Red Skelton

  • The Fuller Brush Man (1948)

    The Fuller Brush Man (1948)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On TV, November 2021) At some point in the future, I will be tempted to get all of the Red Skelton movies of the 1940s I can get (or maybe wait for a TCM marathon) and see if my impressions of a repetitive streak are correct. In how many titles does he play a good-natured semi-simpleton dragged into a crime comedy? I realize that’s not exactly a weird premise nor much of a stretch from his usual persona, but The Fuller Brush Man has, beyond the unusual nature of its titular job, some overly familiar elements. Of course, this is a film that came well into Skelton’s career, so playing to his strengths was the natural course of action. Now, I do like Skelton’s shtick most of the time and this film does it quite well — although I like him just a bit better when he’s not handicapped by an overly naïve protagonist: in Ship Ahoy, or the Whistling series among others. The Fuller Brush Man ends up being a decent but unspectacular effort for him — pleasant enough to watch, but not necessarily a highlight. He does what he does well, and that’s not bad.

  • Lovely to Look At (1952)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, August 2021) Now that I’ve seen most of MGM’s biggest musicals of the 1950s, I’m left to track down the rest of them, and Lovely to Look At certainly isn’t one of their best. You can tell a lot about a film’s status by how it looks when it’s shown on standard-bearer TCM, and in this case you’ll have to struggle through a 1.37:1 TV-like aspect ratio (apparently the original shooting ratio) and a terrible blurry image quality that suggests that the film hasn’t been on anyone’s recent restoration schedule. Still, even a second-rate musical from the best years of the genre does have its qualities. It opens on a rather good musical number, “I’ll Be Hard to Handle” that features a splendid later-day appearance from Ann Miller in a leggy purple outfit. The cast includes not only Kathryn Grayson (almost as beautiful as Miller), but Red Skelton doing his usual comic mugging for the camera, and a feature film debut for Zsa Zsa Gabor (as “Zsa Zsa”). Vincent Minelli reportedly directed the fashion show toward the end of the film, although then-veteran Mervyn Leroy is the credited director. The premise and music are taken from the early Fred Astaire vehicle Roberta, but the details are very different from the start. Alas, this doesn’t necessarily lead to anywhere very interesting — sure, the romance and the comedy work, but little of it sparks in the way other MGM musicals of the time did. It’s still not bad (the craftsmanship, comic acting and overall tone are enjoyable no matter what), but Lovely to Look At is one of those films that’s best approached by those who have already seen better examples of the form and can appreciate the details even when the whole is lacking.

  • Bathing Beauty (1944)

    Bathing Beauty (1944)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, May 2021) There’s probably one heck of a box-set (or, these days, “digital collection”) in some distant future in which Red Skelton’s early-1940s films are brought together to give a better appreciation of the incredible run he had as a comic performer at the time. No, his broad ingratiating style isn’t to everyone’s liking. No, the films are not usually high art. But he usually gave it everything he had and he was blessed with some of the era’s most amazing actresses as co-leads, whether it’s Eleanor Powell, Ann Sothern, Lucille Ball, Virginia O’Brien or, in the case of Bathing Beauty, aquatic athlete Esther Williams. The story is contrived to the point of bewilderment (what with a newly married couple not consummating the marriage, and the husband chasing her back to the college she works at) but that’s part of the point, as Skelton plays a virtual stranger chasing a woman while claiming, “but I’m her husband!”  There’s quite a bit of idiot plotting required in making it work, but Skelton’s comedic style is one that easily accommodates such shenanigans as indulged by director George Sidney. As usual for a Williams film, there are a number of musical interludes and aquatic sequences that have cemented her enduring image. (The final sequence, choreographer by Busby Berkeley, is a favourite for re-creations and homages, especially in Berkeley retrospectives.)  There’s a silliness to the college comedy that feels timeless, some snappy tunes and an overall amiability that makes Bathing Beauty hard to dislike. It’s also, crucially, a good showcase for Skelton’s talents, and a reminder of why he was a box-office draw at that time.

