The Big Broadcast of 1936

"The Big Broadcast of 1936" (Paramount, 1935) is the second in the musical series, but not up to the original 1932 classic, "The Big Broadcast." This edition brings back Bing Crosby (who can be seen only singing one soothing song, "I Wished on the Moon."); and George Burns and Gracie Allen as part of the plot again. George and Gracie have an invention called The Radio Eye (known today as television) that can pick up broadcasts from all over the world. (Least we forget that television was spoofed as The Radio Scope in Paramount's 1933 comedy, "International House"). The invention is then demonstrated to and swiped by Spud Miller (Jack Oakie sporting a mustache), the manager of the failing radio station, W.H.Y., and tries to promote it and take the credit for himself. During the course of the story, he and his partner, Smiley Goodwin (Henry Wadsworth) are kidnapped by a man-chasing countess, Ysobel DeNargila (Lyda Roberti), who has them watched by her villainous advisories (C. Henry Gordon and Akim Tamiroff) while on board her private yacht bound for Cuba. Also featured in the plot is Wendy Barrie as Sue.

The musical program includes: "Miss Brown to You" (danced with gusto by The Nicholas Brothers/and Bill Robinson); "Why Dream?" (sung by Henry Wadsworth/voice dubbed by Kenny Baker); Crosby's "I Wished on the Moon," "Double Trouble" (Sung by Lyda Roberti); "It's the Animal in Me" (sung by Ethel Merman); instrumental song in brief conducted by Ina Ray Hutton and her Melodears; and "Goodnight Sweetheart" (conducted by Ray Noble and his orchestra).

Aside from brief musical interludes (with some numbers being interrupted by dialog) presented during the plot or on the Radio Eye, there is one moment of drama set in a hospital with Sir Guy Standing as the doctor, Gail Patrick as his nurse, and David Holt as the little brother who donates his blood to save his sister (Virginia Weidler); comedy skits involving Amos and Andy, another with Charlie Ruggles as a nervous husband wanting to get rest, but is constantly interrupted and annoyed by wife Mary Boland; and in between, those three house builders (Willy, West and McGinty) who never seem to get their job completed for that everything goes wrong (ala Three Stooges). Like many movies of this sort, some gags work, others fail to amuse, but it's still worth a look just the same. There is even a climatic chase scene to add some excitement.

When once presented on American Movie Classics in 1991, host Bob Dorian pointed out a bit of trivia: the production number featuring Ethel Merman singing "It's the Animal in Me" supported by dancing elephants, was actually a cut number from an earlier musical, "We're Not Dressing" (Paramount, 1934) and inserted into this film. Good thing because Merman's "Animal in Me," along with the dancing by Nicholas Brothers and Bill Robinson (in separate scenes) are some of the few highlights that help bring some life to its mediocre moments of the story. Never distributed to home video, aside from broadcast showings on some local public broadcast channel, and the aforementioned AMC, it did have a return television big broadcast many years later on Turner Classic Movies (TCM premiere: July 23, 2015). (***)

I am not a huge fan of these sorts of old films. I much prefer classic Hollywood movies with more plot and less of a talent show look about them. This isn't to say it's a bad film, but it is terribly uneven.

Jack Oakie stars in the film as Spud Miller--the owner of a dying radio station. Unless something amazing happens, he's about to lose the place. So, when George and Gracie bring him an amazing invention called Radio Eye, his problems seem to be over. However, a crazy countess kidnaps him and his alter-ego...and she's not about to let them go.

The film is filled with one act after another--often with strange segues or situations that simply make no sense. For example, the first scene in the radio room has one of the Nicholas Brothers tap dancing. Well, call me a stickler for details but HOW will the radio listeners be able to enjoy LISTENING to a tap dancer?! In addition to this act, you briefly (too briefly) get to see Bill 'Bojangles' Robinson, a trio of slapstick vaudevillians (too often) and others. It runs the gamut from excellent to pure crap...and makes the film's tempo bounce like a kangaroo jumping on a water bed!

To be fair to director Norman Taurog, at least he has tried to inject the semblance of a story into this otherwise entertaining but routine revue-style film showcasing a plethora of talent strutting their stuff! That story is put into the safe hands of George Burns and Gracie Allen who have invented a gizmo that could give Orwell's "Big Brother" a run for its money! Not only can it intercept transmissions from anywhere in the world, but it can see what is going on in the privacy of people's living rooms. This is of great interest to the sceptical radio entrepreneur "Spud" (Jack Oakie) who sees great potential for it to help him win a competition worth $250,000 of advertising revenue. There are loads of familiar faces playing straight and comic roles throughout this feature and in many ways it offers us quite an interesting look at just how important radio was in 1935. Some of it, tap-dancing for example, did not seem the most obvious to work on the wireless, but by manufacturing audience scenarios via his "Radio Eye", we are led to appreciate just how popular many of those more visual acts were. There's plenty of humour here ranging from the slapstick to the witty; Ethel Merman belts out "It's the Animal in Me", Bing Crosby croons "I Wished on the Moon" and although it is an easy enough watch, it did strike me as being more of a celebration of the theatre rather then the silver screen. An engaging anthology of what we watched back then, but maybe not one you'd need to watch too often.

Hard to decide where to start. It's a musical comedy but there are basic problems - the comedy isn't funny and the songs aren't tuneful. Paramount had a pretty large stable of talent in those days, and many of them are here; Bing Crosby, Burns & Allen, Ethel Merman, Charles Ruggles, Mary Boland, but their talents go largely to waste in this misbegotten movie.

Except for "I Wished on the Moon", the songs are forgettable and lack the normal craftsmanship of the Whiting-Robin team. Most of the jokes and comic sequences are half-baked and unfunny, and the picture needed more Burns & Allen and less Jack Oakie, as he overacts in one of his lesser efforts on screen. But before I forget, I should mention Lyda Roberti, one of Hollywood's best and funniest comediennes whose life was cut short by heart disease. She shines above the poor material and her zany style is reminiscent of a young Lucille Ball.

Saving the best (or worst) for last, as the poor storyline makes "The Big Broadcast of 1936" almost unwatchable. Incoherent and trying too hard at humor, the film does the career of director Norman Taurog, who has an impressive list of films to his credits, a disservice. Recommended strictly for Hollywood archivists and those happy people who are easily entertained.

In reviewing films featuring African-Americans in chronological order for Black History Month, we're back in 1935 when Paramount mounted another in The Big Broadcast revue series three years after the first one. Among the reasons I'm commenting on this entry for this occasion: dancers Harold and Fayard Nicholas as well as Bill "Bojangles" Robinson-all of whom are quite entertaining-not to mention The Dandridge Sisters-Dorothy, Vivian, and friend Etta Jones though I have to admit I didn't recognize them during their brief appearance. In summation, there's some hilarious comedy from George Burns and Gracie Allen but the actual plot of radio station owners Jack Oakie and Henry Wadsworth being involved with a couple of ladies isn't all that funny until the chase scene at the end. Then there's also some unrelated sketches involving Amos 'n' Andy (once again, Freeman Gosden and Charles Correll in burnt cork), Charlie Ruggles and Mary Boland, and a running gag of some men trying to build a house that were also highly amusing. And there's some pretty good musical instrumentals led by Ray Noble and Ina Ray Hutton (like me, a Chicago native) and just as good vocal spots from Bing Crosby and Ethel Merman with the latter doing a number originally meant for We're Not Dressing. So on that note, The Big Broadcast of 1936 is no great shakes but if you're curious about this sort of thing, it's worth a look.