It's in the Bag!

I was surprised by the quality of the writing in this forgotten exhibition of the comic talents of radio personality Fred Allen. The story is one of those madcap farces in which a virtually non-existent plot is held together by a relentless barrage of jokes and quips which, for a change, hit more often than they miss.

Allen plays Fred F. Trumble Floogle, the penniless owner of a flea circus who unexpectedly comes into an inheritance when a distant relative is murdered. What Fred doesn't realise is that most of the fortune has already been siphoned off by crooked lawyer John Carradine and his cronies, and the few hundred thousand dollars that remains is hidden in one of a set of five chairs that have been sold at auction. There then follows a fast paced hunt for the missing chairs that leads Floogle into the paths of all manner of unusual characters. One of these is Jack Benny, and the film has a great time poking fun at his legendary stinginess. Two of the chairs have been sold to a nightclub where Floogle finds former stars Don Ameche, Rudy Vallee and Victor Moore working (Ameche has run out of things to invent in the movies so is reduced to working as a singing waiter to make ends meet.)

The story continues in this vein for ninety minutes, but very rarely does the pace – or quality of the jokes – flag. Others have pointed out that many of the gags will be lost on those with no – or little – knowledge of the period, but there's still plenty of timeless jokes that still work today.

It's a pity that some of the one time classic works of popular culture are now dusty and distant to most of us. This is particularly true of that remarkable medium of radio. Radio had an impact from 1920 to 1960, when it was replaced by television. Television assaulted radio with it's versions of talk shows and game shows. It was one thing to hear that Mr. X won a new car, but quite more effective to see Mr. X looking at a new Buick or Rambler or Oldsmobile. It was more interesting watching Edward R. Murrow on Person to Person with a celebrity than just listening to them talk (in one case Murrow did one interview that was impossible on radio - he interviewed Harpo Marx).

There was just one area that radio beat out television. By relying on voices only, radio stimulated the imagination of the audience. It was very effective in comedy shows. Jack Benny would say he had to get some money, and the sound effects would create (in the listener's minds) the fabled Benny vault, which was further down than Fort Knox's and guarded by a Civil War veteran. Fred Allen would go outside down Allen's Ally, and interview a cross section of the American public every week, including a relic of New England, a voice of the deep south, and a Jewish lady who constantly mangled English and managed to make her family's triumphs and travails part of the issue.

Allen is sadly forgotten today - you can get recordings of his show on tape, but the references deal with the political/social world of the 1940s and 1950s. This is the fate of all topical humor. Just wait four decades and play that hysterical list joke by David Letterman or opening monologue by Jay Leno to some teenagers. See how quickly they get bored and ask you "Did you really find this funny?"

Allen was sharp in his comments - the most remembered is his reference to the size of a heart of a Hollywood agent (which was smaller than an olive pit). He would be able to skirt censors pretty well. In one sketch he talked of a new sponsor - a watch manufacturer named Fuller Bullova. With his normal group of second bananas Allen would satirize the politics of the period, or the social figures of the day (Dawson Bells, a prominent actor/producer,describing his latest movie says, "The street is a symbol, the music is a symbol, the drums are a symbol, the cymbal is a symbol!"). Allen wrote his own material, and wrote very well.

If he is remembered it is for the fake feud he had with his friend Jack Benny. Apparently it began when he pretended that Benny had not been funny at all. Benny laughed, called Allen up and asked if he could zing some back at him. Allen was smart enough to say yes - and the feud became famous in radio lore. It also got into their films, where Allen and Benny would confront each other (most notably in the whole film LOVE THY NEIGHBOR). In this film, there is only one scene of Benny with Allen and it is a different type of joke. Whereas the two are clashing in LOVE THY NEIGHBOR, in IT'S IN THE BAG it is a scene where a desperate Allen goes to try to re-buy a chair from Benny, who is all to happy to sell it back - he sells everything as either a souvenir of your visit or a refreshment (including water). Allen, to see Benny, has to pretend he's a fan, and asks him the secret of his success, and Benny explains that the basis is his timing - he is constantly delaying audience reaction (which should be hostile) by slowly reacting as he thinks about what he said and wonders what it means.

IT'S IN THE BAG shows Allen at his best, because it is not shared with Benny as LOVE THY NEIGHBOR, or shared with Jimmy Durante in SALLY, IRENE, AND MARY. He is in the center, trying to reclaim a stolen or missing fortune (hidden in a chair). To do this requires him dealing with his wife Binnie Barnes, with his daughter's potential father-in-law Robert Benchley, with crooked lawyers John Carridine and John Miljan, and with hostile police detective Sidney Toler (his second best comic performance after THE PHANTOM PRESIDENT). He also crosses paths with an insane (and insatiably hungry) psychiatrist (Jerry Colonna), and a gang boss who would like to go straight, but inherited his gang from his mother, Machine Gun Molly. The gang boss is William Bendix. Allen's humor is in his sharp reactions to everyone around him.

