Santa Sangre (1989)

 

Santa Sangre (1989) is a film thats a bit out of my wheelhouse. Its an Arthouse Mexican horror film, done by Chilean director Alejandro Jodorowsky, loosely based on a Mexican serial killer. This came to my attention when I was asked to fill in for an absent host for the "Decades of Horror: 1980s" podcast, and this was the film they were covering. I agreed, and quickly had to go home and watch the film. We recorded the next day, but I still hadn't sorted out all my feelings about the movie yet... and so I decided to write this up in an effort to make sense of it all. 

Jodorowsky is a mystic, a surrealist, an artist, an actor, a director, a writer... He is exactly the sort you think of when you think of the stereotypical "Artiste" Film Director. That said, I hadn't seen any of his other films, thought I had heard, vaguely, of El Topo (1970) and The Magic Mountain (1982). I was also familiar with his work in reconstructing the original form of the Tarot of Marseilles, seeking out the earliest versions of the cards and imagery, and his work in comic books, particularly The Incal and Metabarons, which had impressive European releases... And so going into the film, I expected a couple main things: Striking visuals, Mystical undertones, a dreamlike atmosphere, and lots of symbolism.

I was not wrong.

If you follow me at all, you know I'm not keen on horror films about ordinary murderers, or slashers. Give me something supernatural, something mythic. I love a monster... humans are monsters, but they are the most familiar of monsters. To see a human monster, all one needs to do is turn on the news. Even excellent films about human murderers leave me a bit cold. I appreciate Psycho (1960) and Peeping Tom (1960) and even The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974), but I won't really seek them out, and on some level, I even find them boring. 

Santa Sangre shares DNA with all of those three film, but its got layers of symbolism and imagery to let my mind play with, and keep it engaged far beyond those other films. Its a colorful film, reminding me in some places of Dario Argento's work. There is at least one scene which directly parallels Italian giallo, when a woman is brutally murdered and you only see the hands of her assailant. 

It is difficult to talk about this film without spoilers, so... I give you this warning: From this point, HERE BE SPOILERS. Proceed if you do not care, but there are twists coming that I need to process and talk about, and if you want to experience the film fully, go watch it and then come back and join me here to work out our shared issues.

Ready?

Ok, a rough synopsis is: A young Circus performer, who was traumatized at a young age by the brutal death of his father and maiming of his mother, escapes from the mental hospital he is kept in, and acts as his maimed mother's 'arms', committing murders at her command.

This both is and isn't the film. That is the most simplistic explanation of what is happening, but there is so much more. 

Lets look first at the definition of surrealism. in 1924, French artist Andre Breton defined the term in his work The Surrealist Manifesto as "pure psychic automatism, by which one proposes to express, either verbally, in writing, or by any other manner, the real functioning of thought. Dictation of thought in the absence of all control exercised by reason, outside of all aesthetic and moral preoccupation."  

This rather heady definition is clarified and re-expressed on the webpage of the Tate Gallery as "Surrealism aims to revolutionise human experience. It balances a rational vision of life with one that asserts the power of the unconscious and dreams. The movement's artists find magic and strange beauty in the unexpected and the uncanny, the disregarded and the unconventional."

Surrealists such as Andre Breton, Salvador Dali, and Luis Bunuel inspire Alejandro Jodorowsky and it shows in this film. The film is seemingly grounded in reality, but a very strange, off-kilter reality that in infused with a sense of dread. It was like watching a nightmare unfold across the screen in a very real sense. The Mexico City of Jodorowsky is not a typical urban landcape, but a strange world where there is always a performance happening, whether it is the 'Circus del Gringo' where our story starts, or the gospel singing choir outside the cult church, or the ongoing all-night street festival where prostitutes and citizens alike dance and make merry in a dingy plaza. But far from being a cheerful thing, it makes the setting a bit nightmarish. These are not happy people enjoying their lives, these are the damned, trying to forget they are in Hell. 

