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 has the dubious privilege of being an onlooker at her own funeral. She then proceeds to navigate the tricky path of revealing that she is still alive, whilst probing into the identity of the charred remains buried in her place.

What had the potential to be a taut, dark murder mystery, simply implodes into an implausibly jaunty, 'Oh, you're alive!' caper. The humour is never sufficiently strong or consistent to transform 'Bury me Dead' into black comedy and the frequent, distracting flashbacks come across as the antics of a director fixated by a new toy that he can't resist playing with.

Belatedly, there is at least the contrivance of mounting tension, as dithering detective, Charles Lane launches into an 'I didn't get where I am today' style criminology lecture instead of immediately responding to a rapidly escalating, life threatening situation.

This special deluxe edition comes with ultra low definition blurry print, numerous missing frames (probably lurking down the back of a sofa near you) plus...... a SNAP! CRACKLE! And POP! Soundtrack, occasionally veering towards pneumatic drill territory! Aah, they don't make 'em like that anymore.

Sort of a comedy and sort of a drama.

June Lockhart is a dead woman resurrected in "Bury Me Dead," a 1947 B movie also starring Cathy O'Donnell and Hugh Beaumont.

Barbara Carlin (Lockhart) is believed dead from a fire in her stable, but she shows up after her funeral in her attorney's Beaumont) car. Obviously someone else burned in the fire.

Barbara thinks her sister Rusty (O'Donnell) might be the dead woman, but Rusty is home. She makes it clear that she's disappointed to see Barbara alive.

Barbara believes her estranged husband Rod (Mark Daniels) might have tried to kill her. They have a bizarre setup. He actually has a girlfriend, Helen (Sonia Darrin) who works for a prize fighter, George (George Mandley). Barbara is feigning interest in George to keep him away from the naive and vulnerable Rusty.

There are both funny and sinister parts of this film, which can't decide what it is. Despite this, it's entertaining since both the humor and drama are well done. Enjoyable.

B-movie fans are constantly filtering amid the dross in search of hidden gems and eccentric oddities in which verve and creativity peek through the routine cracks of low-budget filmmaking. Here's one really obscure title that fits the bill.

With a great premise reminiscent of DOA, this could have been a stunning noir. Unfortunately, some skeptic decided to play it mainly for laughs, not unlike many B thrillers of the 30's and 40s. Nonetheless, below the surface hides the bizarre interlocking relationships of lust among the characters across class lines, with Cathy O'Donnell's scheming nympho teenager a standout (reminiscent of the Martha Vickers character in the Big Sleep). There's also a more exotic temptress in a smaller role, as well as a muscular deadhead boxer to lure the posh ladies of the cast.

Of course, the giveaway is the presence of John Alton, whose luminous expressionist photography is again highly experimental and at times breathtaking. He combined with director Vorhaus for another hidden gem, The Amazing Dr X (aka the Spiritualist).

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.