HOME CINEMAApril 2020 | Sight&Sound | 83involves Allan Jones and Robert Cummings vying
for the attentions of Nancy Kelly, and aside from
the fact that Abbott and Costello will receive
top billing and a greater share of screentime
from that point on, with One Night in the Tropics
the basic elements for their future films are in
place: Abbott and Costello shtick, a romantic
plot acted out by marginally charismatic actors
and, usually, musical interludes from the likes
of the Andrews Sisters, Ella Fitzgerald and
the Merry Macs – who all appear in Ride ’Em
Cowboy (1942) – or, in Here Come the Co-Eds
(1945), Phil Spitalny and His All-Girl Orchestra,
featuring virtuoso violinist Evelyn Kaye Klein.
The Abbott and Costello films, which
became assembly-line productions once proven
predictably profitable, can be subdivided into
phases. Buck Privates (1941) initiated a brief
armed forces cycle, including In the Navy (1941),
which gives them one of their more palatable
romantic lead partners in the form of Dick
Powell, and the same year’s Keep ’Em Flying. A
spate of genre burlesques then leads to a number
of horror-comedy releases following the success
of Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein (1948),
which have the duo being chased about by
Universal’s horror-film IP. (Talk about synergy!)
These provide ample opportunities for Costello
to enact the elaborate pantomimes of terror – the
scared-stupid spluttering and panicky double-
takes – that are such a large part of his act, already
very much in play in the proto-Scooby Doo
haunted-house caper Hold That Ghost (1941).
From film to film, the routines recur with the
most minor variations: a bit involving Costello
being driven into hysterics by a mysteriously
moving candle is in both Hold That Ghost and Meet
Frankenstein – if it worked once, it’ll be just as good
another time. Costello, of the fireplug physique,
does the most visible heavy lifting in the duo. He
is a fount of catchphrases –“Heyyyyyyy, Abbott!”
and the bleated “I’m a baaaaaaad boy!” – and
other recognisable and imitable ejaculations
which include a variety of expressive whistles,
a horror-stricken words-fail wheeze that sounds
like an engine struggling to turn over, and the
slightly simian “Oooooh oooooh ooooh!” (I’m
particularly fond of his creative ‘profanities’,
such as “AW, BIFFLE-DIFFLE”, invariably
followed up with “Now ya made me say a bad
word.”) Short and husky, sporting ever-present
armpit stains, he’s a deceptively spry athlete,
graceful in his clumsiness, though often the
films eschew more involved slapstick gags for
interminable rear-projection chase scenes.
Abbott’s own ‘catchphrases’ are mostly just
a litany of opprobrium directed towards his
partner: “That’s no way to act,” “Will you listen
to me?” and, especially, “What’s the matter with
you?” The facts of Abbott’s ethnic background are
somewhat hazy, but even if he was indeed half-
Jewish, his persona, like Jack Benny’s, comes off as
a parody of Wasp-dom – here the straight-backed,
miserable Anglo-Saxon taskmaster: gruff, stiff, all
sharp angles, needlessly cruel and, for the most
part, absolutely sexless, in Keep ’Em Flying found
toting a placard that reads “UNFAIR TO WOMAN
HATER’S UNION”. It’s Costello, then, who will
pair with the very capable comediennes who
drift through several of their films: Joan Davis,
with whom he has a delightful dance sequence in
Hold That Ghost, and frequent Donald O’Connor
co-star Peggy Ryan in Here Come the Co-Eds.
Costello is the lovable one, but Abbott is
grimly fascinating – an instigator, an Iago, his
slightly-too-close-together eyes only lighting up
when he sees an opportunity to skin a sucker
in dice or cards. (Another recurring bit: Costello
always comes out on top.) The team are already
an acquired taste, but Bud Abbott is for true
connoisseurs. A piece from Esquire magazine in
July 1964, written by Robert Benton and David
Newman, later the authors of the screenplay
for Arthur Penn’s Bonnie and Clyde, proposes a
distinction between the Old Sentimentality that
idolised movie stars and the New Sentimentality
in which “a minor character actor who happens
to excite us in a personal way is a real celebrity”.