There is a constant through-line in this film of performance. Nearly every scene takes place either partially or fully in some sort of entertainment venue. The Circus, a Burlesque House, a Wrestling Ring, A film on television playing on a reconstructed movie set, at a piano, on a small private stage. The Shrine of the Santa Sangre (Holy Blood), is also arguably performative in nature, as Concha tells the Bishop the story of their saint while showing him the paintings of her martyrdom, and their arguement over the reality of their pool of sacred blood. Even the Elephant's funeral is played as a performance, from its New Orleans Jazz Funeral style procession to the eventual casting of the coffin into the landfill, where an onlooking crowd cheers and then breaks open the casket, stripping the meat from the carcass and passing it around... literally an audience consuming the performance. This even echoes the cult of the Santa Sangre, where one presumes that they have a ritual of communion.

It occurs to me also that we see something of the history of cinema here as well. On display, Alma is a deaf mute, who communicates through mime... which echoes Silent film nearly perfectly. Her white painted face and exagerrated gestures doing the work of communication where sound cannot. We see an homage to Universal's The Invisible Man in a lengthy scene, where Fenix re-enacts parts of it while it plays on television, in a carefully reconstructed stage laboratory. At the end of this scene, he pushes wide a door, opening the "set" to a vast open area, where his mother waits at the top of a massive stone stairway that reminded me of the ones seen in Dracula (1931) and Frankenstein (1932). There was the aformentioned scene that was reminiscent of the Italian giallo films of the 70s, and the scene in which the Pimp lead Fenix and the Down Syndrome boys to the street party with the prostitutes had me thinking of West Side Story (1961). 

More subtly, there is a mingling of performance and religion. In an early scene, we have a choir and band singing outside the Shrine of Santa Sangre. Jodorowsky utilized a genuine 40 member choir of blind singers for the scene, where they sang a religious song. They are colorful and it calls to mind a mariachi band, but mixed with a religious content. Inside, the sanctuary is dressed as a stage, with long red curtains, and the large pool of red water... while on the walls is a series of painting telling the story of their saint. Concha explains that her blood stained the water of the pool, and it has remained wet in a holy miracle... while the Bishop touches the waters and dismisses it as merely red paint. Which of these views are correct? That of the believers or the skepticism of the Bishop? We are not told directly, but given the staged qualities of the rest of the film, I would speculate it WAS paint... but that does not affect the belief of the congregation. We can say the same about the elephant funeral... the Casket is dropped from the cliff to the cheers and applause of the onlookers. In that aspect it is entertainment, but at the same time it provides food... almost literally 'Manna from Heaven' for them. When we see Concha and Fenix's performance in the Burlesque show, she is telling a story which is essentially that of Adam and Eve, and the Serpent. Again, that marriage of Religion and Art. 

The religious imagery is almost as present. The appearance of Fenix in the Mental Hospital is decidedly Christ-like... and the fish he chooses as his meal reminds one of the story of the loaves and fishes in the Bible. But this is also mixed with another frequent visual motif in this film, of Birds. I'm still puzzling over what the birds represent. We see them frequently or implied frequently. Concha's costumes often have feathers on them. We see a white swan emerge from the grave of one of Fenix's victims and fly away. At another point he hallucinates roosters. In one of his magic tricks, he tries to mirror his vision of the swan in the grave, by saying he will transform a rather stage-prop looking mummy into 100 white doves. He fails and instead conjures his mother in this performance, the confusion of his audience. At the end, when Alma shows him the reality of his mother, it is another "stage prop", and this time it is covered in pigeons. So... in a way, he really did bring his mother back from the dead, but in an inferior way, as pigeons would be to doves. 

Again, this touches on belief, as well. Fenix BELIEVES his mother is alive, just as he believe that Aladin, his childhood friend, is with them as well. He has surrounded himself with those he loves, at least in his mind. He apparently idolizes the invisible man... which is an interesting take for a performer to have. However, it makes a sort of sense that, in his act, if he is mannipulating a marionette version of his mother, and using his own arms as hers, it would create a more effective illusion of life for the puppet is he WAS invisible. And in that way, she is more truly alive, which is what he seeks.