  • Whistling in Brooklyn (1943)

    Whistling in Brooklyn (1943)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, March 2021) Considering that Red Skelton stars in Whistling in Brooklyn, it’s a fair bet that the result is going to be a silly comedy. It’s, in fact, the third in a trilogy of movies featuring Skelton as the “radio criminologist” Wally “the Fox” Benton — and I haven’t seen any of the other ones. This familiarity with the character may serve to explain the unusually fast-paced opening, as audiences at the time would have been quite aware of Skelton’s character. (Not that this was Skelton’s sole brush with that kind of role — Benton feels a lot like his crime-writer character in the previous year’s Ship Ahoy.)  Here, Benton comes to be suspected of being a serial killer. Multiple complications ensue, especially when he gets in a cross-fire between the police and the real serial killer. There are a surprising number of non-comic suspense sequences here, although Skelton’s usual brand of humour eventually wins the day. An extended sequence takes place in a baseball stadium, starring then-celebrities. Whistling in Brooklyn is not a great or even a good movie, but if you’re a good public for Skelton’s humour and can tolerate an hour and a half of silly crime comedy, then it will do just the trick.

  • Ship Ahoy (1942)

    Ship Ahoy (1942)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, January 2021) The combination of Eleanor Powell’s tap-dancing talents and Red Skelton’s rubber-faced comedy must have been an irresistible commercial prospect in the early 1940s, and Ship Ahoy mostly delivers on that promise, with a few extras on top. The best of those, to me, has to be Virginia O’Brien in a strong supporting comic role, her deadpan singing being limited to one sequence. (But what a sequence: A romantic ditty first performed straight by a young Frank Sinatra, reprised with heartfelt romantic humour by Skelton, and then mercilessly skewed by O’Brien’s usual flat singing and sarcastic interjections: “Wow!”)  Surprisingly enough, Skelton keeps a lid on his worst tendencies, even conforming to the demands of a romantic lead role (as a hypochondriac writer) rather than overindulge in comic showboating. The plot itself gets ingenious at times, with Powell’s character being duped into taking a piece of high technology out of the mainland states to the benefit of foreigners, being kidnapped, then alerting US agents by tap-dancing Morse code. One more highlight is a substantial performance by legendary big-band leader Tommy Dorsey and his orchestra as the source of many of the film’s musical numbers. While I’ll agree with those who point out that Ship Ahoy is a lesser effort than the second Powell/Skelton collaboration I Dood It (a Skelton catchphrase that you can hear as a line of dialogue here), there are enough bits and pieces here and there to make it great fun to watch—I never get enough of O’Brien anyway, and this film does let her do more than just a novelty song.

  • Neptune’s Daughter (1949)

    Neptune’s Daughter (1949)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, December 2020) I’m not that taken by Neptune’s Daughter as a film, but it does have a few interesting elements. The plot has something to do with an aquatic dancer (Esther Williams, obviously), a South American polo player (the great Richardo Montalban), a bumbling masseur taking on another identity (Red Skelton, equal to himself) and the dancer’s lovesick sister (Betty Garrett, confusingly playing a “Betty Barrett”). With such a blend of acting sensibilities, it’s perhaps inevitable that the film splits in halves – a romantic duo between Williams and Montalban, and a comic strand headlined by Skelton and Garrett. The romance has the advantage of being more broadly appealing than the often-thick comedy, but those who are receptive to the comedy will find it much more entertaining than the more ordinary romantic couple. This is best exemplified by the duelling interpretation of “Baby It’s Cold Outside,” which somehow makes its debut here: a bit dull on the romantic side, but considerably more entertaining with the comedians. Despite Montalban getting a good role as a romantic lead, the film is still filled with stereotypes that wouldn’t pass muster today, or at least be heavily questioned – especially Mel Blanc’s rare on-screen role and voice he’d later use for Speedy Gonzales. Technicolour cinematography does improve the film. If you’re going down the list of the Williams or Skelton films, Neptune’s Daughter is clearly not top-tier material. But it still has enough to be entertaining if you’re in the right frame of mind.

