Despite three Charlie Chan movies having been made through 1929, the series didn’t truly start until 1931, with Fox’s Charlie Chan Carries On. This movie was a tremendous success, inspiring the creation of a franchise. Considering the (highly racist) reasons for the previous Chan films’ failures, it is easy to pinpoint why Charlie Chan Carries On did so well – they cast a white guy.
Swedish actor Warren Oland had already specialized in playing ethnic characters by this point, for well over ten years. This is the extent of the racial discomfort in silent era Hollywood, where you could create a career out of replacing non-whites that…that…I’m digging a hole here, aren’t I? Interestingly, considering the Charlie Chan character was created as a response to the negative stereotypes of figures such as Fu Manchu, Oland’s immediate yellowface work preceding Chan was as Fu Manchu. So we’re talking about one tremendously sensitive artiste here. Oland consciously does a new version of the character, "a deliberate attempt by the studio to downplay such an uppity attitude in a Chinese detective.” It only figures the public would reward this – idiots.
For all I’ve said about the man, I cannot comment yet on Orland’s performances, as I have not seen him in Charlie Chan Carries On. In fact, no one’s seen that movie in however many decades. Yup, this is another lost Charlie Chan flick – never to be seen again. With one exception, the first five Orland Chan films are all lost, which is a major impediment to understanding how the series got off the ground.
And just how does a lost movie get a 7.8 rating on IMDb?
So how am I even able to write about Charlie Chan Carries On anyway? Well, you see, there was a Spanish language remake…Well, kinda. In the early sound era, technical limitations prevented filmmakers from devising clever little techniques such as subtitles or dubbing. That means if you wanted foreigners to see your movie, you filmed a separate movie for those foreigners. Maybe your actors would memorize the lines phonetically in some other language. Maybe the Spanish-speaking janitorial crew in the studio would fill in to re-film that day’s scenes over the nighttime while all the proper, salaried, Caucasian actors were at home getting high on goofballs. The same thing happened with Universal’s Dracula. Hell, this was even done with silent movies (which don’t even use spoken dialogue), which makes absolutely no sense to me.
The movie I’m really reviewing today is the Spanish-language Eran trece (There Were Thirteen). It provides a reasonable idea of what Charlie Chan Carries On was like, since the same script was used (translated by whatever 1930s Babelfish was available). Here is an actual online copy of the English script, to a movie no one’s seen since the 30s. Enjoy!
A few cosmetic changes were made to the new film, such as the addition of highly redundant songs (for those spicy Latins). And character Elmer Benow had his name changed to Frank Benbow – for what little difference it makes, considering I never heard (or read – subtitles) either name uttered. So…yeah. Now, I can’t quite justify critiquing the acting, directing, cinematography, etc. (neither the credits or IMDb list this crew anyway), but the narrative is fair game.
From the get go, this movie is a damn sight better than Behind That Curtain, since the immediate emphasis here is on Scotland Yard detectives rather than the insipid suspects they are disinterested in. Meet Inspector Duff (Rafael Calvo), spending his day in the office as he always does while waiting for a murder mystery to start: by yakking on endlessly about his Honolulu buddy Charlie Chan. What, you thought we’d be seeing Charlie Chan soon in this Charlie Chan movie? Nah, we gotta wait until half way through – again, that’s still an improvement on before, which had Chan in basically the same walk on role as Judi Dench in Shakespeare in Love.
A phone call alerts Duff about the requisite, plot-starting murder mystery. It seems an American millionaire, Louis Potter (played by a dummy), has been strangled in his sleep while traveling the world with a tour group. Duff reports to the local London hotel to amass the narrative’s designated clues, and to meet the various suspects for this entry – the titular thirteen. This is a very talkative movie, as befits 1931, meaning I spent the majority of the picture simply reading subtitles. This is a bit better than Behind That Curtain, but it still ain’t cinematic.
The suspects all gather together in the hotel lobby – this movie rather over-relies upon placing its cast in a locked room so the detective can slowly solve the crime. It happens like three or four times here. The problem with our main cast is that names are rarely uttered, and only half of them are positively identified. Even worse, I have the same problem here as I do with so many poorly cast films – I can’t tell these people apart! Every single male in the tour group looks like the exact same Iberian, with his stocky build, gay little wispy mustache, and greasy, greasy black hair. For my own sake, I’m just going to call all of them Roland.
