This film series is called Blondie, just like the Chic Young comic strip it’s based upon, and yet with the exception of the strip’s first two years (out of 80), the main character has been Dagwood Bumstead. So what, if anything, makes Blondie herself an interesting eponymous housewife? Well, consider her up there. It’s clear that – Wait. That’s the wrong Blondie. Hold up a sec…
Okay, that’s our Blondie! Now where was I?...Her character, right. Well, there’s really not much to say. It’s amazing how, in my mind, sitcoms have never found much of interest for their housewives to do. Seemingly, they’ve always been the level-headed foils to their husbands’ exaggerated idiocies. Even good sitcoms, like “The Simpsons,” fall victim to this. Seventy years of boring housewife characters…It’s pretty depressing.But moving on to our movie for the day, Blondie Goes Latin…In all honesty, this is the best Blondie movie I’ve seen so far. Following directly after the worst entry, I think I’m either getting whiplash or Stockholm syndrome. The film was made by entirely the same crew as Blondie Plays Cupid, so perhaps they actually learned from their mistakes the last time out. Anyone with faith in artists has to believe that. That means this entry devotes nearly its entire running time to its own unique premise, using series formula as a tool without being slavishly devoted to it. In fact, for as idiosyncratic as this entry is, it really perfects the Blondie formula, creating a farce that is far more logical and tightly plotted than ever before.
Just as a previous entry, Blondie Has Servant Trouble, toyed briefly with the horror genre, so Blondie Goes Latin toys with the musical genre. I’ve already said my peace about my general difficulty with the musical numbers in the Andy Hardy movies, but I’m not entirely opposed to the genre. On their own goofy terms, musicals can be fun and exciting. Blondie Goes Latin fully dedicates itself to its musical underpinnings.
As said, this entry is decidedly disinterested in existing Blondie formula when it doesn’t fit the current needs. As such, there is no paperboy opening gag whatsoever. The traditional morning sequence at the Bumstead homestead is promptly cut short in favor of shuttling the family off on their latest vacation. Wait, another vacation?! Dagwood’s quickly descended into Homeric (Simpsonian) casual employment, a job position that doesn’t interfere with the needs of the writers. Ah, but it seems this time this is a business trip…of sorts, as Dagwood’s boss J.C. Dithers has requested the whole Bumstead clan accompany him on a South American cruise, as the man desperately needs company on his vacation, but isn’t about to ask his own wife, oh Lordie no. And don’t worry, gag mongers, in his rush to reach the cab, Dagwood runs over their long-suffering mailman, fulfilling that franchise obligation.
The Bumsteads board a massive cruise ship, that perfect self-contained setting for farces. They reach their stateroom, adjoined by Mr. Dithers’ stateroom. Everything seems to be developing with a complete minimum of plot complications when Dithers receives a plot complication telegram. It is from a Mr. Hithelgtstprort…Hoggensprang…hold on, I’ll get it…Mr. Henderpost (there we are), one of Dithers’ countless business partners, who needs to meet with a company representative right away to settle a certain land deal, the details of which are nonessential. Someone will have to go back on shore and miss out on the vacation, and that someone is Dagwood. There is a lengthy tearful farewell effectively played for laughs, with Daisy the dog crying human tears (actually, that seems a little “body horror” to me), and a slightly anthropomorphized steam whistle moaning – I can’t describe that, but it’s a good gag.
Dagwood runs for the gangplank, just as a porter heads up the gangplank with a large drum set, the effects of an off screen-drummer who shall not be making the voyage. This is the one really inexcusable story contrivance, a bit of hideously ridiculous, Roger Rabbit slapstick necessary for the plot to continue. That is, Dagwood collides with the porter, comes into possession of the drums, and, overcome with a strangely characteristic ADD distraction, opts to race the drums down to the ship’s theater level rather than head back to shore. This is all somewhat awkward, because Dagwood has to stay on the ship, but what follows somehow manages to make up for this stupidity.
A ten-piece Latin band has set up in the theater, band singer Lovely Nelson (Ruth Terry) arguing over the lack of a drummer. When Dagwood tumbles down the stairs with the drums, the band won’t take “no” for an answer, and set him up to play despite his protestations. Since this entry is secretly a musical, any possible opportunity for a song will not be avoided, and at least there is a band present to provide an in-universe justification for such detours. The band responds to Dagwood’s pleas by singing a song I gather is called “You Don’t Play a Drum, You Beat It.” As is common in musicals, this number is wild, spontaneous, and full of perfectly-written lyrics made up on the spot. It’s all rather upbeat, the sort of 1940s big band swing stuff people to this day retain a certain affection for. Dagwood himself manages to drum with surprising proficiency, possibly a hidden talent of actor Arthur Lake. And really, this song is fun enough, it makes up for its plot function purpose of keeping Dagwood on the ship. And can you believe I’m praising a song from 1941 that exists as plot cement?
