"They Learned About Women," or Grand Slam Hams

"I'm Van!" "I'm Schenck!"
"Our music doesn't stenk!"

"They Learned About Women" was released in 1930, early enough in the evolution of talking pictures that silent film-style title cards were still used to introduce scenes -- and the leading men, who are supposed to be major league baseball players, are wearing eyeliner. But it's important because it's the only full-length talking film made by the team of Gus Van and Joseph Schenck -- Schenck died just after the movie was released.

Van and Schenck were gigantic in vaudeville -- they were a part of the Ziegfeld Follies from 1918-21 -- and their repertoire included songs like "She Knows Her Onions," "Away Down South in Heaven" and the quizzically titled "If You Want to Miss a Heaven on Earth, Stay Out of the South."

In the movie, Van and Schenck are Jerry and Jack, two guys who play baseball for the Blue Sox by day (no night games back then) and play in vaudeville at night. Their performing style was simple -- Van sang bass and Schenck harmonized on tenor while playing piano.  They did a lot of good-humored ethnic comedy numbers, usually poking fun at the Irish and Jews, such as "Dougherty Is the Name":

What plot there is to "They Learned About Women" involves a love story between Jack and Mary (Bessie Love), who are driven apart by the manipulative Daisy (Mary Doran). As if that isn't enough, the hussy also tries to split up Jerry and Jack!

In between there are several musical numbers that take place in the theatre and on the field -- although staging "Shake That Thing" in the team shower probably isn't the best choice. There's also comedy relief from Tom Dugan and Benny Rubin. Dugan would go on to play Hitler in several World War II-era movies, including Ernst Lubitsch's "To Be or Not to Be," and Rubin would become a popular comic second banana for everyone from Jack Benny to the Three Stooges. Their Irish-Jewish interplay actually echoes Van and Schenck's routine -- and as an added bonus, Dugan's character stutters.

During the early talkie era, Bessie Love was one of the busiest actresses at MGM, with a fresh, charming quality. Here's her big number in the picture, performed live on the set as far as I can tell:

You can see the full cast and production info here.

"The Silver Horde," or Alaska Me Anything

"The Silver Horde" is undoubtedly the most detailed film ever made about the process of canning salmon. Granted, there's not a lot of competition -- it's like being the world's oldest cat ballet company.

Aside from that honor, "The Silver Horde" is an interesting look at two stars early in their career -- Joel McCrea and Jean Arthur, more than a decade before they generated genuine heat onscreen in George Stevens' "The More the Merrier."

Based on a story by Rex Beach, adventure novelist and Olympic water polo player (!), "The Silver Horde" takes place in Alaska, where good guy Boyd Emerson (McCrea), who has failed at gold prospecting, takes a job at a salmon fishery run by Cherry Malotte (Evelyn Brent). Times are tough -- the business is struggling because of competition from the ruthless fish financier Fred Marsh (Gavin Gordon). Big Salmon ruins everything!

(Because of the color of their scales, large quantities of salmon are known as a "Silver Horde." End of title explanation.)

We're told that Cherry is a former "hanger-on in a men's camp," if you know what I mean and I think you do, but she has a heart of gold and she has eyes for Boyd. He, on the other hand, is unaware of Cherry's past, but he only has eyes for haughty rich girl Mildred Wayland (Arthur, seen at left).

Cherry sends Boyd to Seattle, along with longtime fisherman Balt (Louis Wolheim) and comic relief Fraser (Raymond Hatton), in pursuit of a loan to install canning equipment:

In Seattle, the rough-hewn Balt, encouraged by the streetwise Fraser, gets new clothes, a fancy hat and a manicure:

Boyd, meanwhile, is combining business with pleasure by paying a visit to Mildred, and who does he meet but Big Salmon himself:

Big Salmon puts a wrench into the works and the loan is cancelled. But Cherry comes to Seattle and works her wiles on the banker, who happens to be an old acquaintance. And while they're out clubbing, Cherry sees Boyd with Mildred.

Back in Alaska, the equipment is put into place, and there's a salmon-canning montage that's a thing of beauty:

Considering this is one of his early performances, Joel McCrea seems as relaxed as ever. But -- and this is maybe because she's playing so against type as a haughty rich girl -- Arthur is really having a hard time. Here's a scene where she tells Boyd about Cherry's past -- hoo, boy:

By contrast, as Cherry, Evelyn Brent goes to toe to toe with Arthur and summons real Stanwyck energy to her takedown. 

(Cherry's friend Queenie is played by Blanche Sweet in one of the few sound film appearances she made after a long career in silent films.)  

Here's the complete film:

"The Big House," or Slammer Time

In the 1930 film "The Big House" people are constantly dwarfed by their surroundings. The prison where most of the story takes place is full of high walls and towers but it's also claustrophobic, crammed with sweaty prisoners sleeping three to a cell and filling the courtyard like a swarm of ants.

We first see the prison from the viewpoint of a new prisoner, Kent (Robert Montgomery). The paddy wagon that transports him to the gates is overwhelmed by the structure itself in a striking opening shot:

Once he enters, Kent is systematically reduced from a normal guy to just another convict -- they're givin' him a number and takin' way his name.

Kent is there because he's been found guilty of being a standoffish prig -- oh, and also of killing some guy in a drunken car accident. His cellmates are Butch (Wallace Beery at his Wallace Beery-ist, full of childlike bluster and yet handy with a machine gun) and Morgan (Chester Morris). They urge Kent not to hang out with the prison stool pigeon -- he's the only convict who's wearing a necktie -- but Kent hopes that he can trade inside information for a reduced sentence.

"The Big House" is full of scenes that have become prison movie cliches, showing up in films from "White Heat" to "Birdman of Alcatraz" to "The Shawshank Redemption." One of the best is the mess hall riot, not just because of Beery's violent protest of the dehumanizing effects of prison, but because of the silence -- and the hopeless panorama of convict faces -- leading up to it:

Beery's character is punished for the riot by being sent to "the dungeon," but before he goes he passes his knife to Kent. Then, during a surprise search, Kent slips the knife into Morgan's jacket. As a result, Morgan, a day away from parole, also gets sent to the dungeon. After his 30-day stretch of living in darkness, Morgan fakes illness and escapes through the infirmary. While on the outside, he seeks out and falls in love with Kent's sister (Leila Hyams), and she with him. But it isn't long before Morgan is nabbed and sent back to stir.

While Morgan's been out, Butch has been planning a massive escape to take place on Thanksgiving Day, while the place is low on guards. In a witty scene taking place that morning, all the convicts end up at a church service, singing "Open the Gates (of the Temple)." Then as they all kneel in prayer, Berry starts passing guns and bullets down the row to his fellow escapees.

Morgan refuses to be involved in the break, but he won't rat on Butch, either. That task falls to Kent. When the escape turns into a standoff between the convicts and the guards, Butch blames Morgan. But he finally figures out the truth. Meanwhile, Kent seems to be melting into a puddle of sweat:

Kent is killed in the riot, and Morgan is forced to shoot Butch. But Butch forgives him just before he dies. "The Big House" ends with a focus on Morgan, who's given an early release for his role in stopping the escape and saving a guard's life. The "decent" prisoner, Kent, is revealed as a coward and a stool pigeon, and Morgan effectively takes the place of Kent within the family.

"The Big House" won an Oscar for screenwriter Frances Marion, who adapted the script from Lennox Robinson's play. It was smoothly directed by George Hill, Marion's husband at the time. It represented a career-saving role for Beery, who got the role as a result of the death of Lon Chaney, Sr., who passed away after making only one talkie, "The Unholy Three."  

Here are the complete credits.