Despite endless chatty scenes, Duff remains a traditionally inept non-Chan detective, which I am calling now as a franchise trademark. So the case remains unsolved, despite all the gimmicky clues (a belt, bags of stones, keychain, statuettes of those three sin-free monkeys). The tour group is sent on its murderous way, to Nice.
This would be a short movie with our detective lamely giving up, so the killer obliges the plot and commits another murder. A nicely stylish scene depicts one of the few males I can positively distinguish (of course) getting shot to death. Duff gets off his duff and reports, concluding that the dead man Decker…killed himself. Oh man, you are the tool of suicide note-planting murderers! And so the tour group is allowed to move on – again.
Now, I don’t know about you, but I sure as hell would not remain touring the world with a group full of potential little Indians. Nonetheless, this group goes off to…wherever. It’s another hotel lobby set, at any rate, so it must be a little further east into Europe. Duff is here, making another sad little effort to solve the case. He interviews a cute brunette member of the tour group, who claims the murderer is…Jim Maynard. Of course roughly 90% of their names haven’t been uttered, so I’m shocked this reveal has come a mere half hour in. Nope, in actuality this is some guy’s alternate name – at least I’m assured it’s a guy, ‘cause no 30s movie would dare assume a women competent enough to commit murder.
Speaking of incompetency, Duff is present to witness the next murder. This is why I’d neglected to name that cute brunette (never saw her name anyway) – she is shot dead right there in Duff’s useless arms. As for the killer, still remarkably capable of stealth, well, he seems to be something of a precursor to all those giallo black glovers – all shadows, hands and…a revolver in place of a knife.
For all the stink this movie made about keeping the tour group in London after the first murder, they are allowed continued passage almost immediately after these next two murders. Duff sees them off at the train station, and – Uh oh!, do I detect a romantic subplot tumor developing? I do, between a bizarre-looking blonde who is identified in the final few minutes as Elen (Ana Maria Custodio, and forgive the lack of accents), and a slick-haired guy who I can only assume is named Ronald (later evidence indicates this is the oddly-monikered Kennaway – Juan Toreda).
Stock footage, that hallowed old Ed Wood technique, depicts the group’s passage across the earth. Thrill! at poorly grained documentary footage of Egypt, Turkey, and…the L.A. Zoo pretending to be India. Join our non-detective cast for an extended scene on another set, itself pretending to be wherever in the Orient. They must’ve had this set for a while, since these “character” scenes go on and on interminably, to little effect of the plot.
At last, Elen learns via some means I now forget that the killer is called Jim Maynard. In an act of Duffian cleverness, she shrieks this name out at everybody, accomplishing nothing. Well, nothing that benefits Elen, as the murderous Maynard makes an attempt on her life. Due to Kennaway’s developing Hero Sense, Elen is rescued in the nick of time. And even though the tour group now has a lengthy steamer ship passage over to Hawaii, that killer ain’t makin’ no more attempts at killing her. It barely matters, for what little threat Elen poses.
I welcome stock footage of Honolulu, as it affords a nice glimpse into antique surfing techniques. Here, halfway through, we meet Charlie Chan (sixteenth billed Manuel Arbo) clad in traditional Chinese garb and working in his office. It’s odd to see an obviously Hispanic guy pretending to be a Chinese stereotype, squinting his eyes in a vain attempt to appear exotic. His dialogue, now and forevermore in this movie, consists almost entirely of fortune cookie sayings (so-called Chanphorisms), one literally every 30 seconds. This is our franchise hero.
Chan meets with the lowly Duff, Chan now clad in his iconic outfit, as far as I know: a white Panama outfit, black Stetson and bowtie. They discuss the case, puttering around Chan’s police station office, when – The killer shoots Duff. Oh come on, Maynard, that guy was nowhere near solving the case! No matter, Duff is a major-enough character, he is not killed. Rather, Chan takes on the case in Duff’s stead – Ooh, you’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest, Maynard! Indeed, Chan vows to join the tour group on their final steamer ship to San Francisco, and either solve the case before landfall or quit the force.
