Murder on a Bridle Path

The underrated fourth entry in the six film series drawn from Stuart Palmer's "Hirdegarde Withers" mysteries ironically has as its greatest strength its greatest weakness: delightful lead Helen Broderick.

The idea to replace the perfect Withers, the arch and tightly corseted Edna May Oliver with the sophisticated, spiritually if not literally uncorseted Broderick would seem to have been grounded in the wonderful wise cracking relationship Withers had with James Gleason's much put-upon Inspector Oscar Piper, and to that extent it works.

Broderick, the beloved sophisticate of the Fred Astaire films TOP HAT and SWING TIME, gets off some good ones ("Oh, I have some influence with Inspector Piper; we used to room together in college!"), but it's hard to picture her as the prim school teacher that Palmer's Miss Withers says she is.

The film has the further drawback for some modern audiences in incorporating some of the racist stereotypes of the era in Willie "High Pockets" Best's excellent performance as the slow but steadfast stable boy who may be near the center of the mystery. In 42 films from 1934 to 1947 (just to consider the ones reviewed in the New York Times - some, like HIGH SIERRA and CABIN IN THE SKY, genuine classics), Best took the work Hollywood offered and made his characters shine - whatever limitations Hollywood may have placed on the casting of black actors.

MURDER ON A BRIDLE PATH has a good cast all around (among the series regulars, James Gleason's Piper, James Donlan's comic detective and Gustav Von Seyffertitz's police doctor are some of their best performances), and boasts an excellent mystery at the core. The OBSERVANT viewer even has an honest chance to beat Withers and Piper to the solution despite some delicious red herrings along the way.

Radio Pictures had clearly moved the series to a back burner when Oliver left (no more "name" producers and even Max Steiner's musical contributions went uncredited this time), but at least with Broderick finding the clues and lending a major hand with the comedy, the quality stayed high.

Later in the year, the studio would turn to Zasu Pitts for two final "Miss Withers" films, and while she would return the unsophisticated primness to the character and (in small doses) Pitt could be a brilliant diffident comedienne, the quality of the writing and the chemistry between Hildegarde and Oscar never regained the level it had maintained with Edna May Oliver and Helen Broderick.

It's a pity, because the franchise was one of the more enjoyable creations of the 30's when the "cozy" mystery was at its peak and every studio seemed to be trying their hand at popularizing distinctive detectives from Philo Vance and Nick & Nora Charles to Charlie Chan and Mr. Moto. Miss Withers is missed.

This series started out as one of the many experiments in building a detective narrative (where we share the unrolling of the narrative with a character) based on specific personality types. The original idea was to harden the Miss Marple type and recast her as brusque matron with a mischievous bent. And the detective would be a snappy, skinny hardnosed type who ends up a softy with this schoolmarm. In the first episode, they actually run off to get married, a situation forgotten later.

But all these experiments ran out of gas, even the "Thin Man" thread. By this edition, we have a whole different set of goals, and of course a different Hildegard. This woman isn't old, imperious, thickbottomed and selfish. She's a much hipper soul and in any case she doesn't have the focus any more.

And despite there being a younger sister cast for her figure, this is all about the men. And the characters we (as guys) create. Its nothing more than that, and as big as that. (The plot revolves around an exhusband thrown in "alimony jail" because of slow payments.)

Gleason is at his most extreme, strutting with a smile. Its a smile of an actor winking at the audience, something that was passed through (in my small experience) Red Skelton, Burt Reynolds, Bruce Willis.

But the extraordinary thing — and this may not be readable to some — is that it is all done by acting with hats. Its an amazing experience. These are theatrical hats, a bit over-sized. All the important facial expressions have a hat equivalent or compliment.

One of the men actors is a black man playing a specific character type, a dim, stepinfetchit "boy" named Highpockets. In life, it reflects as a stereotype and is harmful because no one can deny racism. But as a character its fantastic and comes less from society directly than a long and honorable stage minstrel tradition, Watch his hat.

There are other "stereotypes," a dumb Irishman, a stilted German... but none as gracefully presented.

If the world were all hats, there would be no problems, no war, except maybe alimony.