When I spoke earlier of the inhabitants of this film being "the damned", I was not being entirely metaphorical. practically every character we meet is a genuinely horrible person, in one way or the other. There is something 'off' about all of them. Physically, mentally, emotionally, morally, or even spiritually, every person depicted is somehow outside what is perceived as 'normal'. Terrible things happen to nearly everyone... and you, as a viewer, don't really mind seeing it, because we have established that they usually deserve what happens to them. 

There are a couple key exceptions.

First, there is the elephant. The Elephant has done literally nothing wrong. It is simply a part of the circus and is especially beloved by Fenix and his friend, the little person Aladin. It is genuinely traumatic to see the bloody death of this poor elephant... You share the trauma of it with Fenix. It is REALLY upsetting to watch. It is also his first step toward the madness that encompasses him. In many ways, the death of this elephant is what really unhinges him.

In the documentary Forget Everything You Have Ever Seen: The World of Sante Sangre (2011), Jodorowky talks about Elephants, and waxes very metaphysically about how an elephant appears in the Muladhara Chakra, or Root Chakra, and how it is a symbol of the strength of the Earth. He talks about travelling to India specifically to ride and elephant, and that was when he understood the powerful strength of this Chakra in grounding one. It is no surprise then to see Young Fenix in the film, riding the elephant early on... and then when the elephant dies, he becomes a bit untethered. It opens him to what happens next.

His father, Orgo, after the funeral, brutally tattoos Fenix with a phoenix on his chest, to 'Make him a man.' In short, he is trying to replace that grounding root Chakra with a bird. This is very deliberate. In the Chakra system, the Eagle or Hawk represents the Heart Chakra, Anja, the Third Eye. It opens visualization, or imagination. This is the next part of Fenix's ordeal... Jodorowsky is implying that he has lost his grounding, but had his imagination opened wide in its place. And indeed, from this point, things become much more strange and imaginative. He is impersonating a bird of prey in the mental hospital, to the level of sitting in a tree in his waking hours, and sleeping in a nest-like bed, or eating raw fish like an eagle would. It is also worth noting that the same tattoo is on his Father's chest. 

Orgo is played by Guy Stockwell to sleazy, greasy, alcohol addled perfection. He is the 'Gringo' of the Circus del Gringo (or amusingly 'The White Guy's Circus). He is the only American in the cast, and he plays a sterotype of an ugly American. He is fat, unkept, tasteless, careless, flashy, violent, and... has a strange appeal to some. His costume is all sequines and cowboy hats. He is unfaithful to his wife, but exercises a hypnotic, magnetic influence over her. 

In some ways, the tattoo of the bird binds the father and son together. It is speculated early on that Orgo fled the United States after he killed a woman. This is very much true of his son. His son ALSO becomes a killer of women. Fenix also develops an unhealthy fascination with Concha which is ultimately mutually destructive. 

Fenix struggles with his affliction through the film. He knows what he is doing is wrong, is evil, but he seems possessed more by the influence of his mother. Like Norman Bates, his murderous impulses are filtered through the personality of his mother: a religious fanatic with a very strange personal saint. We get the impression that he knows he is almost possessed when he acts as his mother's arms. She has become one with her armless saint, and enacts a sort of retribution against others. She is an avatar of the Santa Sangre. But as we have seen, the performative quality of the cult calls into question its reality. This is a stage show of religion, a false front pretending to be something else.

But that brings us to the most genuinely pure character in the entire work; Alma. Alma is a young deaf mute acrobat in the circus, the daughter of the Tattoed Lady who Orgo has his affair with. She is a sweet presence in white face makeup who establishes a comforting relationship and friendship with young Fenix. The two of them are quite sweet and gentle and innocent together. Jodorowsky manages a wonderful trick in that, no matter what horrible thing is happening on screen, when you see Alma in her white makeup, you suddenly feel calm and at ease. She is a peaceful presenvce in the otherwise nightmarish world of the film. 

Once Concha is mutilated, and Orga kills himself, Fenix sees the Tattoes Woman flee the circus, dragging Alma after her. 

I knew this was significant but I couldn't quite figure out how until I heard Jodorowsky speaking in the documentary I mentioned, and he revealed that the name 'Alma' in Spanish means 'soul.'

