Tag: Steffi Duna

The Magnificent Fraud (1939, Robert Florey)

The Magnificent Fraud tells the unlikely tale of an actor on the run who just happens to be in the right place at the right time for the role of a lifetime. Akim Tamiroff’s stage actor’s enjoying a residency of sorts in San Cristobal’s hottest nightclub, one maybe owned by the president’s troubleshooter, Lloyd Nolan. We get to see Tamiroff do Cyrano, then Napoleon. The latter performance is a particular plot point because it’s where Nolan convinces his co-conspirators, Robert Warwick and Frank Reicher, they should hire Tamiroff to impersonate the president.

See, the president—also Tamiroff—is on his deathbed, only there’s an American lawyer on the way with ten million bucks for the local economy, and the deal would die with him. President Tamiroff’s a benevolent, progressive leader who just happens to employ Chicago fixer Nolan. Tamiroff’s sure Nolan’s secretly got a heart of gold, and he plays good interference against Warwick and Reicher.

No wonder he’s nimble at throwing in with them to ensure the money comes through. President Tamiroff’s actual chosen successor, George Zucco, is too honest.

Complicating matters is the banker, played by Ralph Forbes. Forbes just happens to be engaged to Patricia Morison, who just happens to be Mary Boland’s niece, and Boland just happens to be an old flame of president Tamiroff’s. Surely actor Tamiroff’s not going to be able to get away with an impersonation, not when French policeman Ernest Cossart arrives—after tracking Tamiroff across the globe for seven years—ready to take him back to stand trial for murder in Paris.

It sure would complicate things if Cossart knew both the president and the actor.

And it sure would complicate things if ladies man Nolan set his sights on Morison, only to discover she’s probably the only girl he’d ever be happy with and, even worse, he’s the only guy she’ll ever be happy with.

After a somewhat bumpy first act—establishing Nolan as a lousy fella to regular gal Steffi Dina (a dancer at the club) and some lazy costume choices. San Cristobal’s citizenry seems to wear whatever was left in the Paramount costume department after the Westerns got their pick. All of the credited parts are European or North Americans (ahem, very white North Americans and Europeans), and all but four are playing indigenous peoples. Surely, the film wouldn’t make it more awkward with some brown makeup on people’s bodies.

Well, it sure would, actually. And then there’s the detail of Nolan only cheating on local girl Duna with the white girl tourists. He sure seems like a heel, especially when he sets his sights on Morison. Their romance subplot—played straight but with comedic timing—ends up unexpectedly anchoring Fraud. Tamiroff’s mesmerizing, whether he’s playing it straight, monologuing in character (in character), or doing a bit. He and Boland are delightful together. So there’s never anything to worry about when he’s around.

So scoring with the entirely superfluous romance subplot is a plus for Fraud, as is Cossart’s subplot trying to investigate the palace and the supposedly infirm Tamiroff. See, Boland tagging along was an intentional surprise on her part; entertaining an old romantic friend wasn’t in Nolan’s scheme.

Fraud’s a speedy eighty-ish minutes, with director Florey keeping Gilbert Gabriel and Walter Ferris’s screenplay moving at a good pace. Florey doesn’t take much time with anything (except when he and cinematographer William C. Mellor give Morison some extra attention during a moonlight mooning with Nolan), but he gives time to the entire cast. If Fraud’s got a pacing problem, it’s in Florey letting Tamiroff, Nolan, Boland, and Cossart (in particular) more time than they need to get through their deliveries. And James Smith’s cuts then lag. They probably could’ve cut out four minutes just by snipping the dead air.

But the cast’s charming (or doing great work, in Tamiroff’s case); it evens out.

Magnificent Fraud’s a good time with a show-stopping performance from Tamiroff.

This post is part of the Party Like It’s 1899 Blogathon hosted by Erica of Poppity Talks Classic Film.

Dancing Pirate (1936, Lloyd Corrigan)

Dancing Pirate has multiple awkward points: the omnipresent brownface, the astounding action conclusion (not astounding in a good way), or just the charmless lead performances. The film tells the tale of Bostonian Charles Collins, who—on his way to visit a relation—gets kidnapped and taken aboard a pirate ship. Hence the title.

Collins is a superb dancer and a mediocre but not incompetent singer. Unfortunately, he’s also one of the least charismatic people ever to get a close-up, certainly in a classic Hollywood production. There’s a reason he didn’t become a movie star, and it’s patently obvious from the first shot in the movie. Collins is teaching the waltz to 1820’s Boston society, complete with the lead putting their hand on the follow’s waist, which causes quite a comical stir.

That scene succeeds thanks to the general comedic timing and uncredited Ellen Lowe, a dance student infatuated with Collins (for his dancing, not his acting), rather than her old man husband.

Then Collins has a well-choreographed and well-directed tap number, which gets him some goodwill. It’s like Pirate is saying at least he can dance.

Pretty soon, he’s kidnapped and aboard the pirate ship, which sails down under South America and up to California, which is still a Spanish colony. They couldn’t take the Panama Canal because too early for it too.

When the pirates go ashore for water, Collins sees his opportunity to escape.

Intercut with the pirates’ arrival is the reaction of the nearby residents. They’re freaking out because they have nowhere to go, and they’re assuming a full invasion. The film immediately introduces Luis Alberni as the “voice” of the people. He’s great. He sort of disappears in the second half, but he’s excellent when he’s around. He’s also from Catalonia, the closest the main cast is getting to Spanish.

Alberni leads people to the mayor’s house, where they have to wake him up. Frank Morgan plays the mayor. Frank Morgan is not Mexican or Spanish but doesn’t wear brownface, so it’s hard to fault him. He’s fun. While he’s not great, primarily because of the script, he’s often a lot of fun.

One thing leads to another and the only pirate coming to invade turns out to be Collins, who thinks he’s just escaping. Luckily for him, the mayor’s beautiful daughter (Hungarian Steffi Duna) wants dancing lessons, even if they’re from a pirate.

There’s a lot of action, a couple big synchronized dance numbers, and a fair amount of comedy. Collins will eventually end up in a love triangle with Duna and Victor Varconi (also Hungarian and wearing brownface). Varconi’s a military official out of Monterey who shows up unexpectedly and messes up Collins’s hopes for escape. Though the townsfolk aren’t too sure about Collins, Varconi’s presence may keep him alive depending on the circumstances.

Besides Collins being a charisma vacuum, Duna has a similar effect. She’s got more presence than Collins, but mostly in comparison. It’s also not a very good part. Pirate’s got a slight screenplay and a short runtime (eighty-ish minutes). The film constantly leverages the comedy, either with Morgan or Alberni, to move things along. And it almost always succeeds thanks to them.

The film’s early Technicolor—with gorgeous photography from William V. Skall—but director Corrigan stages the big dance numbers at night, shot day-for-night, and so all the costume colors are muted. They’re missed opportunities.

Corrigan’s not great with the actors. They do better when they don’t need direction, like Morgan, Alberni, and, to some extent, Varconi.

Technically, there’s not much notable other than Skall’s color photography. Archie Marshek’s editing is bad, but in a way to suggest there aren’t better shots, especially not for the Collins close-ups. The music—uncredited Alfred Newman—is also disappointing. He uses Yankee Doodle Dandy as Collins’s theme, which makes the cultural appropriation, brownface, white savior smorgasbord of an action finale even trippier—but it’s also just not a good theme. It doesn’t time well for how Collins moves.

Still, Pirate’s more successful than not; Collins isn’t unlikeable in his badness, while Duna’s certainly sympathetic. Then the supporting cast is all fine. It’s incredible how far a picture can get on great color, good dancing, and solid jokes.