Its set in Central Park, though not actually shot there. Too bad.

Ted's Evaluation -- 2 of 3: Has some interesting elements.

Murder on a Bridle Path (1936)

** (out of 4)

The fourth film in RKO's Hildegarde Withers series was the first after Edna May Oliver stepped away from the part and was replaced by Helen Broderick for the first and only time. In the film a society woman is out riding her horse when she's thrown from it and then murdered. Detective Piper (James Gleason) thinks it's a simple case of her being killed by the fall but Withers comes across the scene and notices that the woman was murdered after the fall. The two team up to track down the usual suspects. MURDER ON A BRIDLE PATH isn't as bad as its reputation but at the same time there's no question that it's a major fall from the previous three movies. There's no doubt that Broderick isn't nearly as good as Edna May Oliver but she isn't too bad here. I thought she was decent for what was being asked as she has no problem playing the smart woman and she at least makes us believe she's a lot smarter than Piper for what that's worth. As usual Gleason is very good in his part as the rather slow Detective who is always one step behind the lady. While both actors do a fine job, the same can't be said with their comic timing and chemistry. I think what really hurts the movie is the fact that the two don't share the same spark as in the previous three films. The screenplay isn't the greatest thing either because there's never any clear case of who the killer is and when he's revealed it really seems like a stretch. As is the case in most weaker written mysteries, the police and Withers would have never found out had the killer not given himself away and of course breaking to the point where he tells everything. In the end this film is pretty much on par with the majority of "B" mysteries that were released throughout the decade but at the same time it also makes you appreciate the first three films for how special they were.

"It would be you," Inspector Piper nods the moment he turns and sees Hildegarde Withers arriving on the scene. "It's gotten so, Hildegarde, a person can't be killed within the city limits without your showing up."

This is, indeed, the fourth murder case on which Miss Withers assists, critiques, leads, follows, and just generally offers suggestions to her crusty detective friend. James Gleason's Oscar Piper is once again easily chagrined but grudgingly respectful of Miss Withers' detecting skills; Helen Broderick takes on the role of school teacher and amateur sleuth Hildegarde Withers for the first and only time. This Withers is a bit less tart and somewhat more conscious of her own wittiness than the earlier Withers (as portrayed by Edna May Oliver). Broderick and Gleason quickly establish a rapport and relationship that—as in the earlier films in the series—is easily our primary reason for watching.

The plot involves the death of society girl Violet Feveral, played (albeit briefly) with delicious nastiness by Sheila Terry. Suspects abound—this Violet was, in the best whodunit tradition, wildly unpopular and had handed out insults and injuries to numerous other characters in the hours and days before her death. The familiar faces in the lineup of suspects include Louise Latimer as a sister to the victim; John Carroll as a family employee; and Leslie Fenton, who is quite good as the nervous ex-husband who has just been mysteriously released from jail. Willie Best stands out in his usual thankless role as a stable boy who may have a clue or two; his deadpan delivery when answering questions (What was he doing in jail? "Shooting craps." No, what was he in jail for? "Shooting craps.") squeezes the maximum out of a role that's otherwise a lame stereotype.

The mystery itself is not particularly inventive or suspenseful; however, the story moves along briskly and the actors and script are competent if not brilliant. The interaction between Gleason and Broderick is clearly presented as the center of the picture—and that relationship between a couple of pros is a lot of fun to watch. (One example: Oscar suggests that the murder was a "crime of passion," to which Hildegarde snaps, "Oscar, don't you think we'd better try to keep this case clean?")

Bonus: we are instructed what can be learned about a person from examining his pipe!

When the body of Violet Feverel is discovered on the Central Park bridle path, Inspector Oscar Piper is about to declare her death accidental from a thrown horse, until his friend and amateur detective Hildegarde Withers locates the horse and discovers blood on the horse.

Helen Broderick gives Hildegard a very different slant than did Edna May Oliver - she's more energetic and even more sharp tongued with plenty of great one liners, but I miss Oliver whose arched expressions of dismay at the police stupidity; I loved her voice, too. But Broderick does her best and comes across being on the ball. It's a good mystery, plenty to be puzzled over till the case is solved.