camera behind him.”

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Plays on Turner Classic Movie on Friday, July 27, and again on Thursday, August 30.

MOD Movies: Warren William is The Lone Wolf

The Lone Wolf Meets a Lady (Sony Pictures Choice Collection) was Warren William’s third film playing retired gentleman jewel thief turned freelance detective and knight errant Michael Lanyard, aka The Lone Wolf, but it’s the first of the nine Warren William Lone Wolf films to appear on home video. Hopefully it’s not the last.

William made his career playing another kind of wolf in dozens of early thirties films, the seductive (and sometimes oily) middle-aged businessman always on the make for younger woman. Lanyard also has an eye for the ladies, but he’s more chivalrous, a charming rogue who matches wits with both the police and the underworld to solve crimes and rescue damsels in distress. In “Meets a Lady,” he doesn’t even get the girl. Rather, he plays cupid as well as detective as he solves a jewel theft (which the cops want to pin on him) and a murder pinned on an innocent girl (Jean Muir) in love with a society gentleman. William brings such a ease to the role, a high society Robin Hood who enjoys sparring with the police, and Eric Blore is superb as the loyal butler who misses the good old days of bit heists and high speed getaways.

The 70-minute programmer from 1940, shot completely on a studio backlot, is a step up from the usual B product. It features a solid cast of character actors (Thurston Hall as the dogged and clever police inspector just waiting to get the good on Lanyard, Victor Jory as a crook playing all angles for whatever money he can squeeze out of the players) and a modicum of style. And if the mystery is as generic as they come, the personality makes the film. I hope this is the beginning of a series roll-out. Maybe in a multi-disc set like the Warner Archive’s collections of “The Saint” and “The Falcon” series starring George Sanders.

More manufacture on demand titles at Videodrone

DVD: Edward Small Thinks Big with ‘Monte Cristo’ and ‘The Iron Mask’

Independent producer Edward Small thought big even when his budgets were small.

Directed by James Whale

His 1934 production of The Count of Monte Cristo (Hen’s Tooth), starring British import Robert Donat as Edmund Dantes and produced outside of the major studios (without the great resources available to most Hollywood films as a matter of course) is a perfect example. The sweeping tale that winds through the halls of power, the homes of the aristocracy, and Napoleon’s march to reclaim France, ends up driven largely through scenes of characters in small rooms conversing, plotting, and proclaiming, with the budget saved for a few impressive set pieces. While those scenes—including a duel with swords in a drawing room, a grand display of aristocrats arriving for a ball (without ever showing the ballroom itself), and a handsome courtroom set with a moving witness stand that gets pushed around the floor like a prop in a dance-off—enliven the story, the rest of the film is slow and static and creaky, stopping dead for monologues and exposition to explain what the film can’t afford to show. Director Rowland V. Lee, a silent movie veteran who settled into second-tier sound productions, is given an impossible task of making a small, underfunded costume adventure look like a studio production, but his almost reverent treatment of every scene merely slows the film down and reveals its threadbare origins.

Donat, almost fatally passive as the stalwart and idealistic Edmund, becomes commanding when he remakes himself as the aristocratic Count, conniving his way into friendships and social connections while he plots his righteous vengeance, and whatever life the film has is owed to him. Louis Calhern stands out as the lead villain. Otherwise this is a weak version of the story that rewrites Dumas to give it a happy ending: instead of being destroyed by his obsessive revenge, he is cheered on by the widow and the son of his first victim and rewarded for his efforts with redemption and restoration of his dreams. Though the DVD boasts a “new digital transfer from a 35mm Fine Grain,” it is a weak, grainy image from a print that shows signs of degradation.

The Man in the Iron Mask (Hen’s Tooth), released just five years later in 1939, is significant step up in every way. Not only has the budget and scope been expanded, creating a much more lavish and sweeping canvas, but director James Whale (coming to the end of his Hollywood career) energizes the production. The action is more lively, to be sure, with smartly-designed crowd scenes and a big clash between the Musketeers and the king’s soldiers that suggest a bigger scope than it actually shows, but Whale turns the dialogue into a duel in its own right, with the advisors currying favor with the corrupt King Louis XIV and the Musketeers jabbing away with witty comments.

I’ve never been a fan of Louis Hayward, whose primary talent seemed to me an ability to play vanity and insincerity with complete conviction, but he’s perfectly cast as the lascivious and tyrannical King Louis XIV, a sadist who smiles at the sound off the executioner and practically glows as he plots the tortures of his enemies (he even scares his self-serving advisor Fouquet, played with sinister graced by Joseph Schildkraut), as well as the chivalrous (but still somewhat cocky) Philippe of Gascony, who in this free adaptation has been secretly raised by D’Artagnan (Warren William) and the Musketeers as heir to their dashing legacy. But I have long been a fan of Warren William, once the charming but predatory wolf of pre-code cinema (see Skyscraper SoulsEmployees Entrance and Golddiggers of 1933, just to name a few) and by 1939 a just-as-charming anti-hero in the Lone Wolf mysteries. There’s a twinkle in his eye as the aging D’Artagnan, always ready for a scrap (generally with a smile), always prepared to sacrifice himself for justice, honor and friendship. And while Joan Bennett has not the strength of presence that she will later bring to Man Hunt and Scarlett Street in just a few years, she is up to the role of Princess Maria Theresa, Louis’ betrothed.

Like The Count of Monte Cristo, this is independently produced by Edward Small, but this time he lavishes studio-quality resources on the film, and Whale, a director whose creativity, wicked sense of humor, and sophisticated sensibility elevated productions as wide-ranging as Waterloo BridgeBride of Frankenstein, and Showboat, fills the screen with physical action and dramatic crackle. The disc looks better too, mastered from a nice 35mm fine grain print. There’s a little damage in some frames, but the image itself is stronger and sharper, with good detail and contrast.