Remote Control

Remote Control (1930)

** (out of 4)

William Brennan (William Haines) works his way into a job as a radio announcer and must try and save a radio station that isn't making money. He brings in some new talent including a psychic (John Miljan) who is actually a criminal boss who uses the radio to send out messages to his goons.

REMOTE CONTROL is the typical of comedy one would expect from Haines as he was starting his sound career. He's loud, obnoxious and in your face the entire time as he acts like a five-year-old inside of a candy store who is going to aggravate his mother until she agrees to buy him some candy. This might sound like an insult to Haines but it's not meant to be. This is just his style of comedy and sometimes it's funny but the majority of the time it isn't.

This film here is innocent enough for a good time killer since it lasts just 65 minutes and there's really nothing too awful going on. I think the screenplay is without question the weakest thing because it really doesn't know where it wants to go and this actually makes the running time seem longer. Haines is decent enough in his part but I'm one who will always prefer him in his silent roles. Charles King and Mary Doran and both decent in their supporting parts and it's Miljan who steals the picture. Roscoe Ates appears throughout the film in his stuttering skit.

THE STORY & (Pseudo)GENRE -- Cocky radio wannabe gets his chance as station manager, but ends up hiring a gaggle of crazies, including a phony spiritualist bank-robbery leader.

THE VERDICT -- Unlike some, I thought this was cute and not offensive in the least. Bill's behavior is part of the package, and sure, he's arrogant, but also you can sympathize with his plight, which he did not instigate. In a way, it's kind of an early UHF (1989), although it doesn't have that kind of cult appeal. I give it 6.5.

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William Haines made an easy transition to sound, and his voice provided added dimension to his wisecracking on-screen character. In 1930's "Remote Control," Haines plays Bill Brennan, the brash over-confident manager of a radio station in need of a bailout. In what would today be regarded as sexual harassment, Brennan ardently pursues a female station employee, played by Mary Doran. The Haines-Doran match is an unlikely affair, either on or off screen, and, in any case, Doran is infatuated with a suave phony psychic, played by the greasy John Miljan. Hired by Brennan to provide on-air advice from the great beyond, Miljan instead broadcasts instructions to his gang of thieves thinly disguised as messages from the spirits.

Although still handsome, youthful, and full of energy, Haines was nearing the end of his career with "Remote Control," and he would retire only four years later. Haines fans will delight in his often-childish facial expressions and campy performance; non-fans may be less enthusiastic. However, neither fans nor non-fans will find this to be his best work or his best film. After a light breezy start, the plot veers into a grade-B crime flick, while Haines ignores the turn and sticks his tongue out at gangsters. Despite the efforts of three credited directors, this early talkie is typically stiff and stagy; the camera fluidity that reached a zenith in the late silent era has been lost to the demands of sound recording. While "Remote Control" is essential viewing for admirers of William Haines, the film may be a tough slog for others.

This William Haines talkie is a fast-moving comedy that features the MGM star as a brash fast-talker trying to break into radio. He meets an old school chum (Charles King) who has a failing radio station. There is also a sister (Mary Doran) Haines is interested in. Haines holds open auditions to bolster the station's stable of talent. Unfortunately, a fake occultist (John Miljan) gets hired and uses the airwaves to pass coded information to his gang about burglaries and bank robberies.

Haines is breezy and very funny as Brennan. He was a unique talent in that he had the looks of a leading man but usually resorted to his "Silly Billy" antics, most of which look ad-libbed. He's a big goof having a ball making movies. In this one, we get the feeling that most of the scenes are "one-take" wonders. Haines mugs and ad-libs outlandishly as the other actors try to say their lines. Haines also breaks up twice in this film as other actors do their thing.

Among the auditioners is Benny Rubin, who likes to recite poetry ("Dangerous Dan McGrew") while wearing a cowboy suit (very effective on radio). But Rubin's schtick is a thick and comic Yiddish accent, so the poem comes out as "Dangerous Dan a Jew." Haines breaks up as Rubin does his routine. Later in the film, another auditioner, Roscoe Ates (a stuttering flute player) breaks up Haines as he pops up in a car window. It's like watching outtakes from "The Carol Burnett Show."

King has little to do after he sings his song, "Just a Little Closer." Doran seems an odd choice for a leading-lady role; she usually played hard-boiled types (as in "The Broadway Melody"). Miljan is solid as the crook. Polly Moran (hideously made up) has a few good scenes as the radio beauty expert. And Cliff Edwards, without his ukulele or a song, gets to do a hog-calling act.

A fast-talking radio announcer discovers that a fake on-air clairvoyant is using code to communicate with his criminal gang by REMOTE CONTROL.

It was 1930. Talking pictures were here to stay and William Haines was the first box office champion of the new era, albeit briefly. He starred in three films for MGM that year. This is one of them.

Haines is his typical boyish, bouncy self - silly, but always watchable. Mary Doran is his romantic interest, while singer Charles King is her brother, the station owner. John Miljan is suavely evil as the phony psychic and the ubiquitous Polly Moran scores as a beauty expert. Unbilled appearances by Benny Rubin (hilarious as "Dangerous Dan the Jew") and champion stutterer Roscoe Ates give Haines the rare opportunity to act as straight man to someone else's jokes for a few moments.