It all clicked into place. Fenix has lost his elephant, the grounding, was tortured until that totem was replaced by a kind of bird, unlocking his imagination. His mother was mutilated, and we discover later, murdered, and his father emasculated and then dies by suicide.... and then... His soul is taken away from him. 

While the majority of the film is focussed on Fenix.... there is a significant amount focused on Alma as well. We reconnect with her after we see her mother among the prostitutes in the Street Carnival scene. Fenix himself sees her during his 'field trip' with the Down syndrome patients. This encounter is what seems to drive Fenix to escape, because it is shortly after this that he sees his mother outside the hospital and escapes. He then begins his own series of performances with her in the Burlesque house and readopts his magician's guise. 

The Tattoed Woman attempts to prostitue Alma, who escapes by smashing a bottle over the head of her would be rapist and making her way out the window. In this way, she actually escapes the fate of the Santa Sangre and remains pure. But she is definitely undergoing a harrowing experience... Not only does she need to avoid her rapist, but she must avoid all these strange people in the streets. One man removes his own ear and rubs it on her face as she attempts to pass. She has NO ALLIES in this world. As I said, this is a world of the Damned, and Alma is a pure soul, trying to make her way safely and uncorrupted through it. 

We see aspects of her journey, but not the whole thing. She finally spots the burlesque theater and recognizes Fenix from his photo... and decides to seek him out. When she does find his home, she sneaks inside, and puts on a version of her old makeup and costume. She seeks out Fenix in a final confrontation.

To say that this scene is moving is really understating the power of it. Fenix is caught between the corrupt, false religious fervor of his mother... and the pure love of a pure soul in Alma. It is worth noting that while Concha is always screaming for him to kill Alma (and he is her arms, holding the knives of his father), Alma never shows fear... nor anger... nor hatred. She always just steps out of the way of his attacks, and holds out her arms as if ready to just hold him. Her way of fighting back is to NOT fight back. She embodies the gentleness that a mother or a lover should. Forgiving, not condemning.

She doesn't attempt to flee. She is accepting. The battle is not hers, but Fenix's. And when he finally is able to exorcise the spirit of his mother, by stabbing her. Alma simply embraces him comfortingly. And in fact, all the the figures who were of comfort to Fenix in his life... The clowns of the circus, Aladin, the Elephant... they all return to comfort him at this point as well. She shows him the reality of what has happened. Again there is a strange sort of balancing act. Alma represents the true religious soul, appearing quietly, and in the disguise of a mime. She is however REAL despite appearing as an entertainer. Concha was the corrupt religious figure, shouting loudly and demading blood, while seeming to wield real power. And she is revealed to not be real at all. She is a puppet masquerading as a real person. And Fenix is finally able to see that when he is reunited with his True Soul. She strips away the performance. She not only shows him the manniquin of his mother, but she gently peels away the false nails her wore, symbolocally taking away his mother's power over his arms and returning them to him.

This is driven home as they walk outside where the police are waiting for them. She smiles at him encouragingly, and raises her arms, signalling for him to do the same. He raises his arms and to his delight sees that they ARE his arms again, and not his mothers. Despite all the horrors of the film, this is a shockingly upbeat ending.We are not often treated to the redemption of a villain in a horror film, but this one provides it.

It is worth noting that film critic Roger Ebert praised this film for just that reason... he found it ultimately a redemptive story in a sea of films that seemed to celebrate evil. And indeed that is what Jodorowsky seemed to be going for. He made the acquaintance of a multiple murderer, who was ultimately "cured" in an asylum, and released back into the public where he lived the rest of his life as a model citizen, claiming to remember nothing of the time when he did those killings. The idea of that sort of a redemption intrigued Jodorowsky and led him to write the story, along with Roberto Leoni, and joined with Claudio Argento (brother of Dario) in the screenplay.

It even made Empire Magazine's list of the top 500 Films of all times.