  • Lady Be Good (1941)

    Lady Be Good (1941)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, November 2020) Mashing together the comedy of remarriage with the Broadway retrospective, Lady Be Good may feel familiar, but it does have its share of good moments. From the framing device (as a woman recounts events to the divorce judge) on to Eleanor Powell’s anthology-worthy final dance number (as spectacular to film as it was to see, as shown in That’s Entertainment III), it’s a typical musical of the period, blending gentle romance with musical numbers often blatantly presented as part of a show. While Powell is billed as the lead, her presence here is closer to a supporting role, as much of the screentime goes to a couple of writers/composers with a complicated relationship, slipping in and out of marriage with an ease only seen in show business movies. Still, don’t feel too bad for Powell, as her two numbers are by far the standout of Lady Be Good: In the first, she tap-dances alongside a trained dog taking part in the routine—by the time it ends with the dog jumping on her and them falling onto a bed giggling, we feel much of the same exhilaration at the success of the routine. Her other big number goes to the tune of “Fascinating Rhythm,” and first includes tap-dancing alongside a deep succession of pianos, followed by a more freewheeling number that ends with her being flipped over head over heels eight times before making as many spins on herself and her grinning at the camera—it’s absolutely flawless. Other good numbers include a great dance routine by the Berry Brothers, and a cute short deadpan number from Virginia O’Brien taking on “Your Words and My Music” as only she could. (MGM was still figuring out what to do with her in 1940-41—her best numbers would come later.) The story itself is fine, the leads (Robert Young and Ann Sothern) are adequate despite being blander than they should, and Red Skelton pops up in a supporting role. There’s also a cute montage in which the song climbs the charts and spins off many versions, giving us a glimpse into the nature of pop music at the beginning of the 1940s.

  • Merton of the Movies (1947)

    Merton of the Movies (1947)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, September 2020) My primary interest in watching Merton of the Movies was to find out if this remake of the 1932 film Make Me a Star (itself one of many adaptations of Harry Leon Wilson’s novel Merton of the Movies) was any better than the rather disappointing original. That objective took a backseat the moment I saw Virginia O’Brien’s name appear on-screen: O’Brien has become a favourite of mine following a few striking musical/comedy supporting numbers, and one of the happy surprises of Merton of the Movies is how she gets a rare leading role: no singing, no dancing, just looking gorgeous and acting as a foil for Red Skelton. While I’m far from having seen all of Skelton’s movies, I’m struck by how many of them are remakes of earlier (often silent) movies – something facilitated by his friendship with Buster Keaton. This being said, I’m not complaining because Merton of the Movies fixes nearly every single complaint I had about Make Me a Star: the script improves nearly every aspect of the story from the finale to the budding romance, the pacing is much better, Skelton’s take on the character is immensely more likable, and O’Brien is a more distinctive performer. Most of the original’s strengths in taking us back to the silent film comedy era are also preserved. The upgrade of the character alone is worth the remake—while the original sad-sack protagonist was too dumb to live, Skelton plays his character as situationally dim-witted, and occasionally shows flashes of cleverness. O’Brien gets a chance to prove what she could do outside her usual comedy singing routines, and she nails it—if nothing else, her take on the “thirty kinds of kisses” scene is just wonderful. I’m not going to maintain that Merton of the Movies is a great movie: it’s obscure even in Skelton’s biography and the version shown on TCM is one of the poorest transfers I recall seeing on the channel. But it’s good fun; it’s a redemption act for the previous film and it showcases O’Brien as more than a novelty act.

  • Three Little Words (1950)

    Three Little Words (1950)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, July 2020) The mini wave of composer biopics meets Fred Astaire in Three Little Words, which goes back to the Tinpan Alley era to present a biography of songwriting team Kalmar and Ruby. Astaire (as Kalmar) stars with Red Skelton (as Ruby) and the always-beautiful Vera-Ellen as Kalmar’s wife in what’s probably one of the healthiest on-screen romantic relationships in Astaire’s filmography. (There’s no creeping insistence in this specific romance, although the 22-year age gap remains significant.) Also notable is that Astaire does a lot more singing than dancing here—this is a biopic that’s not quite built to accommodate his usual dance performances. There’s some built-in drama (which wasn’t always the case in other composer biographies), as the two partners argue. While Three Little Words is adapted from real historical figures (ones that Astaire even knew personally), it’s difficult to see anyone but Astaire and Skelton rather than their characters. But that’s fine—both actors have a much better chemistry than you could expect from their specific comic styles, and it helps that Skelton keeps his wilder comic instincts under control here. As composer biopics go, historians tell us that Three Little Words is considered one of the most accurate depictions of their subject—although with plenty of Hollywood enhancements. But while not a bad jukebox musical in itself, it’s a bit of a disappointing entry in the Astaire filmography: it’s an early example of him trying to stretch beyond his dancing abilities (something that would become more frequent as he aged) and there’s nothing wrong with that, but it means that Three Little Words should be assessed more along the lines of a composer biopic (where it is, in fact, funnier and more charming than most) than an Astair musical (which it is not).