Chan’s delayed presence among the suspects (ten left, I believe) is an excuse to simply run through the same series of lobby interviews. There is one major way in which this differs from Duff’s detection – aphorisms. Apparently, they make all the difference in Chan’s brilliant career.
The duration of that last paragraph in no way indicates how long that section takes. Just trust me, there’s little else to say there. Ultimately, Chan mulls alone in the lobby, ship but two hours out from San Francisco and the murders still unsolved. Chan has one final trick up his Panama suit sleeve, a scheme to draw out the killer with bait. So he writes a secret letter to every member of the tour group, essentially calling them all out as the killer. No, this isn’t a Murder on the Orient Express scenario, not everyone’s a killer (I wish it were the case). Actually, Chan promises he won’t expose the killer until they dock, another odd sop (ala Behind That Curtain) to preserving dignity in the face of multiple murders.
The suspects all party and sing ridiculously below decks. This is a scene filmed only for the Spanish edition, and it accomplishes nothing. It’s basically just visual chaos, the actors all flailing about for the listless camera, desperately trying to make things exciting. I think they were drunk.
Chan holds one final lobby meeting with all the suspects, then sends them on their way. He then sets the trap, creating a Charlie Chan dummy to draw the killer out (knowing this kill-happy killer will try to kill him). Okay, okay, yeah, yeah, they finally catch Jim Maynard, who turns out to be…Ross. Sure, I’d never mentioned that name above. I wouldn’t have in any situation, because I never heard this name before. And naturally, Ross is one of those greasy Spaniard clones, robbing this conclusion of any meaning it might possibly have. And what of the motive? Er…crime of passion, basically, killing everyone because he was in love. All except for that initial murder, Potter, which we’re meant to believe was a total accident – even mass murderers have the occasional Duff moment.
So Chan is victorious, the guilty party is arrested…How can it feel like the movie’s ended? Ah, we could have that romantic couple I’ve barely mentioned kiss. Sure, it means nothing, but if you’re not paying attention it feels vaguely right. “Finis.”
Okay, so that was a pretty generic little murder mystery, for as little as I know about those things. I’m somewhat perturbed by these Charlie Chan movies, because so far they’re leaving me totally uninspired. They are made with neither distinction nor incompetence; they’re pretty much just rote presentations of their scripts. They’re not even spectacularly offensive – I’m waiting on Oland to help me out there. So…only forty-two to go.
Related posts:
• No. 3 Behind That Curtain (1929)
• No. 5 The Black Camel (1931)
• No. 9 Charlie Chan in London (1934)
• No. 10 Charlie Chan in Paris (1935)
• No. 11 Charlie Chan in Egypt (1935)
• No. 12 Charlie Chan in Shanghai (1935)
• No. 13 Charlie Chan’s Secret (1936)
• No. 14 Charlie Chan at the Circus (1936)
• No. 15 Charlie Chan at the Race Track (1936)
• No. 16 Charlie Chan at the Opera (1936)
• No. 17 Charlie Chan at the Olympics (1937)
• No. 18 Charlie Chan on Broadway (1937)
• No. 19 Charlie Chan at Monte Carlo (1938)
• No. 20 Charlie Chan in Honolulu (1938)
• No. 21 Charlie Chan in Reno (1939)
• No. 22 Charlie Chan at Treasure Island (1939)
• No. 23 City in Darkness (1939)
• No. 24 Charlie Chan in Panama (1940)
• No. 25 Charlie Chan at the Wax Museum (1940)
• No. 26 Charlie Chan’s Murder Cruise (1940)
• No. 27 Murder Over New York (1940)
• No. 28 Dead Men tell (1941)
• No. 29 Charlie Chan in Rio (1941)
• No. 30 Castle in the Desert (1942)
• No. 31 Charlie Chan in the Secret Service (1944)
• No. 32 The Chinese Cat (1944)
• No. 33 Meeting at Midnight (1944)
• No. 34 The Shanghai Cobra (1945)
• No. 35 The Red Dragon (1945)
• No. 36 The Scarlet Clue (1945)
• No. 37 The Jade Mask (1945)
• No. 38 Dark Alibi (1946)
• No. 40 Dangerous Money (1946)
• No. 41 The Trap (1946)
• No. 42 The Chinese Ring (1947)
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