Skip to main content

Oh, get lost you offbeat rinky-dink. You’re nowhere.

Song of the Thin Man
(1947)

Gangsters on a Boat is not exactly Snakes on a Plane, which is probably for the best. The final bow of Nick and Nora is their weakest outing but, like mother’s flit gun, it is by no means devoid of charm. There is the feeling that the spark and enthusiasm has been slightly dulled, however. In particular, William Powell seems more stolid than before. And then there’s the willingness to indulge the hepcat musical numbers. With such detours anyone would think this was one of the MGM Marx Brothers comedies (appropriately, or perhaps not, Edward Buzzell also directed a couple of their diminishing returns pictures). But it’s nigh on impossible to dent the easy rapport between Powell and Myrna Loy, even if it shouldn’t be right that their formerly anarchic reign over proceedings should give way to their being labelled “The squarest couple of hipsters I’ve ever seen”.


Although a return to the world of crime bosses ought to be right up the Charles’ street, the affair is muffled. As happened with some of those aforementioned Marx Brothers movies, at times there’s a feeling that Nick and Nora are passing time on the fringes of their own show. In the first Thin Man Nick and Nora were the life and soul (well, Nick certainly was). Now he’s an elder statesman; “Mr Charles is a bit of a shmo”. He shouldn’t be, though.


The scene of the crime (well the first crime) has potential; a gambling ship called the S.S. Fortune. The heavily indebted leader of a jazz troupe is shot dead, and there are more than enough suspects who might have a beef against him; the gangster he owed, the ship’s owner whom he was attempting to steal from, the band’s losing-it clarinettist.  As far as the mystery side goes Song isn’t badly constructed, but the unfolding is mostly indifferent. Perhaps it’s that Buzzell is unable to inject any momentum into the proceedings, or perhaps it’s that few of the cast really take hold, but more than ever it’s only Nick and Nora’s antics keeping this going. The difference is, before they were the fuel rather than the just another part of the cake mix. If you don’t guess the murderer it’s probably because you don’t really care. There may be a certain pizzazz to the way Nick stages his customary reveal on the reopened ship, with a gathering of the potentials, but when the murderer reveals his own identity with a “Never mind. I’ll tell them”, and he’s hasn’t been accused let alone sweated under hot lights, it’s all a bit limp.


Nevertheless, there are numerous bright spots. Keenan Wynn becomes Nick’s nominal sidekick, as musician Clarence “Clinker” Krause, while Gloria Grahame is memorable as moll singer Fran. Less certain is Don Taylor as Buddy Hollis, whose has had his “mind shattered by alcohol”. It’s come to something that a series that celebrated over-indulgence feels the need to sign off on a note of caution; this is what the evil liquor can do to you kids. Thank goodness Nick hardly even sniffs it any more. Taylor went on to become a director, most notably with the likes of Escape from Planet of the Apes and Damien: Omen II (as you might guess, most of his output was TV). More alarming is that in order to service the plot Nick and Nora remove the poor sap from his rest home and put him back on stage to lure a killer. It’s a bit laissez-faire to endanger a non-criminal cohort  (Clarence’s reluctance to get up on stage with Buddy is more appropriately amusing).


Mention should be made of the returning Nick Jr after a hiatus when the Charles went home. This time, none other than Dean Stockwell plays the little terror. He has a few good moments with Powell, even if Jr’s presence adds to the patchwork feel of the picture. “Looks like a page out of Esquire” comments Nick. “Not the page I saw,” replies his chip off the old block. Then there’s dad’s refusal to tell him a bedtime tale; “But your stories always put me to sleep” protests his son. Strangest of all is the protracted spanking sequence. It’s difficult to ascertain quite what was intended here, not forgetting we were “treated” to Nick spanking his wife in the previous picture. This time Nora instructs her husband to punish Nick Jr, but every time he raises his hand he sees nostalgic images of their good times overlaid on his son’s behind. It appears to be getting at an anti-corporal punishment angle, until Nick recalls his son laughing at him and then gives him a rigorous beating… Only for us to discover Nick Jr had a glove down his trousers all along. “Did you know about the glove?” demands Nora to a protesting husband.


Asta is as sprightly as ever (in his second Asta Mk II appearance), finding an IOU, letting out a belch and having his fearsomeness warned against “Just one word from me and that dog of mine will tear you to pieces”.


