2019 has been a year of preparation for me - preparing for a new phase in my life. The shape this blog will take in 2020 will likely be somewhat different. I can't promise the frequency of posts will be anything consistent, nor what kind of content I'll be presenting. So, to all of you who visit this odd old blog, I thank you very much for visiting in 2019 and hope you'll hang around for 2020! Have a great New Year's Eve and a Happy New Year!
Have you heard the strange stories of The Whistler?
I don't often blog about The Whistler. In fact, although it's been a favourite program of mine for as long as I've been a fan of old-time radio, I haven't sought each and every existing episode the way I did Suspense, Escape, Quiet, Please or The Shadow. Recently I've been listening to each of the episodes I hadn't heard before.
Unlike a lot of other radio mystery anthology programs, The Whistler wasn't sold on the basis of its talent. It did have a lot of talent behind it - the best dramatic players CBS Radio had - but it had no big name Hollywood stars like Suspense, nor did it trumpet the names of its authors like Murder by Experts. The selling point of The Whistler was simply, as they said: "Even when you know who's guilty, you always receive a startling surprise at the final curtain." And that was enough to sustain The Whistler for 13 years!
Unlike programs such as Suspense and Escape where certain production choices (or sponsors) help the listener to identify different "eras" of the show, after its first season The Whistler sounds very much the same year after year. The same sponsor (Signal Oil), usually the same Whistler (Bill Foreman) and frequently the same actors (William Conrad, Elliott Lewis, Betty Lou Gerson). Not only is it consistently solid and professional, but you can likewise expect that "startling surprise" near the end of each episode.
The first year of the program is a bit clumsy in how it handled the "startling surprise". Far too often the Whistler would narrate a twist as a post-script to the drama rather than the actors performing the twist. At times it feels similar to those scenes at the end of Alfred Hitchcock Presents where Hitchcock would (jokingly) claim that the killer didn't really get away with his crime. Sometimes the "startling surprise" was extremely complicated and resulted in a lengthy bit of exposition as the Whistler explained how several characters had different motivations than what we assumed. Listening to that first year, the "startling surprise" feels like a cheat - it doesn't fit organically with the drama as presented, instead somewhat extraneous to it.
Fortunately, the show figured itself out very quickly and from then on would dramatize the "startling surprise", frequently building up to a moment where the criminal has seemingly gotten away with his crime, but after a brief interruption from the Whistler the story continues and we see a sudden reversal of fortune for the protagonist, usually owing to some simple mistake which was telegraphed earlier in the drama.
Not every "startling surprise" is great, but it's always a pleasant program to listen to. In fact, the "startling surprise" isn't always that the criminal got caught - sometimes it's that the crime you thought was going to happen didn't, leaving the protagonist unblemished.
For instance, there's a fantastic holiday episode entitled "Letter from Cynthia" (broadcast December 25, 1949) in which a physician is reunited with the man who ruined his career. He realizes his old enemy is now within his power and he could kill him as an act of revenge, a perfect crime for which he could never be caught. The episode builds up to the moment where the physician has taken action; then the Whistler reveals the doctor chose to spare his old foe's life. That seems like a very modest reveal... but the drama isn't over. The story continues as "the startling surprise" occurs and boy, it's a good one! This is possibly my favourite episode of The Whistler!
And, what do you know, it's Christmas in two weeks! What better program could I have signed off with? Merry listening, friends!
So today I'm going to wrap up my thoughts on my least favourite radio programs and disagreeable noises ultimately have the greatest impact.
There are plenty of old radio shows with cheesy or even lousy writing. Any fan who claims The Witch's Tale "still holds up" as a scary program is someone I can't take seriously; it's overwritten, lacking in sound effects and often woodenly performed. But I'm not too bothered by The Witch's Tale - it's a relic of its time and occasionally good campy fun.
I'm also not down with those Carlton E. Morse fans who think I Love a Mystery was the greatest program on radio. It's okay, but I find Morse mostly dull and repetitive; I noticed particularly with his series Adventures by Morse (one of the few fully-intact Morse programs) how much of each multi-part serial is taken up by characters recapping the plot to each other and speculating about what's going on. Sometimes there is no direct menace beyond a character stating, "maybe we can't trust them!" which typically indicates a red herring. Still, overwritten as it is, Morse's shows are carried by their performers.
There are two programs which I think are great illustrations of bad dramatic radio and which get my vote for 'worst of the worst': Rocky Fortune and Barrie Craig, Confidential Investigator.
As I stated yesterday, both shows were produced on NBC in the 1950s with tiresome canned music, which doesn't help them. But where the shows really fall down is in the acting department. These are radio programs which cause me to switch off my player when they come up. In the case of these two shows, it isn't because of 'funny voices' or poor writing, rather it's the lead performers.
