A las siete en punto

I have to agree with the reviewers who think the bumbling cops spoil an otherwise good murder mystery romp. What was the director thinking? However, there is one director's moment that shines, if you're paying attention, hilariously. This movie should have had more moments like this and a lot less of the cops doing one schtick over and over and... It is when the mute housekeeper, played in a wonderfully creepy manner by Virginia Howell, uses sign language to talk to Vivienne Osborne. Osborne's character says, "I don't understand." And Howell signs again only much more slowly.

With a roomful of suspects listening tensely, police detective Frank McHugh reads aloud a letter that may identify the killer known as the Black Ace. Suddenly the lights go out. There are shrieks and shouts. When the lights come back on, the letter has vanished! –No, it's not the most original plot ever, but good humor and engaging performances still make this a fun little picture.

Chester Morris is a crime writer researching a book on the Black Ace, the elusive criminal who always leaves a black ace warning his victims they are soon to die. Morris visits Henry Stephenson, a well-known expert on the subject in hopes of joining forces. Vivienne Osborne is the plucky daughter of Stephenson's secretary; her father is an early victim. These three stars give solid, efficient performances.

The real central figures of the picture, however, are dubiously capable detectives Frank McHugh and Allen Jenkins. The two make a catchy team, take turns butchering the language, and just generally undermine any attempts by the other characters—or the audience—at taking this whole picture too seriously. I guarantee you—if you don't like dumb detective humor, you will not enjoy this film!

The plot, though unoriginal, is nevertheless well managed; even Morris's character, the presumed hero, is a potential suspect, as is everyone else in the story.

Funniest bit: McHugh and Jenkins telling the story of their earlier encounter with the Black Ace, rich in impenetrable slang ("So I'm crowdin' him with the heater, but he don't belch…") and including McHugh's hilarious admonition to Jenkins—"How many times have I gotta tell ya? These guys don't understand them technical terms!"

SLIGHT SPOILERS AHEAD. 'Tomorrow at Seven' is one of those wildly implausible movies from Hollywood's studio era which still manage to be hugely enjoyable on the strength of sheer audacity and some colourful performances. Here we have that old chestnut: the serial murderer who announces his crimes in advance, in a highly theatrical manner, yet repeatedly kills his victims without getting caught. We also have that even mouldier chestnut: the amateur sleuth who is able to outwit the cops and nab the baddie.

In this case, the murderer proclaims his intentions in advance by delivering to each victim an ace of spades (the death card), with a neatly-written message announcing the hour at which he intends to do the deed. Naturally, he consistently manages to kill his victims (and get away clean, his identity a secret) even though they've been well and fairly warned. As the killer neglects to leave his name in the guest-book, he is cried the Ace of Spades.

He murders wealthy art dealer Asa Marsden, and here we get another old-movie cliché: the murder shown from the killer's viewpoint. We see the victim goggling into the camera as the killer carks him, but the murderer is unseen.

Next, the Ace of Spades announces his intention to murder wealthy Thornton Drake 'tomorrow at seven'. (Presumably this is P.M., not A.M. ... surely even serial murderers shouldn't have to get up early.) At the fatal hour, the deed is done aboard an aeroplane in flight. At the stroke of seven, the lights go out in the passenger cabin ... then they switch on again, and there's a corpse on the deckplates, stabbed through the heart. But the dead man isn't Drake: it's his secretary Austin Winters. Afterwards, the pilot claims to know nothing.

The official detectives in this movie are played by two of my favourite character actors: Frank McHugh and the superb Allen Jenkins. Here they play characters named Clancy and Dugan, which gives you some idea of what to expect. Unfortunately, both actors perform their sleuth roles as comedy relief, which I found regrettable: the murders in this movie are played straight, so the seriousness of the homicides is undercut by the intentional comedy of the detectives trying to catch the killer. Screenwriter Ralph Spence often combined straightforward chills and broad comedy in his scripts -- notably in his play 'The Gorilla' -- but here the mixture isn't as smooth as usual.

The hero of this film is played by Chester Morris, so it's obvious who will solve the crime. For some reason, a lot of Hollywood whodunnits of the 1930s and '40s featured *amateur* detectives. Here, Morris plays a mystery novelist (oh, boy) who is researching the criminal career of the Ace of Spades as material for his next book. Morris decides that it might make a nice finish for his book if he actually catches the murderer.

Along with this film's other merits, there's the Batman factor. It's well known that Batman's greatest villain the Joker (created in 1939) was inspired by the character played by Conrad Veidt in 'The Man Who Laughs'. But the premise of 'Tomorrow at Seven' strongly resembles the premise of the Joker's debut story, and this 1933 movie may have supplied some inspiration to Batman's scriptwriter Bill Finger.

'Tomorrow at Seven' has a lot of the little touches that make 1930s B-movies so enjoyable. Unfortunately, this movie also has a couple of the little touches so typical of that time which are very much *less* enjoyable. Here, we get a mercifully brief turn by African-American actor Gus Robinson in a 'yassuh!' role. I don't blame Robinson, whose options as a black actor in 1930s Hollywood must have been limited. I'll rate this otherwise enjoyable movie 7 out of 10.

A killer known as the Black Ace is on the loose. The Ace leaves a calling card with the time of his victims death on it. The Ace has killed several prominent people and a rich friend of some of the victims, Winters, is looking to put a stop to it. Chester Morris plays a mystery writer putting together a book on the killer. He meets the daughter of Winters on a train on his way to offer what he knows in the hunt for the killer. Not long after that Winters receives a death threat and while in the middle of an air plane flight the flights flicker for a moment and he is killed.

This is an okay film that is ruined by two bumbling cops Dugan and Clancy who push a witty and clever mystery into the realm of silly. Normally I like the work of Frank McHugh and Allen Jenkins but here they just come off as being bumbling fools. Its awful, or rather not funny. They take the desire to know more out of the mystery and the laughs out of the comedy. There is no real reason for them to exist except to kill time.If you can divorce them from the rest of the movie this is a good little mystery, something not easy to do.

Worth seeing if you run across it. Not sure its a rental but on late night TV its worth trying.

Tomorrow at Seven (Ray Enright, 1933) is like a Monogram Chan before the fact: a creaky, archaic mystery with a none-too-surprising culprit - but fun just the same. Chester Morris (later Boston Blackie in Columbia's exceptional B movie series) is a novelist investigating the inspiration for his latest book, a killer known as The Black Ace. He travels to see wealthy Henry Stephenson, who's also researching said homicidal maniac, and before you can say "when you finish that jigsaw, it's going to contain a threat from the killer", Stephenson's secretary finishes a jigsaw, and finds it contains a threat from the killer. This is a slow-moving production that recalls movies made in the early days of sound cinema, but the name cast keeps the questionable narrative afloat and it's a delight to see legendary character actors Frank McHugh and Allen Jenkins as a pair of thick cops. "Anyone touch the body?" a creepy coroner enquires of them. "Nobody," replies McHugh confidently. "Only Dugan and me and Drake and that guy Henderson and Broderick."