Tomorrow at Seven

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.

I was impressed by Chester Morris as the square-jawed hero. He seems to be a more rugged version of Dick Powell. He is Clint Eastwood intense in some scenes, but quite relaxed on others. Great 1930's character actors Frank McHugh and Alan Jenkins provide some laughs as two bumbling, cowardly cops.

The plot is intriguing. A killer taunts his victims and the police by sending them the Ace of Spades as a sign that they're going to be murdered the following night at 7 P.M.. There are several nicely done scenes with some suspense, including an early 1930's passenger plane ride with lounge chairs rather than the passenger seats we're used to.

I thought the number of suspects should have been increased. There are really only about three people who could have committed the murders. Most good murder mysteries give us at least four or five to consider.

Still, a mixture of light humor together with a few moments of danger makes this film quite pleasant.

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.

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!"