Rocky Fortune was led by Frank Sinatra. I don't consider myself a Sinatra fan, exactly, but he was normally a pretty adept and energetic performer; in Rocky Fortune, though, he was asleep at the wheel. The intro to the series describes Rocky as "that footloose and fancy free young gentleman" but all of that is contradicted by Sinatra's performance: he sounds tired. Very tired, and possibly bored. You would expect a certain lightness in Sinatra's performance like that of Dick Powell in Richard Diamond, Private Detective, but Sinatra couldn't muster it up. It is painful to hear Sinatra deliver "wise guy" dialogue in a tone which sounds like he just finished a turkey dinner.
Barrie Craig, Confidential Investigator was performed by William Gargan. He was a decent film actor, although certainly never a major player. On the radio, however, he's dull. His voice on Barrie Craig is flat, disinterested. I have heard a few episodes of Barrie Craig but I couldn't recap any of the plots afterwards (whereas I could manage that with Rocky Fortune). Gargan's monotone narration obliterates anything of interest from that series; I now switch off my radio when this one appears (and unfortunately my local station, QR77, does play it fairly often). It has my vote for the all-time worst series in old-time radio.
Okay, I've been a little negative for the last two days. Tomorrow I'll share something positive.
Sound effects and music definitely have their place, although I'm not terribly concerned by them. One of my favourite programs is Quiet, Please, a low budget series which had extremely limited music and sound effects, yet never felt lacking; the series' author, Wyllis Cooper, wrote within the program's budgetary limitations.
Occasionally, though, I do find the music in old-time radio shows to be a bit tiresome. During the 1950s as budgets were slashed, programs began using canned music. It was especially a problem on NBC radio, where the same music tracks would show up on X Minus One, The Chase, Rocky Fortune, Cloak and Dagger, and Barrie Craig, Confidential Investigator. It's not that the music is bad, it's that hearing the same music every episode (to say nothing of the same casts) creates a sense of genericness; it's especially difficult to 'binge' those shows.
But let's consider performances. A fantastic script can be ruined by a poor performance. A funny line can be stifled by unfunny delivery. And when the script isn't great to begin with, a poor performance hurts it even more.
I can only share my opinions. I've mentioned before that I when I first became interested in old-time radio, comedy programs were the hardest for me to appreciate. I had enjoyed Abbott & Costello's movies when I was a kid, but I don't like their radio program; The Abbott and Costello Show has a few great routines by the duo, but so much of the humour is centred around 'funny voices'. Nothing turns me off comedy of the 1930s-50s more than 'funny voices'.
First, I had to make a distinction between 'funny' and 'peculiar'. It took time for me to warm up to shows like The Great Gildersleeve or Fibber McGee and Molly, but beneath the superficial 'peculiar voices' characters have, there is some good comedic writing; neither program is a favourite of mine, but for the most part (Molly's 'Teeny' character being an exception), the jokes on those program are not simply "hey, this character talks funny!"
There are a host of shows I tend to steer away from simply because those 'funny voices' grate on me. Edgar Bergen & Charlie McCarthy; Baby Snooks; Blondie; Amos 'N' Andy. I've never been too wild about The Fred Allen Show either, and not simply because I'm a Jack Benny fan (or because Allen's humour was too topical, although it rather was) but because Portland Hoffa's off-key voice put me right off.
Although I've never been fond of the 'squeaky voiced teens' of The Aldrich Family, I do appreciate that program has very clever writing; it isn't a favourite, but I don't always mind listening to it. On the other hand, the imitation program Archie Andrews has a cast which is almost entirely 'squeaky voiced people'. The in-studio audience laughed every single time someone's voice creaked; I find that program interminable.
Tomorrow I'll share some thoughts about which old-time radio programs are the worst.
Today it was reported actor Rene Auberjonois has passed away, aged 79.
Auberjonois played the character of Odo for all seven seasons of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine; he portrayed my favourite character on that, my favourite Star Trek series. I don't think Odo was (or is) an easy character for most viewers to relate to, but I was drawn to how Odo wanted to be liked and accepted by the people who surrounded him, yet did not want to alter his behaviour to accomodate others; I suppose I related to his strong introversion. It's also somewhat ironic that he portrayed a shapeshifter who was extremely against change; a semi-liquid being who was the most rigid person on the station.
I also came to appreciate how amazing Auberjonois' performance was, considering he wore a mask over his face. He couldn't emote with any facial tics other than his eyelids, yet he conveyed so many different moods from Odo through that mask.
I haven't seen much of his non-Star Trek work (M*A*S*H, The Little Mermaid, Justice League, Panache) but it was always pleasant to stumble across him and his quite-distinctive voice. Rest in peace, Mr. Auberjonois.
As my Dad loved sharing films from his childhood with me when I was growing up, I developed an early appreciation for classic cinema. As I became a teenager and began to develop certain tastes in film, classic film was my gateway into a wider appreciation for movies. In those days I read the newspaper film reviews (Edmonton Journal & Calgary Herald) every week, watched Siskel & Ebert on television and read every guidebook to film that I could. I wasn't quite sure what to make of the non-English films which critics were always championing, nor did I think I could handle 'artsy' motion pictures from recent decades, but Hollywood films of the 1930s-1950s were at least of a type I was familiar with and could be pretty certain wouldn't expose me to any disturbing content.
