Let me precede my usual Range Busters bluster by throwing a bone to the director responsible for 80% of the Range Busters’ movies: S. Roy Luby.
Talk about a workhorse! He started out in film as an animator, before it was cool, doing Mutt and Jeff cartoons starting in 1918. This occupied him well throughout the 20s, until the 30s opened up a new career path – editing. This filled out another decade in the man’s life, as he put together footage for well over 100 B-westerns, truly learning the ins and outs of the genre better than any man could ever hope for. This experience led him to directing, limited almost entirely to the Range Busters movies. There isn’t much to say about the man as an auteur, or a filmmaker, but I find that back story somewhat interesting.
I also love S. Roy Luby’s mammoth list of pseudonyms: Roy Claire, Roy S. Luby, J. Roy Luby, Roy Luby, Sol Luby, and Russell Roy.
Not that Luby, under whatever moniker you prefer, was all that terribly good a director. Oh, we was perfectly adequate for the generic B-western thing the Range Busters stood for, but when the series tried to bust out of that range, things would go screwy. Consider Saddle Mountain Roundup for one. Here we have something that’s equal part western and Charlie Chan murder mystery. Now, I know I invoke the name of Chan far too often in these enlightened post-Chan blogs, but in this case hear me out. Sure, Saddle Mountain Roundup is Chan-like in that it’s a (tiresome, stuporous) murder mystery, with cheap clues and a twist the audience is never permitted to guess at in advance. Sure, but there’s far more films of the 30s and 40s that use the same approach.
But wait, there’s more! The Charlie Chan movies were racist – oh, were they ever! – necessary (and sadly) so, in their outdated consideration of Asian Americans as nothing more than a source of “wise sayings” and linguistic incompetence. Well, Saddle Mountain Roundup mimics Chan even in its very specific form of racism. To quote a line from the former Fugitive Valley, “We haven’t got a Chinaman’s chance.”
This anti-Chinese racism thing is entirely due to one character, Fang Way (that’s the filmmakers’ idea of a Chinese name), played by Willie Fung. Like an Asian Stepin Fetchitt, Fung’s Fang is an example of a non-white actor in prewar Hollywood selling out his race for the benefit of a career. It’s sickening, and mightily difficult to watch now in 2010. Take for instance Fang’s first line of dialogue, uttered a mere minute into the piece: “Me vely solly me, cow held eat vely much.” I am serious. “Me vely solly” is actually repeated as a catch phrase throughout the picture, all in the sort of abrasive nasal sing-song, ching-chong pseudo-Asianness I most associate with Ken Jeong’s role in The Hangover (and there, at least, it was a joke on outdated cultural stereotypes).
A few more choice Fangisms, though it’s not like his vocabulary is exactly varied: “Me catchum wood on head.” “Vely solly, me catchum stew.” (It seems, due to ignorance even of ignorant racism, the scriptwriters are now confusing Asians with Native Americans, Columbus style.) “Me no know. Me heardum shot, me runnun to see.” (See?) “Night bossee, he go cully west. Me ting he no want nobody see.” Then, when they’re completely scraping the barrel: “Fang Way solly, Confucius say.” Confucius say?!
I get this hateful Fang Way stuff off my chest now, so I can approach Saddle Mountain Roundup purely as a hybrid western-cum-mystery. A “mystern,” if you will, or a “westery.” Eh, those are lame.
The ranch in need of protection today is Harper Ranch, home to old man Magpie Harper (John Elliot), so named because he owns a magpie. Apparently, the ranch has been suffering mishaps, but because the exposition is put in the mush-mouthed trap of Fang Way, I cannot be certain – Okay, no more Fang Way hang-ups! But for whatever reason, Magpie fears for his life, what with proto-giallo would-be killers creeping all about, and to that end, he drafts a series of over-coded letters for the Range Busters to find, all Da Vinci Code style.
Like all hour-long mysteries of the era, Saddle Mountain Roundup takes altogether too much time setting up its obvious murder victim – it takes about 25% of the film before Elliot finally cacks it, boringly shot from the doorway. These scenes add little to the film’s value, meaning it’s just less time for the Range Busters. They also boast Luby’s insufficiency at directing anything resembling suspense or horror – the tone mysteries often strive for. He even employs the worst night photography I’ve ever seen: fans of 60s cinema are well aware of the glorious “night filter” which allowed daylight cinematography to pass for night. Well, here, they don’t even use night filter! It’s just all obviously daytime, with dialogue alone telling us it’s night. Man, that’s some Ed Woodian shit going on there.
Finally it’s time to meet the Busters, in a post-horror scene of jaunty, carefree singing – it’s the sort of awful tone-deaf transition one might have expected from Sweeney Todd. Crash Corrigan (Ray “Crash” Corrigan) and Dusty King (John “Dusty” King, what lazy names) warble “The Little Brown Jug,” a drinking song which has nothing to do with the context it’s sung in – cowboys saddling their horses and rounding up cattle.
The song ends in time for exposition. The Range Busters are Magpie’s cattlemen, charged with selling the cattle as well as solving his murder. Accomplishing the former shall be Alibi Terhune (Max “Alibi” Terhune, and yes, his character is also called “Terhune” now). This means he’ll be transporting a sum of cash, wanted by the varied and sundry villains on hand (but not the main killer, ‘cause mystery, remember). Crash and Dusty, meanwhile, ride out to Harper Ranch.
They don’t get there right away, as first they have to set up a campfire for the “night,” and sing another song (naturally). This ditty, “The Doggone Dogie Got Away” (which concerns the Old West’s perpetual confusion between cows and hounds), was actually written by John King. Not just a “talented” actor, rider and baritone, King could even write his own tinny, clamorous serenades. As a lyricist…well…they just repeat that title a whole lot.