  • Du Barry was a Lady (1943)

    Du Barry was a Lady (1943)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, July 2020) Like many other hobbies, movie-watching gets more rewarding the more you put into it. If you’re the kind of person who watches a film a year, then go ahead and enjoy the film on its own merits. But if you’re the kind of cinephile who enjoys tracking down filmographies, sub-genres and how movies exist in context, then a film can become far more than the sum of its parts. While watching Du Barry Was a Lady, for instance, I was struck by how it brings together many people that I liked elsewhere. It has one of Gene Kelly’s earliest roles, for instance—and even at this early stage, he gets play the likable cad, singing and dancing even if it’s not (yet) to his own cinematography. It has one of Lucille Ball’s foremost movie roles, where she gets to be strikingly beautiful and funny. It has Red Skelton, semi-restrained from his usual comic tics and funnier for it. It has one of my favourite supporting actresses of the era, Virginia O’Brien, lovely and hilarious as she sings in her usual deadpan style. (“Salome” has funny lyrics, but half of the song’s many laughs come from O’Brien’s side glances, facial expressions and hand movements.) It has Zero Mostel playing small-time hustler, Tommy Dorsey as (what else?) a band leader and an entire song dedicated to Vargas pin-ups girls (Happily, Miss September is the best). Du Barry was a Lady is also, perhaps more significantly, one of Arthur Freed’s early MGM musicals and you can see bits and pieces of it as inspiration for the tone and content of his later movies. Compared to this thick web of associations and context, it does feel as if the film itself is not as good as its components. Much of the first half is a nightclub comedy (giving generous time to the on-stage acts) paying particular attention to Ball, Kelly and O’Brien, while the second loosens up by going back to Louis XV-era France for some sillier comedy focused on Skelton. It’s not bad, but the film is more interesting for its numbers and showcases than by itself—as mentioned before, “Salome” is worthy of an anthology reel, and it’s a treat to see Ball, Kelly and Mostel in early roles. I liked Du Barry was a Lady a lot, but I suspect that I’m getting a lot more out of it by virtue of having seen, in rapid succession, many of the other movies with which it shares a web of associations.

    (Second Viewing, On Cable TV, November 2021) What I like about revisiting classic Hollywood films is that even a few months can mean a world of difference in how you approach a film knowing more about its stars and their careers. You can watch Du Barry was a Lady (as I did the first time) without knowing much about its players and still appreciate the film on its own terms. But come back to it with a greater appreciation for Red Skelton, Gene Kelly, Lucille Ball, Virginia O’Brien, Zero Mostel and Tommy Dorsey and his Orchestra, and the film becomes nothing short of a quasi-miraculous union of distinctive talents. Skelton delivers another of his usual performances here, and stays (mostly) under control for the first half of the film. Ball was on the upswing at the time, distinguishing herself as a dependable comic performer – but this was the film (her first as an MGM star) that changed her hair colour to red… a distinction she’d keep the rest of her career. Kelly was barely known at the time, but here gets a terrific solo dance number that clearly wowed others enough to give him bigger roles as a dancer. Gorgeous O’Brien gets an anthology number in “Salome” (sung deadpan, but complete with hilarious acting) as well as a decent supporting role. Zero Mostel makes his big-screen debut here, whereas Tommy Dorsey (aka D’Orsay in the French Royalty sequences) and his orchestra get a welcome showcase. Finally, who can resist the rather wonderful “I Love an Esquire Girl” featuring no less than twelve terrific Vargas girls? (Miss September being my favourite, even the second time around.)  The film itself is uneven: the first present-day half is not bad, but the second historical one is rather dull. But it’s by bringing together several talented performers that Du Barry Was a Lady finds its true calling. It’s not a completely satisfying film, but it’s well worth another look, possibly fast-forwarding from one great sequence to another.