With the song over, Dagwood has genre permission to run out and resume the storyline. He discovers the shore miles away, himself trapped on the ship but unable to return to his wife and boss. You know, I like this premise. It’s solid and simple enough to justify everything that follows pretty easily.
The filmmakers first milk the premise in a way that reminds me of Buster Keaton’s The Navigator, with Dagwood and Blondie wandering around, each barely missing the other. Dagwood is the first to realize the other is there, at which point he runs off to seek protection with Lovely. Meanwhile a fellow traveler – saucy Manuel Rodriguez (Tito Guizar) – learns from Dithers that Blondie is traveling without her husband. This looks like a job for a horny, sexually immoral Latino!
Baby Dumpling has little to do in this entry, which is fine and well with me. His one big scene conforms to the new musical format, as every major actor (somehow excusing Dithers’ Jonathan Hale) has to have a big musical number. Dumpling aimlessly wanders the ship and discovers a young, toothless Little Girl Singer and Piano Player (Janet Burston, and that is her credit listing) playing the piano, accompanied by a dog that rather resembles Daisy. The two kids chat a little, and the very first line of dialogue that vaguely sounds like a decent song title quickly snowballs into an actual song, “I Hate Music Lessons.” Not only is the nameless girl musically talented, naturally, but Dumpling himself somehow manages to intuit the exact same spur-of-the-moment lyrics as she. A creepy little dolly watches over the singing duo, and the movie really icks me out by emphasizing this grotesque thing. The two dogs dance around on their hind legs, and – Hold up!...Daisy has a penis! Oh geez, why do I notice such things? I guess Lassie’s not the only movie hound who “played in drag.” Man, my whole worldview is shattered.
Oh, that scene is the most useless musical moment in this picture.
Dagwood explains his bizarre predicament to Lovely in her stateroom, which happens to be located directly next door to Dithers’ stateroom for maximum farcical effectiveness. The movie takes advantage of these possibilities, as Dagwood emerges just as Blondie passes by. Blondie spies Dagwood, and instead of spelling an end to wackiness, this simply increases the wackiness, as Blondie faints dead away and Dagwood is compelled to (wo)manhandle her back to her stateroom. Here comes Dithers, retrieving the shoe Dagwood dropped! Both Dagwood and Lovely circle around the various passageways in the adjoining staterooms, a good little routine that keeps them away from Dithers.
Blondie wakes with news of Dagwood’s presence, which Dithers discounts as a hallucination, brought on by seasickness, homesickness and severe mental problems. Blondie decides to try a ship-to-shore phone call to reach Dagwood at home. The jig might be up, except Lovely listens to this debate from the hallway, and so manages to dial Blondie’s stateroom ahead of her own call. I cannot debate the technical accuracy of 1940s maritime technology, but the end result is that Dagwood speaks on the phone with Blondie, convincing her despite some fun farcical developments that he is indeed back at home. Blondie gets a really clever line: “You sound just like you’re in the next room.”
This is the sequence that keeps on giving, as it’s still not done! Dithers has a run in with Dagwood in the hall, and he follows Blondie’s lead by fainting. Dagwood manages to scramble comically as Dumpling returns from his little musical pointlessness. Blondie rouses Dithers, who rejects his holy vision of Dagwood, just as she did.
That concludes the central farcical portion of this tale, a bit of filmmaking that instantly won me over to this movie. So now it’s back to the theater level, for a little more work on the musical front. The captain berates Lovely’s band for being short a drummer, so she has to rush back to her stateroom and pressgang Dagwood into service. To provide the ship’s audience entertainment while the singer is away, the band gets Manuel to perform. It turns out Manuel is also musically gifted, just like how everyone in a kung fu movie knows kung fu. He sings a romantic tune on his guitar, lyrics all in Spanish, all the while eyeing Blondie seductively. The effect of this song isn’t to win Blondie over, but to force her to flee upstairs to the deck with longing for her departed Dagwood.
