Die Stimme aus dem Jenseits

A famous "transition" film. One shot as a silent and partly re-shot for talkies. William Powell stars as Philo Vance. Jean Arthur plays a show girl. Louise Brooks is the "Canary." Of course this film is famous because Brooks refused to return from Europe to re-shoot scenes as a talkie. The studio then released news her voice would not record well. To get even more even they hired Margaret Livingston to dub Brooks' voice in a high nasal New York accent. Livingston also appears in a few long shots in a Louise Brooks hair cut.

Slow but OK murder mystery. Brooks disappears after about 15 minutes; Arthur has no real part. That leaves us with James Hall as the dupe, Eugene Palette the dumb sergeant, Charles Lane the father, Oscar Smith the desk attendant, etc. Lots of talk.

Brooks is gorgeous and in the credits you note she gets downplayed from 2nd to 4th billing. Another Paramount jab. Brooks indeed had a fine voice even though I've only seen a couple of lousy westerns she made. She was a beauty and had a good voice. But she sure was difficult. And her "Lulu in Hollywood" memoir doesn't change my mind about her. By the way: I loved her in Beggars of Life as well as Pandora's Box and Diary of a Lost Girl.

In what turns out to be his second talking picture William Powell introduces to the screen the character of debonair detective Philo Vance. Like his later Nick Charles, Powell as Vance likes to live the high life though he's not as big a drinker.

He gets called in by an old friend Charles Lane (not the acerbic character actor we all know from TV and films) but an older gentlemen who is concerned about the continuing involvement of his son James Hall with nightclub singer Louise Brooks known only as The Canary. This girl is a much cruder version of Lorelei Lee who is determined to marry wealthy and insure a steady income for her pleasures. Hall is engaged to good girl Jean Arthur, but can't keep away from Brooks.

She's got a whole gang of other men on the string as well and she also has an ex-husband so when Brooks turns up dead there are no lack of suspects for Powell to work through. The police however with dumb as a brick Eugene Palette as Sergeant Heath seem to zero in on Hall.

For those who like the vivacious Jean Arthur in the classic films she was yet to do you won't find her here. She's pretty wasted as a typical good girl part. One player who will be a revelation is Ned Sparks as Brooks's ex-husband who claims he's not an ex. He's not the lovable sourpuss we later saw in many films, but a rather vicious animal. Totally a surprise.

William Powell's perfect diction and stage training make The Canary Murder Case hold up well even today. Unlike so many of his contemporaries at this time, Powell seem to know instinctively how to play for the new talking picture camera. Sound made his career.

For those who enjoy nice detective stories with a closed ring of suspects, you can't go wrong with The Canary Murder Case.

One of the earliest private-eye talkies was "The Canary Murder Case," featuring William Powell as an American detective called Philo Vance ... later described by Raymond Chandler as "probably the most asinine character in detective fiction."

This type of "classic" murder mystery, transposed to an American location, must have seemed a natural for early talkie producers: few sets, all interiors, a lot of talk and little of that difficult action stuff which meant the camera might have to move around… Like filming a stage play, in fact. Here was an opportunity to set up the static camera in its enclosed booth and let the actors get on with the job…

Most of these films turned out to be the dullest ever made… It wasn't the fault of William Powell, who played Philo Vance with wit and elegance… It was the fault of a basic misconception in making private-detective movies…

Powell played Vance four times... Others who, followed him were: Paul Lukas, Edmund Lowe, Warren Williams, Grant Richards, James Stephenson and Alan Curtis

Unfortunately, I had to make do with a rather poor copy of THE CANARY MURDER CASE, full of scratches and tiny breaks - not to mention the crackling recording, which I had to take as sportingly as I could, knowing that by 1929 the movie industry was only in its earliest forays into sound.

Those drawbacks aside, I found the joint direction by Tuttle and St Clair very competent and even imaginative, with most of the shooting done in dark interiors. Of course, to achieve that quality level the directors had to rely on a strong script - and that they had, courtesy of SS Van Dine and adaptation by the suggestively named Albert Le Vino (thankfully, there is far less drinking here than poor William Powell would have to endure as Detective Nick Charles 5 years later).

Ultimately, though, what I take away from this picture are the following pluses: Louise Brooks' incredibly timeless beauty (I have been in love with her since watching the silent PANDORA'S BOX); William Powell's nonchalant but classy Philo Vance, helped by peerless diction that must have been the envy of just about all actors in Hollywood in 1929; the clever dialogue that draws into a whodunnit that rates far more complex than I expected from a 1929 vehicle.

Definitely a must for fans of Powell, Brooks, Arthur, and whodunnit. 8/10.

When Paramount decided to re-make their unreleased silent, "The Canary Murder Case" as a talkie, they faced two problems. The first was that the title star, Louise Brooks, had accepted an offer to work in Germany and refused to return. The second was that director Mal St Clair had no knowledge of sound technique. And perhaps it's true too that he supported Miss Brooks' stand. She and Paramount had parted on bad terms because the studio refused to honor her contract. In any event, Frank Tuttle was engaged to direct the talkie.

In order to get around the Brooks problem, the studio wheeled in a double, Margaret Livingston. Not only did Miss Livingston dub the Canary's voice (in an atrocious Brooklyn accent yet!) but also substituted visually in back-to-the-camera long shots.

So what we have is a movie in which all the Brooks close-ups (in fact all the shots which show her face), plus at least one short clip in a hotel corridor and maybe the long shot of the dancing chorus in the theater (and perhaps the location snip of the speeding car), were directed by Mal St Clair, whereas the rest of the action was directed by Frank Tuttle. A major headache for the editor indeed, and he is to be commended for a sterling job of work under extremely difficult circumstances. The pace is odd, the cutting unrhythmical and even jarringly abrupt at times, but at least the narrative still makes sense.

Aside from Miss Livingston, the players do wonders with the not very convincing dialogue supplied by novelist S.S. Van Dine himself. Oddly, Eugene Palette copes best, giving a typically hearty impersonation of Sergeant Heath. On the other hand, Powell seems a little unsure of his character at this stage and is often content merely to rattle off his lines. The rest of the players are competent enough, if a little too theatrical at times, though comedian Ned Sparks seems miscast as a ruthless thug and Jean Arthur's fans are in for a considerable shock not only by the paucity of her part but by the most unattractive way she is presented and photographed.

All the same, the film comes across as more than a mere curiosity. It not only bolsters the Brooks legend, but, if nothing else, it also presents a murder mystery that is not only reasonably intriguing but ingeniously solved.

P.S. The actor who plays Sergeant Heath spells his name "Pallette", but IMDb's automatic spelling correcter refuses to acknowledge this.