  • I Dood It (1943)

    I Dood It (1943)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, July 2020) One box-office formula is as old as time: funny man plus attractive woman. In I Dood It, it’s then-popular comedian Red Skelton playing a humble pants presser, paired with the supremely gifted Eleanor Powell as a Broadway star. Through various shenanigans and misunderstandings, the two end up married, leading to further confusion and set-pieces. An entertaining blend of comedy, dancing and singing, I Dood It is not exactly a film with a strong plot: What is in place is just enough to get us from one sequence to another, and while the dancing and singing are fine, the comedy bits tend to be stretched just a bit too long—if you’re dubious about Skelton’s brand of comedy, some passages based on his verbal humour are borderline unbearable. Meanwhile, the physical comedy bits (including a sequence featuring a passed-out Powell manhandled by Skelton) are a bit better—Skelton had some help from gagman Buster Keaton in conceiving the physical comedy, as the film is a partial remake of Spite Marriage. Powell does quite well in her role, with two impressive original dance numbers (a Western-themed one at the beginning of the film, then a Polynesian one near the two-third mark) with a final reprise from Born to Dance that’s telegraphed by having the protagonist describe his ideal dance sequence in suspiciously familiar terms for Powell fans. While some moments drag on too long, I can’t fault I Dood It for those—one of the highlights of the film has the story stop cold in order to have the great Hazel Scott deliver a dazzling piano number, immediately followed by Lena Horne headlining a rather amusing “Fall of Jericho” number. Who can complain about that? Wartime topical content includes a saboteur subplot that provides just enough drama to prop up the last act, and a rather amusing precision that a French poodle is a “Free French Poodle” (as opposed to a “Vichy French Poodle.”) It’s not particularly well directed by Vincente Minelli (although there is a flourish during the piano and dance sequence), who would go on to better things. While I Dood It starts slowly and doesn’t amount to much more than a collection of scenes, it’s worth it for the Powell, Scott and Horne trio.

  • Watch the Birdie (1950)

    Watch the Birdie (1950)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, August 2019) Comedy is a weird genre: what’s funny today may not feel as amusing decades later, or even with an entirely different audience. So it is that comparing Watch the Birdie soon after its silent-movie inspiration The Cameraman shows the difference between the dumb loquaciousness of Red Skelton’s humour in stark contrast with the smart physicality of Buster Keaton. The correspondence is very, very loose, of course: We’re talking about Watch the Birdie riffing from a bare-bones plot summary of The Cameraman, as a sympathetic gaffe-prone protagonist grabs a camera in an attempt to impress a love interest. But whereas Keaton could only count on gesticulation and title cards, Skelton starts talking over the beginning credits (the film’s funniest sequence, actually) and never stops. He plays three characters (the protagonist, his father and his grandfather), which is one too much—the father character never makes much of an impression, let alone becomes funny in his own right. His humour is hit or miss—he likes making funny faces and looking confused a lot, whereas I think that’s reaching for the dumbest, least subtle comedy there is. As a result, much of Watch the Birdie feels forced—I won’t deny that it has a few laughs (the ending sequence, featuring a car chase with a tall Hyster lumber loader, feels very Keatonesque which may be explained by Keaton being an uncredited advisor for the film), but much of it labours mightily through pratfalls and grimaces. The film feels too long even at 72 minutes, especially considering its structure of gags strung along a loose plot. On the other hand, my first reason for watching the film is justifiable: Ann Miller is not only gorgeous but quite funny as well as she plays an intentionally dumb beauty queen who gets knocked around by male and female characters alike. I take it that Red Skelton did a lot of similar movies in the post-WW2 years, but that none of them are particularly well regarded today—indeed, I probably would have overlooked Watch the Birdie if it hadn’t been of its link to Keaton and Miller.