Manuel follows Blondie upstairs and offers to reprise his song in English. She accepts this, though it makes little difference to me, since I rarely pay attention to the lyrics…and I speak Spanish anyway. About halfway through this second iteration of the song (surprisingly non-redundant), Blondie discerns the lyrics, as you do in a musical, so she begins to sing along with Manuel. Wow, Blondie has a good singing voice! Blondie’s actress, Penny Singleton, is nothing new to the musical genre, having appeared as a brunette in earlier MGM musicals…Wait, Blondie’s not blonde?! Shock and gasp! Don’t tell those fun-rapists at the Hays Office! – I’m pretty sure dyed hair is one of their priggish taboos.
You remember those gigantic sandwiches they briefly toyed with in the first two entries? Well, those sandwiches are back, now for the first time in live action presented as huge enough to actually be funny. Dagwood creates one of these gastronomical monstrosities in Lovely’s stateroom when Lovely arrives to ask for a drummer. She stands in mortal hoagie horror. Now, Dagwood is to farce as Blondie is to musical, so he needs an unlikely disguise if he is to appear on stage. How about a frilly dress?
But all nutty farces must come to a surprisingly early end, as Blondie sees the ship’s steward lugging Dagwood’s gargantuan grinder, his heroically-huge hero, his nuclear-sized sub, his XXL BLT – boy, I sure hope they don’t do more hoagie humor in the later entries, ‘cause I’ve kind of sandwiched myself into a corner here. Blondie turned the decks on this double-deckered delicacy, finding Dagwood shirtless with Lovely. And while this discovery puts an end to Dagwood’s hiding hijinks, it signals the start of a surprisingly affecting dramatic story thread, with Blondie seriously questioning her marriage. It’s rather amazing the sort of affection you feel for cartoonish characters when a series runs long enough. This is one of the true joys of sequels.
Blondie tucks Baby Dumpling in to bed, singing yet a third iteration of Manuel’s romantic ditty. She is clearly sad and conflicted, and this musical performance marks out Penny Singleton’s best moment so far in the franchise. Interesting to imagine what she might have accomplished had she not been shackled to a series of B-movie programmers.
Oh, that business deal Dagwood was trying to get to in the first place? The one on land? Nothing ultimately bad can happen in these movies, so Dithers learns via Manuel (who’s connected somehow to Mr. Henderpost) that his offer was a con. So it’s a good thing Dagwood missed it.
Even though his ruse is over, Lovely still convinces Dagwood to report to the theater wearing the dress, because surely that will justify his actions to Blondie (and because cross-dressing’s always funny, right?). Dragwood – er, excuse me, Dagwood makes for a very unconvincing woman, even worse than Jack Lemmon or Tony Curtis. He weeps copiously as he takes to the drums, which is the cue for the band to do a big musical number themed around crying. This is another fun swing tune, and it’s good enough that the movie backs off to allow it to play out in full. You see what can be accomplished when the whole plot isn’t crammed into the final ten minutes? I’m talking to you, Blondie Plays Cupid!
Blondie notices Dag in drag, and decides to make him envious by romancing Manuel. She turns to him right there on the crowded dance floor as requests that he “make love” to her. Movie characters could say that in 1941? Maybe back then it meant dancing, because that’s what Manuel proceeds to do. He performs another song as well…Okay, the movie actually continues on for at least another ten minutes at this point, but a quick explanation from Lovely is all its take to resolve the remaining plot threads. That means the real focus at this point is on musical numbers, one after another, all in a fashion that rather resembles a victory lap. You know those movies that end with the whole cast just letting loose for a big musical number, even when it’s not a musical? This is what goes on here. Dagwood and Blondie reconcile, and they dance while the swing band plays – there is a drum on the soundtrack while Dagwood dances, surely a mistake of some sort. As a final gag Dagwood tumbles through the snare drum, and the movie makes its exit, leaving me in an astoundingly generous mood.
As with the horror-tinged Blondie Has Servant Trouble (which I didn’t like), there is no way the series can reuse the musical genre underpinnings on a regular basis. The next entries will have to return to the regular family sitcom format in some way, or mine yet another genre for what it’s worth. Still, the farcical storyline (a Blondie series hallmark) shows marked improvement in this entry, suggesting improvements in the future. For with a programmed series like Blondie, it is entirely possible for the series to improve, reversing the regular assessment that all sequels are worthless.
Related posts:
• No. 1 Blondie (1938)
• No. 2 Blondie Meets the Boss (1939)
• No. 3 Blondie Takes a Vacation (1939)
• No. 4 Blondie Brings Up Baby (1939)
• No. 5 Blondie on a Budget (1940)
• No. 6 Blondie Has Servant Trouble (1940)
• No. 7 Blondie Plays Cupid (1940)
• No. 9 Blondie in Society (1941)
• No. 10 Blondie Goes to College (1942)
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