Okay, now they reach Harper Ranch. Here we meet the suspects in the case, who also comply with the character types more associated with B-westerns. There’s the obvious villain in the black hat (psst, he’s the killer – amazingly, this film seems to think that eventual reveal is actually a twist), here played by Freeman the coroner (Jack Mulhall).
There’s also an outlaw/foreman named Blackie (George Chesebro), whose own black hat and willingness to shoot randomly at the Range Busters purely to satisfy genre dictates mark him off as a potential villain. He actually Freeman’s coconspirator cowboy, and the “second murder” all mystery stories seem to demand, no matter how little the in-film characters seem to care about all second murders.
Then there’s Nancy Henderson (Lita Conway, and do none of these western leading ladies have more than two or three career credits?!). She’s the standard western love interest for Crash and Dusty to battle over, and sing towards. As usual, the girl’s just an excuse for isolated scenes of romance, easily inserted independent of the central story. She’s less important here than in most series entries. (She also has a father, Jack.)
Oh yeah, and let’s not forget Fang Way!
Getting the necessary love song thing out of the way, Dusty woos Nancy with “That Little Green Valley,” another King-penned tune. It concerns a hypothetical “little green valley” where they will settle down following resolution of the plotline, given Dusty doesn’t just ditch Nancy like every other woman he’s ever romanced (he will). In a rare moment of visual interest during a song interlude, we are treated to still images of valleys and cows. Well, it’s a little closer to being cinematic, because usually these songs are simply someone standing still.
In a film that is so lazy in adopting the language of horror, it doesn’t even count as half-assed – more like quarter-assed – there is at least one element that is still undeniably, eternally terrifying: Elmer the Killer Doll! Alibi’s erstwhile ventriloquist dummy, so far in The Range Busters (unlike The Three Mesquiteers) rather innocuous, returns to his reign of terror, and threatens my very soul.
First up, Alibi rides along, obediently following his foul doll’s every command. The cattle cash is stashed up Elmer’s ass, a particular paraphilia I’m glad we weren’t witness to. Following hard currency buggery, Alibi admits “I love you like a son, Elmer.” It’s supposed to be charming, which makes it all the more terrifying. Then Elmer loses his wig, which flies right off into the Uncanny Valley (presumably next to Dusty’s Green Valley).
The assorted bad men under Blackie’s behest take Alibi prisoner, which is remarkably simple to do when the plot demands it. Tied up in their villainous shack lair, one gunslinger takes control of the dread Elmer, who then speaks to him completely of his own volition! We’re asked to believe that it’s Alibi’s “ventriloquism” at work again, which doesn’t come one whit to explaining how Elmer can move on his own, and is holding a knife! AAAHH! “That thing’s haunted,” the nameless henchman shrieks, the first time anyone on screen has agreed with me about Elmer.
Meanwhile, Crash and Dusty are investigatin’ the spooky ol’ Magpie place in their own inimitable fashion. Well, Crash is off on a rather go-nowhere errand to retrieve Blackie for some damn reason (this is where we find out he’s been murdered). Dusty, following a somewhat unique “X marks the spot” hint, follows a trail of Magpie’s X-shaped match scratches all over his house. This leads him to a hidden mine shaft underneath the house, it the source of Magpie’s health as well as his hiding place for it. And only Magpie knew of this shaft, which is precisely why it makes little or no sense for the tunnels to lead miles away, straight into an unexamined wall in the shack lair.
Meanwhile, Crash gets in one of those generic horse chase scenes every old timey western foists upon its audience. He escapes.
Dusty finds Alibi’s captors already spooks to the very precipice of their mortality by Elmer’s ghastly visage. This makes it a simple matter for Dusty himself to pretend as a ghost from within the shaft, oh shifty Dusty. The goons all race off, as close to a cartoon as live action can get – that is, the only thing lacking is a human-shaped dust cloud dust cloud they leave behind.
Reunited, Dusty and Alibi traipse back through the mines, looking scared at something ahead that is not Elmer. (I mean, look at that freakish doll there!) What they see is the killer. Oogity-boogity! The killer (Freeman, that is) shoots out Dusty’s lamp; Dusty shoots out Freeman’s lamp; they’re trapped in the darkness with Elmer Sneezeweed! Overcome with puppet terror, Freeman flees free, out into the “night” sky.
Where Crash just happens to be mopin’ about on his horse. So as Freeman rides off, Crash gets one final climactic horse chase – that’s the problem with a one-suspect mystery: no matter how many badduns you got throughout the body of it, the final “boss” cannot offer up something fun like a shootout for your finale. Alibi gets one GREAT westernism in for this sequence: “I ain’t plum blind, but the feller chasin’ him’s Crayash!” Anyway, Crash does his famous horse-jumping stunt to take Freeman down, and the roll Freeman over to discover that the killer is – Freeman! (Okay, I kinda spoiled that one.)
Villains dispatched, and Magpie’s fortune bequeathed to Nancy (as a consolation for the fact the Range Busters shall leave her to rot as an old maid), our heroes ride off into the sunset – which, considering how poorly night’s been portrayed here, is itself also midday.
And so ends Saddle Mountain Roundup.
Related posts:
• No. 4 Trail of the Silver Spurs (1941)
• No. 8 Fugitive Valley (1941)
• No. 10 Tonto Basic Outlaws (1941)
• No. 11 Underground Rustlers (1941)
• No. 13 Rock River Renegades (1942)
• No. 16 Arizona Stagecoach (1942)
• No. 17 Texas to Bataan (1942)
• No. 18 Trail Riders (1942)
• No. 20 Haunted Ranch (1943)
• No. 24 Bullets and Saddles (1943)
No comments:
Post a Comment