Which is not to say its a perfect film. Its not. There ARE some things that just don't work. I'm thinking of the scene in which Fenix is asked out by a lady at a shop, and as he turns away, he hallucinates about a massive snake emerging from his pants which he has to wrestle with. This is a bit of an 'on-the-nose' metaphor for wrestling with his own libido, and is equally clumsy as a religious metaphor given we have seen his performance with Concha where they talk about the serpent in the Garden of Eden. It is hoewever possible that this was MEANT to be a bit of campy humor in the same vein as the name 'Circus del Gringo' was. 

There are many aspects of the film with are uncomfortable and almost seem gratuitous. Partly this may be due to Jodorowsky's love of 'kitchen sink' directing, where he hears about someone unusual or strange and just threw it in the production. 

That said, the filming is beautiful. The color usage is vibrant. The world seems fully realized even if it is a dark, grimy, and unpleasant place. This is one of the few times I have seen Dutch angles used in the late 20th century to good effect.

I came out of the film with a confusing mix of feelings about it. On the one hand, I felt repelled by many aspects of it. As I said, I dislike horror films about murderers, as they are all too real. However, the dreamlike quality, even if nightmarish, drew me in. The layers of meaning, the symbolism, the visual metaphors, and the performances kept me thinking about it LONG after the film was over. THAT is something I like. I love a film that makes me think about it this much. On the other hand, I am uncertain I will revisit it again soon. Its a difficult thing to watch. Its absolutely WORTH watching, but it needs a lot of time for processing I think.

I'm not sure I did it justice on the podcast, but.... This article helped me to really put some things into focus for myself.

Comparing Houses of Usher....

 

This October, I somehow managed to watch multiple versions of The Fall of the House of Usher, by Edgar Allan Poe. This is not a bad thing. All in all, they all have something to offer...

The three versions in question are Corman's version from 1960 staring Vincent Price (The House of Usher), which kicked off his cycle of Poe films and revitalized the Gothic film tradition in the US, The Fall of the House of Usher from 1979, staring Martin Landau, Robert Hays, Charlene Tilton, and Ray Walston, and finally Mike Flannigan's Netflix series The Fall of the House of Usher from 2023. 

All of these are, of course, based to lesser or greater degrees on the Edgar Allan Poe story of the same name.

Lets start out with the Corman version from 1960... and here the main selling point is the presence of Vincent Price as Roderick Usher. I'll be honest, its not my favorite of Corman's Poe films. Or, Price is great, but... they didn't seem to quite know what to do, and while this DID kick off the successful Poe series, its one of the weaker entries. Price doesn't really cut loose and chew the scenery enough in this one, but it does a nice job of establishing a somewhat offputting atmosphere. You can't help but feel things are WRONG in this house... and in a way that was Corman's point. He was famously asked by the producers where the monster was in this film (given his past history of low budget creature films) and he quickly responded "The HOUSE is the monster..." in order to sell the idea to them. 

And indeed, everything from Price's oddly dyed hair, to the discordant music he plays, to the weirdly lit rooms, the burnt landscape, and artificial outdoor sets glimpsed through the windows keeps the production just offkilter enough to make the viewer incredibly uneasy. One of the things however, that makes this so strange is that Roderick claims her and Madeline have tremendously enhanced senses, which cause them great pain.... but we never SEE that. For someone who can touch only the softest of cloths without pain, and the slightest sound supposedly wracks him in agony, he loves to play his guitar and shout a lot. 

The Usher's visitor in this case, and the audience PoV character, is Philip Winthrop (Mark Damon) who is portrayed as Madeline Usher's fiancee rather than Roderick's old school friend in the story. This seems odd to mey, and seems to have been done to sort of capitalize on Price's usual role as a villain, to make one suspicious of him and his motives, and to thrust an unwanted romance into the storyline, as seemed to be deemed 'necessary' by the filmmakers and audiences of the time. 

Moving on to the 1979 film, I had always heard of this film, but had never gotten a chance to see it, until I found it on YouTube during this last Halloween. The cast is more than promising; Martin Landau as Roderick, Dimitra Arliss as Madeline, Robert Hays as Jonathan Cresswell (An architect, engineer, and Roderick's old friend), Charlene Tilton as Jennifer Cresswell (Jonathan's new bride) and Ray Walston as Thaddeus, the Usher family's loyal retainer. 

