Bury Me Dead

An inferno against a night sky opens Bury Me Dead, with the whinnying of high-strung horses as they're being led from their burning stable. Still inside the tinderbox, all those present assume, is a well-to-do young married woman (June Lockhart). But later, at the burial, a mysterious veiled mourner hitches a ride home with family lawyer Hugh Beaumont and reveals herself to be the presumed contents of the casket.

She does her own version of the dance of the seven veils by dramatically appearing to her various survivors, who greet her re-emergence with a multicolored outbursts of consternation, shock and relief. (Lockhart's such a sweetie she can't bring this off with the panache it demands.) Among the surprised are her husband Mark Daniels, whom she suspects of setting the fire, and her spoiled and wilful kid sister Cathy O'Donnell (who oddly takes top billing). One by one, they and others relate to the police, in flashback, their own recollections of the night of the fire. One big question remains: Whose remains were laid to rest?

Starting off with a great premise – the fantasy of being present at one's own funeral – Bury Me Dead soon finds itself running low on ingenuity. Not completely out, just low. On the plus side, it boasts expectedly fine cinematography courtesy of John Alton, just before he embarked upon his legendary collaboration with director Anthony Mann. But here the director was Bernard Vorhaus, nearing the end of his humdrum career if not of his life, which would last almost half a century after his last movie (he fell victim to the Hollywood blacklist and relocated to England).

In a style inexplicably popular in crime programmers of the late ‘30s and early ‘40s, Vorhaus decides to leaven the homicides with laughs. Yet Bury Me Dead manages to pull short of the brink of one of those ghastly slapstick mysteries – not by much, but still short. (As a beef-witted prizefighter, Greg McClure shoulders most of the ungainly comedy on his very broad frame.) With its pleasant but low-voltage cast getting little extra juice from Vorhaus, Bury Me Dead doesn't quite count as forgotten treasure, even by the forgiving standards of nostalgia buffs and film-noir freaks. But it's not a disaster, either, in length and appeal about as comfy and silly as an old episode of Simon & Simon or Matlock padded out for a slot on TV after the late local newscast..

June Lockhart returns home and goes to a funeral. It's her own. When she presents herself to husband Mark Stevens, adopted sister Cathy O'Donnell, everyone has mild hysterics in turn. Even butler Milton Parsons faints on the stairs after he backs out of his employer's' presence. That leaves two questions: who was the woman they buried, the woman whose body was burned beyond recognition in a fire at the stables? And was it murder?

This movie is a very rare example of film noir: one with a sense of humor. Even as it fulfills all the tropes of the genre -- the characters flooded in striped shadows from Venetian blinds, the flashbacks, the two woman, one of whom is borderline psychotic -- it is filled with comedy bits. Even the scene where they are sweating the suspect, the head cop is Charles Lane, going on about criminology textbooks. Neither do the gags interrupt the story. Instead, they form the characters, make them individuals and point out the little things which can endear one individual to another.... or drive one to murder. It's a fine little movie.

Ambitious director Bernard Vorhaus never got out of the Bs, and the Blacklist put an end to his directing career. by 1952 He came back a few years later as an assistant director for Miss O'Donnell's husband, William Wyler under a pseudonym. He retired from credited participation in the industry in 1960, moved to England where he had directed in the 1930s, and died in 2000, aged 95.

A case of mistaken identity over charred, human remains (necklace i.d.) precipitates a declaration of death for a wealthy young woman (Lockhart) who then secretly attends her own funeral, revealing herself to selected people in attendance that include her husband (Daniels), step sister (O'Donnell) & lawyer (Beaumont), all coming under suspicion for trying to hasten Barbara's end. Bernie Vorhaus (B) directs on a screenplay by Karen DeWolf (B) & Dwight Babcock, based on Irene Watson's radio mystery of the same title. Bury offers a rare leading role to June who plays it cool as a cucumber in this nifty little noir, co-star Mark, aka Stan Barton, reminding of popular at the time Den OKeefe, coincidentally to utter in dialogue the title of DO's soon to be released Tony Mann vehicle ("raw deal") but sans the cigarette, Mr Carlin instead tossing back a brandy whenever the noose tightens (gulp). Watch for top billed Cathy O'Donnell as Rusty, Hugh Beaumont of TV's Leave It to Beaver, John Dehner in an early reporter role, the ubiquitous Charles Lane whose characters put the rank in crank & Sonia "Do so!" Darrin as hard luck schemer, Helen. One of the brevity beauties of post-war, Sonia's stunning looks, sharp features & thin frame had her typecast the femme fatale, best remembered as AG Geiger's Agnes Lowzier, aka, the "grapefruit" gal who does battle with bookworm Bogie in Hawks The Big Sleep (46), all of it is captured by the creative camera of John Alton (Raw Deal, American Paris). Movie ratings, like lab values, will look to trends and rest within a range. I call Bury Me Dead a variant of good (2.5/4).

The first ten minutes had me thinking 'sleeper' as the narrative moves from a raging inferno to a graveside funeral where the so-called corpse turns up alive and well in a heavy, black veil. It's a great audience 'hook'. So now June Lockhart must find out who among her circle tried to kill her. And, oh yeah, just who did they bury in her place.

Trouble is the movie gets pretty ragged from that point on. Director Vorhaus can't seem to make up his mind whether he's directing noir or pratfall comedy. The boxer, for example, is straight out of an Abbott & Costello romp. Add Mark Daniel's really erratic acting, plus Sonia Darrin's shaky turn, and an otherwise interesting mystery gets regrettably undercut.

Credit the rest of the cast for carrying on well despite the handicaps. Credit too, John Alton's expert noir photography for heightening the mystery part, even as it clashes with the ill- advised pratfalls. Too bad, as another reviewer points out, that a director like Mann or Losey didn't get the promising material first. Anyway, it's a good chance to see how well Lassie's mom gets along with Beaver Cleaver's dad away from TV.

This film could not make up its mind whether it wanted to be a light comedy or a serious mystery. It tried to be both and failed at that attempt. The actresses in this film were a bit better than their male counterparts, but it still felt like it was a filmed version of Clue, without the various rooms. It also had a strange connection to Mel Brooks and his film "Young Frankenstein". When you watched Young Frankenstein, a great film, you knew it was a spoof right from the beginning. In this film, you are not sure if the writer and/or the director want you to consider the film to be a light-hearted romp, or if they intended it to be a serious thriller. I thought it was a bit funny; but not funny enough. And it certainly was not serious enough to be a good mystery. Watch at your own discretion.