Alongside Timothy Carey, Ringo Starr and Barton
MacLane, they list “Abbott but not Costello”.
In fact, it’s difficult to imagine one without
the other, as Dean Martin existed without Jerry
Lewis. Film to film, Abbott and Costello portray
attached-at-the-hip, mutually resentful ‘pals’,
bonded by mysterious mutual dependency,
usually co-workers on the verge of being canned
from a dead-end job – Who Done It? (1942),
for instance, has them as soda jerks itching to
bust into the radio murder-mystery racket. It’s
perhaps the most wholly enjoyable of the early
40s films, their first without musical interludes,
with one of the slightly Pirandellian, play-acting-
become-real premises that are the stock-in-trade
of their movies: a broadcast studio specialising in
whodunnits becomes scene of one, only solved
by the careful broadcast staging of a whodunnit.
Their routines could be maddeningly elaborate- see the multiplication bit in In the Navy – but
they never broached sophistication, which
is part of their glory. An exchange from Meet
the Mummy – Lou: “How stupid can you get?”
Bud: “How stupid do you want me to be?”
Abbott and Costello in Hollywood (1945)Costello is lovable, but Abbott
is grimly fascinating – an
instigator, an Iago, eyes lighting
up at a chance to skin a sucker
New releases
BLACK ANGEL
Roy William Neill; US 1946; Arrow Academy; Region
B Blu-ray; Certificate PG; 81 minutes; 1.37:1. Extras:
audio commentary by historian Alan K. Rode;
introduction by Neil Sinyard; trailer; booklet.
Reviewed by Trevor Johnston
The golden age of film noir still has a few treasures
to reveal to us, if this little-known Universal
offering, based on a novel by Cornell Woolrich,
is anything to go by. For one thing, the setting
among jobbing Los Angeles showbiz types is
slightly unusual for the genre: after a chanteuse is
murdered, an alcoholic songwriter (Dan Duryea)
and the faithful wife (June Vincent) of the chump
set to hang for the killing come together to find
the real perpetrator. Noir mainstay Peter Lorre is
in delicious slithery form as the club owner who’s
the prime suspect, but finding proof to convince
Broderick Crawford’s hard-nosed cop is another
matter. It’s a strong cast for a relatively modest
production, though there’s also much pleasure
here in sharp direction that barely wastes a
frame, superb design giving us a stylish lair for
Lorre’s presumed iniquities, and even specially
written songs with thought-through lyrics adding
romantic yearning to the escalating tension.
One certainly emerges with new respect for
Roy William Neill. He’s remembered if at all
for many of Universal’s Basil Rathbone/Nigel
Bruce Sherlock Holmes series but here, given
twice his usual budget, he motivates everyone
concerned to deliver an unassuming gem of
studio-era craft – a film that’s so much better
than it probably needed to be. From the assured
leads right down to characterful supporting
players, everyone makes their mark. Historian
Alan K. Rode’s splendid commentary is especially
strong in teasing out biographical nuggets,
such as the club bouncer who was a former
world champion boxer, and also offers a gold-
standard anecdote about Brod Crawford and
Frank Sinatra’s toupee. For genre buffs it’s an
irresistible package, and a delight to discover a
previously unlauded diamond in the noir vein,
not dulled by over-familiarity on late-night TV.
Disc: A clean HD transfer, though the highlight
is Rode’s superb commentary, delivering fact-
packed detail covering every aspect of the film’s
production. It’s complemented by Neil Sinyard’s
video intro, which sees the story as a fascinating
pen portrait of troubled author Cornell Woolrich.ENDLESS NIGHT
Sidney Gilliat; UK 1972; Powerhouse/Indicator; Region B
Blu-ray; Certificate 15; 100 minutes; 1.85:1. Extras: interviews
with actor Hayley Mills and soundtrack collaborator Howard
Blake; appreciation by Neil Sinyard; archive audio interviews
with Sidney Gilliat and Bernard Herrmann; trailer; booklet.
Reviewed by Trevor Johnston
Having cut his teeth writing scripts for Walter
Forde in the early 30s, Sidney Gilliat went on
to write, produce and direct – mostly in
partnership with Frank Launder – dozens