It was produced as a TV Movie by NBC as part of their 'Classics Illustrated' line of films. It wasn't actually aired until 1982. Its not seen often, which is a pity, because its actually really well done. Landau is excellent as Roderick, and you can feel his pain in every scene he's in. Madeline is a frightening presence that lurks just out of sight most of the time. Cresswell is given a reason to visit the house here because Roderick believes that his ailments stem from damage to the house that has gone unrepaired, and Cresswell's skills as an architect and engineer, used to shore up the house, is a deperate attempt on Usher's part to save he and his sister. While Jennifer is not given a great deal to do, she does move the plot along at times in ways that Jonathan cannot due to his job in repairing the house. Thaddeus is a great addition, as a loyal and protective servant of the Ushers, who acts as a proxy for Roderick in scenes where it simply would not make sense for the sickly and ailing master of the house to be present. 

And even more than in the Corman version, the House itself is the final character. Its rot is reflected in its inhabitants, and when repairs are made, those too are reflected in the Ushers. It has a tangible presence, and just when it seems one thing is repaired, something else crumbles, which gives the whole proceeding a sense of urgency which is missing in the Corman version. If there is a criticism to be made, it is that Robert Hays and Charlene Tilton are much too 'light' as actors to carry the gravitas of the story.... but that is perhaps intentional. They are not the gothic icons that Roderick, Madeline, and even Thaddeus embody, and this perhaps helps to make the Ushers household more extreme in their darkness and decay by contrast. 

What is more, we get a backstory of the Usher family, and the dark deeds of the previous generations which grounds the "curse" of the family in a satanic and supernatural history that seems to effectively infect the very walls of the House. This is alluded to, and implied in the Corman version, but it doesn't quite feel as well documented and 'earned' as here. 

The visuals are not as striking as the Corman version, but it still works as a Gothic period piece.

Mike Flannigan's 2023 The Fall of the House of Usher feels in comparison almost like a record scratch. Rather than adapting the familiar story yet again, Flannigan instead took Poe's entire body of work as inspiration, and wove an intricate story around the rise and fall of the Usher Family ('House' in this case being more a bloodline than a physical location), a wealthy and morally bankrupt family made wealthy from controversial pharmaceutical development and sales. 

Here, Roderick and Madeline are played by Bruce Greenwood and Mary McDonall in an 8 episode miniseries that aired on Netflix. Poe references both subtle and obvious are sprinkled throughout. For those seeking the closest connection to the original story, you will find it in the final episode, which takes place in the crumbling family home of Roderick and Madeline, and which follows the original story after a fashion. However, the episodes up to that point tend to more closely allude to other Poe stories, and their titles will clue you in to which.... with the peculiar exception of the first, which is titled 'A Midnight Dreary', but which ultimately seems more like Poe's The Premature Burial. 

As the show progresses, each member of the family meets a grisly and supernatural end, seemingly due to the manipulations of the mysterious 'Verna'. Unlike so many other adaptations, you see that the Ushers absolutely deserve their fate... but oddly, you also see the way paved for good in their passing wake. Decisions and choices made lead to consequences... for good or ill. And even the worst choices can prove fertile ground for future growth and good.

Flannigan's House of Usher feels like it has weight, and the characters feel quite true to life. The side characters are also fully fleshed out.... in this, Usher's guest is Charles Auguste Dupin, the crusading legal figure who sought to bring the Usher family to justice, and who Roderick confesses his sins to over the course of the series. He is not entirely faultless, and you can see what the entire lifetime of work against Usher has brought him. And there is his dark counterpart, Arthur Gordon Pym, played with gruff gravitas by Mark Hamill, who is the Usher family lawyer and 'Fixer' who covers up their legal and personal missteps. Both Dupin and Pym are two sides of the same coin... both good at what they do, but to opposite ends, and both accept the consequences for their actions in the end. Its hard to admire ANYONE in this show, but these two come closest. 

These are three different takes, and all excellent in their own ways. Check them out.