My favorite moment is when he and Binnie go out to a nightclub, to hear the doorman say, "Plenty of room folks! Always plenty of room!" There is no more room. Later that same night thy go to the movies only to find the same idiot using the same spiel to bring more people into the theater. They do find seats in something like the twelfth level of balconies. In disgust at his poor seats (they can barely see a screen), Allen goes out to find the manager (Emory Parnell). He complains about the witless idiot bringing people in when there are no decent seats. Parnell is upset, until he hears who was responsible. "Oh that's Joe," he says while he laughing, "Good old Joe, ever the optimist!" This is his sole explanation of what happened.

The film is resolved happily, with most of the people involved showing up at a party at the Floogles. As he watches them arriving, Allan shakes his head and says, "Everything but the kitchen sink." A moment later one of them lowers a kitchen sink. Perfect ending to a laugh fest.

Although he is the master of his own flea circus, Fred Floogle has never really been able to provide for his family – gambling not really helping. When he learns that he is the long lost relative and benefactor to the estate of a recently deceased millionaire, he immediately starts living it up ahead of the inevitable inheritance. Sadly it transpires that, not only was his uncle murdered but Fred and his family has only been left some chairs and a gramophone record. Selling the chairs before listening to the record, Fred is horrified to learn that hidden in one of the chairs is not only evidence of the man's killer but also several hundred thousand dollars. Thus begins a race for Fred to find the chairs before other parties can get their hands on them.

The few comments on this site show how obscure this film now is and, not wishing to appear elite let me say that it was by chance that I stumbled across it – I saw it in the listings and taped it sight unseen. It turned out to be a good use of tape (well, digital space) because the film is a great bit of fun in the cheeky style of radio comedian Fred Allen. Never having heard of him myself, his style is very much one-liners and sharp humoured that I would often equate to routines done in vaudeville days. With this in mind it is perhaps no surprise that the plot doesn't really matter too much because as is the way with these things it is more about the laughs than the plotting. That said though the narrative does hold together pretty well while also produce not so much sketches but "chapters" that are generally very funny. The film starts with Allen berating the credits – something Naked Gun etc do in a similar fashion but was more daring in 1945 I imagine – and then continues with plenty of knowing comedy and injokes with stars guests such as Jack Benny and Don Ameche playing themselves. Narrative wise it doesn't really matter how they fit in because their bits are funny enough to stop you worrying too much. I thought not knowing who all the "stars" were would limit how funny I found it but it didn't really.

Allen carries the film and it is a shame that he appears not to have done many other films in his career because he is funny. With a quick wit that comes over with a bit of Groucho Marx and Bob Hope, he is very funny and has plenty of good lines. Barnes is sassy and smart in support and gets some good laughs as well while the guest stars generally go well. I did particularly enjoy turns from Colonna as the Psychiatrist and whoever was playing the lawyer with the manner of an undertaker. It's in the Bag is unlike to be fall into your lap without seeking it out and I'm not sure it is good enough generally to seek out but, if you see it listed somewhere then you should check it out as it is great little bit of fun, mainly thanks to the comics involved.

Fred Allen made a living hurling brickbats and biting the hands that fed him, and one may surmise that his only starring role in a major motion picture would push the envelope. "It's in the Bag" does so, sometimes with breathtaking efficiency -- it's like a whole different world opened up in this film apart from typical 1940s screwball comedy, a negative, street smart and cynical attitude more in line with the comedic tone of later eras. But if you want to laugh, you might do better with a more typical screwball comedy of the period than with "It's in the Bag," as its episodic and composite construction as a film doesn't maintain a consistent level of hilarity, and parts of it are more confusing than funny. Fred Allen is terrific, and one wishes he'd been more interested in appearing in films, though his best work is unquestionably found in his radio programs; his deadpan mug, though, is effective in movies even though he had "a great face for radio." Binnie Barnes, Robert Benchley, John Carradine and William Bendix all stand out in this piece, and in the main "It's in the Bag" is definitely worth seeing at least once for its value as a dark, non-conformist alternative to American film comedies of the 1940s. However, it's a little too long, has too many moving parts and Fred Allen seems aware of that, stating in his ad-libbed annotation of the opening credit for producer Jack Skirball, "It's his picture."

The fun starts with the credits as Fred Allen denigrates everyone listed with the exception of his co-stars Don Ameche, William Bendix and Rudy Vally. Jack Benny, supporting cast members, the producer, director and even the make-up artists get a blast from Allen's withering tongue. The plot is simple enough that we can kind of forget it while enjoying the comedic interludes that are woven around it. Good old fashioned slapstick comedy combined with the type of wit and highbrow comedy you'd expect from intellects like Fred and Robert Benchley. Any fan of Fred Allen's radio shows will appreciate this film. There is the delightful visit to Jack Benny's apartment (which costs Fred over $13.00) and even a visit with Allen's Alley denizen, Mrs. Nussbaum. The cameos are strange but interesting. There is wisecracking galore and one wonders just how much ad-libbing went on. The film is a fun glimpse at one of radio's greatest and most forgotten comedians. Is it a comedy classic? A cinematic masterpiece? No way. But it's a blast seeing Benny vs Allen, Benchley vs Allen and getting some belly laughs from the hilarity that unfolds. A keeper.