The jazz talk is mostly an opportunity for Loy to show some surprising adeptness with the lingo; “Oh, get lost you offbeat rinkydink. You’re nowhere,” she tells a bouncer. This is a world of jivey hepwarblers and cries of “Lay it on me, man. Lay it on me” during a solo. None of it really takes, and the inclusion of a frowning Beethoven bust at the end of a performance may not be coincidental (it’s certainly as visually creative as the director gets). Elsewhere Nora invokes Sherlock Holmes after telling gangster Al Amboy (William Bishop) it would be silly to have killed Drake; “If a guy owes you money and you kill him, he can’t pay you”. “Very smart” says Drake. “Elementary” corrects Nora.


There’s a wee bit of metatextuality about Nick’s technique, although not as much as Nora reciting the script of the big reveal in the earlier Shadow of the Thin Man; “Oh, I see. All you have to do to prove your innocence is confess your guilt” she levels at her husband when he rejects a likely suspect. Elsewhere a cabbie asks, “Follow that car?” and Nora comments “Movie fan”. The most inspired comic interlude might be the highly amusing scene in which a hotel clerk is quizzed about the comings and goings of a suspect. He insists that discretion is his watchword before unleashing a torrent of carefully eavesdropped insights; “That’s all I know about her because I don’t go snooping on our guests”.


Nick is pretty much off the sauce during this one, and even two years on from Goes Home there just isn’t the same energy in Powell’s performance. He’s good natured and affable, but definitely not rising to the occasion. There’s also less sauce between him and Nora (he even takes her along on some investigative work without giving her the slip, a sure sign things aren’t what they were). He notes that 4am “is my brandy hour” but Nora gets the best sozzled line when hubby warns her to get down on the ground if things get rough; “I’m practically under the table now, but not the way I like to be” she retorts. His best line might be to the undercover officer whose gun is peeking from beneath his jacket; “Sergeant, your slip is showing”.


Actually, there is a better exchange. I think it’s safe to say Song was one Thin Man too many, but that’s a pretty good batting average out of the six pictures. And it’s not like it sullies the series’ memory. It just feels unnecessary, the only time that Nick and Nora are back purely to milk the cash cow. I know there’s a collective groan at anything Johnny Depp does these days, but I think he’d make a good fist of Nick Charles. He’s honed the drunk/intoxicated act (Captain Jack, Raoul Duke), so this would most definitely be early inebriated Nick. The question will be, can he find a co-star to match him in repartee and chemistry? There haven’t been many during his career, and without that elusive match-up it would be best not to bother. Oh, and that best exchange? Not the last lines in the move, but they ought to have been:


Nick: And now, Nick Charles is going to retire.
Nora: You’re through with crime?
Nick: No, I’m going to bed.


**1/2

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

She writes Twilight fan fiction.

Vampire Academy (2014)
My willingness to give writer Daniel Waters some slack on the grounds of early glories sometimes pays off (Sex and Death 101) and sometimes, as with this messy and indistinct Young Adult adaptation, it doesn’t. If Vampire Academy plods along as a less than innovative smart-mouthed Buffy rip-off that might be because, if you added vampires to Heathers, you would probably get something not so far from the world of Joss Whedon. Unfortunately inspiration is a low ebb throughout, not helped any by tepid direction from Daniel’s sometimes-reliable brother Mark and a couple of hopelessly plankish leads who do their best to dampen down any wit that occasionally attempts to surface.

I can only presume there’s a never-ending pile of Young Adult fiction poised for big screen failure, all of it comprising multi-novel storylines just begging for a moment in the Sun. Every time an adaptation crashes and burns (and the odds are that they will) another one rises, hydra-like, hoping…

Our very strength incites challenge. Challenge incites conflict. And conflict... breeds catastrophe.

The MCU Ranked Worst to Best

Why would I turn into a filing cabinet?

Captain Marvel (2019)
(SPOILERS) All superhero movies are formulaic to a greater or lesser degree. Mostly greater. The key to an actually great one – or just a pretty good one – is making that a virtue, rather than something you’re conscious of limiting the whole exercise. The irony of the last two stand-alone MCU pictures is that, while attempting to bring somewhat down-the-line progressive cachet to the series, they’ve delivered rather pedestrian results. Of course, that didn’t dim Black Panther’s cultural cachet (and what do I know, swathes of people also profess to loving it), and Captain Marvel has hit half a billion in its first few days – it seems that, unless you’re poor unloved Ant-Man, an easy $1bn is the new $700m for the MCU – but neither’s protagonist really made that all-important iconic impact.