Rogue's Tavern (1936)

 

In his essay "The Simple Art of Murder", Raymond Chandler is dismissive of mystery novels that depend on overly complex schemes, and indicates that a murder where someone tries to get clever in how to pull it off is fundamentally easier to solve than one planned a moments before the fatal event. 

 "The boys with their feet on the desks know that the easiest murder case in the world to break is the one somebody tried to get very cute with; the one that really bothers them is the murder somebody thought of only two minutes before he pulled it off. But if the writers of this fiction wrote about the kind of murders that happen, they would also have to write about the authentic flavor of life as it is lived. And since they cannot do that, they pretend that what they do is what should be done. Which is begging the question—and the best of them know it."

There is nothing "authentic" in Rogue's Tavern (1936), but it is a bit of fun to watch, and Chandler would be rolling his eyes at the convoluted murder mystery in this cheap little program filler. In fact, it checks off about all the boxes he lists in that essay for how NOT to write a mystery. 

We start off with Joan Woodbury, looking beautiful and exotic as mystic Gloria Robloff is telling the fortune of another guest at the hotel they are staying at with a deck of cards. A plain, ordinary, deck of cards, with the ace of spades as the "death card", naturally. I found this a nice little touch. Tarot wasn;'t terribly popular at the time, and standard card decks often stood in for them among fortune tellers. This changed over time, as the iconography of Tarot became more familiar, but here, it is a nice little "down to earth" touch. 

I love Joan Woodbury... she is one of my favorite B-list actresses of the time, and shows up in unexpected places in the 30s and 40s. She was uncredited as Dr. Praetorius' miniature Queen in The Bride of Frankenstein and shows up as the under-utilized love interest in a film previously covered in this blog, King of the Zombies. Sadly, she is under utilized here as well, and spends most of the film wringing her hands and making pronouncements of inevitable doom and death. 

Our leads are introduced shortly thereafter.... Jimmy Kelly and Marjorie Burns, played by Wallace Ford and Barbara Pepper. They are engaged and trying to get married through the whole film. Both are detectives... Jimmy being a police detective and Majorie being a Department Store detective, which leads the clerk giving them their wedding license to quip "Well, at least the two of you should be able to keep track of each other..."  Which I have to admit is one of the funnier lines in the film.

Marjorie is played as smart, pretty, and charismatic... and I spent most of the movie wishing should would just slap the heck out of Jimmy, because he is played as smart, arrogant, and patronizing. Seriously, she could do better. Often she comes across an important clue or reaches an important conclusion JUST BEFORE Jimmy does.... but he finds out or is told by someone else before she can relay the information to him... so he just sort of verbally pats her on the head when she tells him and sends her away. Or worse, mocks her. 

Marjorie.... you can do better than this. 

The two of them have arranged to meet a Justice of the Peace at The Red River Tavern so they can marry, which happens to be where Miss Robloff is staying, along with a large and unlikely group of other suspects.

Suspects?

Yes, because they start dropping like flies pretty quickly, with many seemingly killed by a wild dog, or wolf, or something. And you've got the standard assortment of murder fodder, red herrings, and "colorful" characters to choose from. Miss Robloff and the other men are awaiting a mysterious final visitor, we have the endearingly grandmotherly tavern keeper Mrs Jamison and her wheelchair bound husband, you have the slow-witted handyman... you know the tropes.

And there are tropes a plenty. As the bodies pile up, we get storms, lights going out, cut phone lines, strange murder weapons, jewel smuggling, revenge, and some of the most hilariously over the top and outrageous plot elements you're likely to find. Seriously, the denoument of the film comes out of left field, and seems hysterically overcomplicated for its intentions... not to mention HIGHLY improbable, and our final murderer turns out to be the one person it really shouldn't have been... because they were on screen when several of the murders took place OFF screen.

Its NOT a great film, but it entertaining provided you expect NOTHING from it, and don't look too carefully at whats going on. Just enjoy the ride. 

And the literal closing scene will make you want to punch Jimmy in the face again.... as when he and Marjorie FINALLY manage to get married, Jimmy will not even allow her to say her OWN "I do" AT HER OWN WEDDING.....

Marjorie, Marjorie.... you could have done so much better....