The Big Broadcast of 1936

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.

George Burns and Gracie Allen have invented something called the Radio Eye. Tune it in and it will receive a broadcast from anywhere, even if you're not broadcasting. Problem is that it seems to just pick stuff out of the air randomly. If you could have developed the focus a little more they would have been selling the item to the government and not to Jack Oakie, owner of a second hand radio station. What a Big Brother apparatus this thing could have been.

That's the beginning of the "plot" of the Big Broadcast of 1936. The radio eye was an excuse to introduce all kinds of acts all over the world including the Vienna Boys Choir. Not that the Radio Eye was even original from this film, it was borrowed from Paramount's own International House.

There are nice individual numbers, but on the whole the film ain't half as good as International House. For starters part of the plot also has ditzy countess Lyda Roberti doing some detective work and finding the great Lochinvar who broadcasts love sonnets from that radio station is really two men, Jack Oakie who recites and Henry Wadsworth who sings.

Henry Wadsworth doesn't even sing though, he borrows Kenny Baker's voice. And he comes over like Jack Haley without Haley's charm. Maybe they should have used Haley. Or even Bing Crosby, or maybe Bing knew better and only was on hand to get tuned into by the Radio Eye for one song.

The song Crosby sang was I Wished On the Moon which sold a few 78 platters in its day for him. Lyrics to Ralph Rainger's music were by Algonquin Round Table regular Dorothy Parker. See she didn't just sit at the table and make pithy comments.

Ethel Merman appears via a number that was cut from We're Not Dressing called The Animal in Me. I'm not sure why it was cut from the first film, but thankfully it was preserved by Paramount to splice into this one. You can hear it in the background of We're Not Dressing.

One of the nice acts from the film was Ina Ray Hutton and her all girl orchestra. That was the gimmick, women invading a male preserve. But I assure you that these gals showed off their femininity while performing. Ina Ray is something to see leading that band in a painted on dress.

There's also a bit from a hospital that involved Sir Guy Standing, Gail Patrick, and kid actors Virginia Weidler and David Holt. For the life of me I can't understand why it was included in this lighthearted film. It looks like something lifted from a medical drama and dropped in this film for no rhyme or reason.

Anyway this ain't as good as International House which already had used the Orwellian futuristic gimmick.

Growing Up again at the movies; my parents would give me 25 cents to go every Saturday or Sunday and I'd walk 2 miles. Usually it was a Shirley Temple movie or a Bing Crosby move; this time we see Der Bingle in one of his earliest and also it was Bob Hope's first singing his 'Thanks for the Memory" to Shirley Ross; then there were a lot of crazies like Burns & Allen, W.C. Fields; very enjoyable; they made movies for entertainment in those days!

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!

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.