Tomorrow at Seven

I think this qualifies as an "Old Dark House" film. Most of it takes place in a house, which is indeed both old and dark. Ralph Spence penned the typically high-quality script - it's impossible to guess the killer.

What really makes the film is the comic relief in the form of incompetent detectives played by Frank McHugh and Allen Jenkins. Actually, they're in the film as much as the leads. I'm a big Allen Jenkins fan. His Depression-era dumb guy persona brought a charm to every film it graced that's totally missing in today's actors. 8/10.

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."

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.

The residents of a dark mansion are threatened by a mysterious murderer who uses cards to tell his future victims the exact time of their death.

One intended victim decides he will get on an airplane to try to outwit the murderer , but at the appointed time the lights in the plane go out - death calls again

Tomorrow at seven is another one of those mysteries featuring a couple of annoying inept police officers, while Chester Morris works things out in regard who the black ace murderer is - a fast-paced and nicely plotted mystery, however as much as the inept police men provides some funny moments they can be a bit too much at times.

A good cast enlivens this rather routine closed circle of suspects murder done by RKO. Chester Morris over from MGM stars in this film, as a rather cocky crime novelist out to solve some real crimes. Over at Warner Brothers James Cagney would have fit this part better than O.J. Simpson fit that glove.

Morris is on the trail of a killer known as 'the Black Ace' who leaves an ace of spades at each of his crime scenes daring the police to catch him. Morris is following a lead concerning millionaire Henry Stephenson and on the way he meets up with Vivienne Osborne who is the daughter of Stephenson's private secretary Grant Mitchell.

When Stephenson gets a calling card they all decide to fly to his bayou plantation including a couple of Chicago cops played by Frank McHugh and Allen Jenkins. As they are about to land Mitchell is murdered when the lights go out.

Things might have been solved faster if the law wasn't in the persons of McHugh and Jenkins. These two geniuses couldn't catch a cold they must have had influence at City Hall to have been made detectives. But they are a great deal responsible for a lot laughs in this film. Political influence wasn't exactly unknown in Chicago.

This probably would have been done with more style at Warner Brothers, still this is an entertaining mystery with more laughs than usual thanks to McHugh and Jenkins.