My name is Dr. King Schultz, this is my valet, Django, and these are our horses, Fritz, and Tony.

Django Unchained (2012)
(MINOR SPOILERS) Since the painful misstep of Grindhouse/Death Proof, Quentin Tarantino has regained the higher ground like never before. Pulp Fiction, his previous commercial and critical peak, has been at very least equalled by the back-to-back hits of Inglourious Basterds and Django Unchained. Having been underwhelmed by his post Pulp Fiction efforts (albeit, I admired his technical advances as a director in Kill Bill), I was pleasantly surprised by Inglourious Basterds. It was no work of genius (so not Pulp Fiction) by any means, but there was a gleeful irreverence in its treatment of history and even to the nominal heroic status of its titular protagonists. Tonally, it was a good fit for the director’s “cool” aesthetic. As a purveyor of postmodern pastiche, where the surface level is the subtext, in some ways he was operating at his zenith. Django Unchained is a retreat from that position, the director caught in the tug between his all-important aesthetic pr…

Can you float through the air when you smell a delicious pie?

Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
(SPOILERS) Ironically, given the source material, think I probably fell into the category of many who weren't overly disposed to give this big screen Spider-Man a go on the grounds that it was an animation. After all, if it wasn’t "good enough" for live-action, why should I give it my time? Not even Phil Lord and Christopher Miller's pedigree wholly persuaded me; they'd had their stumble of late, although admittedly in that live-action arena. As such, it was only the near-unanimous critics' approval that swayed me, suggesting I'd have been missing out. They – not always the most reliable arbiters of such populist fare, which made the vote of confidence all the more notable – were right. Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse is not only a first-rate Spider-Man movie, it's a fresh, playful and (perhaps) surprisingly heartfelt origins story.

Stupid adult hands!

Shazam! (2019)
(SPOILERS) Shazam! is exactly the kind of movie I hoped it would be, funny, scary (for kids, at least), smart and delightfully dumb… until the final act. What takes place there isn’t a complete bummer, but right now, it does pretty much kill any interest I have in a sequel.

I have discovered the great ray that first brought life into the world.

Frankenstein (1931)
(SPOILERS) To what extent do Universal’s horror classics deserved to be labelled classics? They’re from the classical Hollywood period, certainly, but they aren’t unassailable titans that can’t be bettered – well unless you were Alex Kurtzman and Chris Morgan trying to fashion a Dark Universe with zero ingenuity. And except maybe for the sequel to the second feature in their lexicon. Frankenstein is revered for several classic scenes, boasts two mesmerising performances, and looks terrific thanks to Arthur Edeson’s cinematography, but there’s also sizeable streak of stodginess within its seventy minutes.

Only an idiot sees the simple beauty of life.

Forrest Gump (1994)
(SPOILERS) There was a time when I’d have made a case for, if not greatness, then Forrest Gump’s unjust dismissal from conversations regarding its merits. To an extent, I still would. Just not nearly so fervently. There’s simply too much going on in the picture to conclude that the manner in which it has generally been received is the end of the story. Tarantino, magnanimous in the face of Oscar defeat, wasn’t entirely wrong when he suggested to Robert Zemeckis that his was a, effectively, subversive movie. Its problem, however, is that it wants to have its cake and eat it.

Do not mention the Tiptoe Man ever again.

Glass (2019)
(SPOILERS) If nothing else, one has to admire M Night Shyamalan’s willingness to plough ahead regardless with his straight-faced storytelling, taking him into areas that encourage outright rejection or merciless ridicule, with all the concomitant charges of hubris. Reactions to Glass have been mixed at best, but mostly more characteristic of the period he plummeted from his must-see, twist-master pedestal (during the period of The Village and The Happening), which is to say quite scornful. And yet, this is very clearly the story he wanted to tell, so if he undercuts audience expectations and leaves them dissatisfied, it’s most definitely not a result of miscalculation on his part. For my part, while I’d been prepared for a disappointment on the basis of the critical response, I came away very much enjoying the movie, by and large.

Just make love to that wall, pervert!

Seinfeld 2.10: The Statue
The Premise
Jerry employs a cleaner, the boyfriend of an author whose book Elaine is editing. He leaves the apartment spotless, but Jerry is convinced he has made off with a statue.