Almost a decade ago I composed a list of movies I wanted to see. I started it by listing movies by filmmakers and actors whose work I already enjoyed and wanted to see more of; it expanded as I delved into lists written by critics, not only of "all-time bests" but best-of lists for specific genres of films. It was a massive list and took me several years to get through. While I had the list to go through, I was watching movies all the time; I would plan out my evenings, often watching 3 per night if I had no other plans.
I'm sharing all of this because I want to make it clear that I have watched a lot of films; I've watched films in a variety of languages from many different countries from every possible decade and every genre type. Compared to the average movie fan, I'm quote-unquote an authority. And yet I'm still grappling with this question: What is the difference between a good movie and an enjoyable movie?
For example, one of the first films I watched on my massive list was The Seven Samurai by Akira Kurosawa. I had read reviews which praised the film to the utmost and it didn't disappoint. I have absolutely no reservation about ranking The Seven Samurai a 10/10 film, a perfect movie. Is it one of the greatest movies ever made? Sure, certainly! Yet for all that, I've only seen The Seven Samurai the one time.
By contrast, I think I've watched the lowbrow comedy film The Naked Gun (directed by David Zucker) four times. Do I think The Naked Gun is a better movie than The Seven Samurai? No... depending on what you mean by "better".
Part of why it was so easy for me to watch every film on that massive list I put together is that with today's ready-availability of motion pictures, you can see virtually any film you want when you want to; at the very least, it's bound to be available for online rental somewhere. But after you've seen a movie once, why watch it a second time? Even if you recognize The Seven Samurai as being a cut above other run-of-the-mill motion pictures, why does it require a second viewing?
I certainly admire The Seven Samurai more than The Naked Gun. I'm happy to put it up on a pedestal. But the first time I saw The Seven Samurai it was all new to me - everything was a discovery. If I were to watch it a second time, there are certain things which I, as the viewer, would have to bring with me -- baggage which an unpretentious comedy such as The Naked Gun doesn't share.
Almost all of the film criticism I grew up reading offered guidance for a first-time viewer; they were careful to omit 'spoilers' and principally concerned with helping the undecided viewer decide whether the film was worth their time or not. Considering the books I read came from the era of revival houses and home theaters, I wish a little attention were given to movies which have repeat viewing value. This was something critics would gush about when talking about Citizen Kane or other worthy classics, but what makes a film worthy of repeat viewings?
First, is the viewer watching the film alone or with an audience? When I share movies in my library with other people, I try to tailor it to what those people have already seen and enjoy. For instance, when I learned my parents hadn't seen any of Preston Sturges' comedies I made a point of showing them a Preston Sturges film every time they visited me until my library was exhausted. Comedies are one of the best genres to share with other people; when a group of people are all laughing at the same jokes, you aren't left wondering if your friends 'get' your proferred film.
Second, how much time does the viewer have? Do you have 3.5 hours to spend on The Seven Samurai? Or only 90 minutes?
Third, what is the mood of the viewer? Do you want to play detective and pick out details you haven't noticed before? Do you want to meditate on the film's style, content or performances? Are you in the mood for challenging or even upsetting content? Are you seeking escapism through adventure? Comedy to help you through a difficult time?
There are movies which I think bear up extremely well on repeat viewings. It might helpful to consider films where mystery is an important component of the story. Dark City by Alex Proyas is such a film which revolves around a mystery. I find the solution to that mystery extremely satisfying and even provocative. For those reasons, I've been able to watch Dark City again and again; indeed, I think I've watched it once per year since I first saw it circa 2010. Even though I watch the film now knowing how the plot will turn out, I still enjoy seeing the mystery unravel; in fact, I think I enjoy more as I notice additional details which hint at the solution which weren't apparent on first viewing.
On the other hand, we have Christopher Nolan's The Prestige. When I watched this film, I was enjoying it quite a bit and wondered where it was heading. Unfortunately, I was extremely disappointed with the climax of The Prestige, to the point that I have never watched the film again, nor do I wish to. In that situation, the solution to the mystery did not heighten my enjoyment of the film, rather it spoiled my enjoyment of every scene prior to the climax.
Movies such as The Seven Samurai are easy to put up on a pedestal, but films aren't supposed to be placed behind a glass case to be admired - they're meant to be watched. Critics have frequently despaired at how audiences reward (what critics term) by-the-numbers fare while meanwhile (what critics term) artful films are neglected. There are plenty of artistic films I love and wish enjoyed wider appreciation, but at the end of the day I wonder: what is the difference between a good movie and an enjoyable movie? I realize that by every standard which film critics have preached at me for decades, The Seven Samurai is a triumph of cinema and one of the greatest movies ever made; and yet, I'm kinda certain I'll have seen The Naked Gun for a fifth time before I watch The Seven Samurai again.
