Ralph Littlefield Movies

Country-western favorite Roy Acuff and his Smoky Mountain Boys star in the Columbia musical western Smoky Mountain Melody. Not much happens plotwise: Acuff, playing "himself," is a tenderfoot who somehow manages to come out on top when he heads westward. The villains (who aren't all that villainous) try to promote a phony stock deal, but Roy and his pals foils their plans. The comedy honors go to Guinn "Big Boy" Williams as a blowhard sheriff. Smoky Mountain Melody was scripted by Barry Shipman, the son of pioneering female filmmaker Nell Shipman. ~ Hal Erickson, Rovi

Even star Joan Bennett and director Fritz Lang regarded The Secret Beyond the Door as the weakest of their collaborative efforts. Bennett plays spoiled socialite Celia, who falls recklessly in love with the handsome but emotionally complex Mark Lamphere (Michael Redgrave, in his first American film). After their wedding, Celia becomes uncomfortably aware that Mark's mild distrust of women is actually a deep-set, and potentially dangerous, hatred. Even when facing the possibility that she'll be murdered in her sleep, Celia remains loyal to her unbalanced husband. The slowly mounting tension is enhanced by the mood-drenched cinematography of Stanley Cortez and the feverish musical score by Miklos Rozsa. But when it's all over, The Secret Beyond the Door fails to linger in the memory in the manner of such earlier Lang-Bennett efforts as The Woman in the Window and Scarlet Street. ~ Hal Erickson, Rovi

Veterinarian Ronald Reagan contracts anthrax from treating diseased cows in this horsey melodrama from Warner Bros. In fact, Reagan's dutiful Dr. Larry Hanrahan is so busy with the cows that he completely ignores a summons from lady horse breeder Rory Teller (Alexis Smith) to treat her prize-winning stallion. Rory is pretty peeved over what she perceives as a slight and briefly, ever so briefly, contemplates accepting a proposal of marriage from smooth-talking author Stephen Purcell (Zachary Scott). Until, that is, the seriousness of Larry's condition finally forces her to take a drastic measure: to treat the dying vet with the same serum he had used on the cattle. According to some reports, Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall were scheduled to star in Stallion Road as a follow-up to the hugely successful The Big Sleep (1946). Rather than appear in what they rightfully considered a Grade-B production, they chose to go on suspension. ~ Hans J. Wollstein, Rovi

Doctor Charles Korvin walks out on his musician wife Merle Oberon when he suspects her of infidelity. Twelve years later their paths cross again; Oberon is now saddled with an abusive husband. Possessed of a protective instinct that he hadn't evinced in the first part of the film, Korvin rescues his ex-wife from her miserable marriage, and the two fall in love all over again. Based on a play by Luigi Pirandello (no, it wasn't called Two Characters in Search of a Movie, This Love is Ours is worth watching only when supporting player Claude Rains is on the scene. The 1956 remake Never Say Goodbye was no improvement, not even with Rock Hudson taking over from the stolid Charles Korvin. ~ Hal Erickson, Rovi

Gary Cooper added "producer" alongside "star" on his resume with this light-hearted Western about a mild-mannered cowboy (Cooper) who drifts into a small town with his sidekick (William Demarest). Naturally, he's mistaken for a notorious highway robber (Dan Duryea), although he can barely handle a gun. His impersonation of the menacing gunman falls apart when his skills are put to the test, and he faces certain doom when challenged by the returning gunman himself. In the end, however, our hero defeats the villain and even ends up with his girl (Loretta Young). A send-up of both Western clichés and Cooper's own heroic persona, Along Came Jones is brisk, amusing entertainment. ~ Don Kaye, Rovi

Whatever poor Bela Lugosi may have done in a past life, the man did not deserve The Ape Man, arguably the worst of his Monogram horror clunkers. Viewed today, it seems that screenwriter Barney Sarecky and infamous director William Beaudine (whose nickname "One Shot" was earned helming movies like this) were out to humiliate the proud Hungarian actor at every opportunity. They had the man, who once turned down the Frankenstein monster because he found the role demeaning, walk about the entire film in a manner that was supposed to appear simian but ended up looking merely foolish. They gave him an Anglo-Saxon name, Dr. James Brewster, without bothering to explain that familiar Middle European accent. And they provided him with a spiritualist sister (Minerva Urecal), whose character name, Agatha, Lugosi of course was incapable of pronouncing. To compound matters, they wrote in a mysterious character named Zippo (Ralph Littlefield), who, in a silly porkpie hat, drifted in and out of the narrative being annoyingly mysterious, only to reveal himself in the end as "the author of the story." "Screwy idea, wasn't it?" he says blithely putting the final nail in Lugosi's coffin.

Lugosi's Dr. Brewster had experimented with a spinal serum derived from the fluids of a gorilla. The dedicated medico naturally tested the serum on himself and now appears incapable of walking upright, in dire need of a shave. Needless to say, the only antidote is human spinal fluid (which Lugosi pronounces "fluit"). Accompanied by screaming headlines such as "Ape man killer still on the loose!" Dr. Brewster and his gorilla henchman (Emil VanHorn, whose simian suit paid his rent for years) stalk the dark streets for human prey. A couple of wisecracking reporters (Wallace Ford and Louise Currie, both surprisingly tolerable) briefly wander into harm's way, knocking each other over the head with prop vases. Happily, for unexplained reasons, the gorilla suddenly turns on his master and breaks his neck, ending the nightmare for all concerned, including, one would imagine, Lugosi himself. Typical for cheap Monogram, Lugosi stayed in his ape-like makeup throughout, the expected transformation scene never materializing. The critics were understandably severe -- "Monogram's writer didn't have to wipe the dust from Bela Lugosi's Ape Man, he had to take the mold off," chuckled the Daily News -- but as horror-film historian Tom Weaver so succinctly put it: "Despite their ruinous effects on Lugosi's career, had these Monogram pictures been made without him, they would not merit discussion today." ~ Hans J. Wollstein, Rovi