A short, comic murder mystery at a radio station, with a couple of songs thrown in, presented at a speed that can only be measured in Mach numbers.
It's strictly functional. At one point, Frankie Darro, the diminutive hero and page boy, blows a line but just corrects himself and dashes on. Two lady singers are featured, both looking pretty good.
The direction, like the acting, is effectively rudimentary. If five people are going to be in the scene, two of them arguing, the five actors are lined up next to one another like troops at attention. The jokes are applied with such blunt force they could be hammering nails.
But the movie does have Mantan Moreland at his glorious best. Oh, how un-politically correct it all seems now. Darro dresses up in black face and he and Moreland do an Amos and Andy number trying to get on a radio show. A singing cowboy calls him "Banjo Eyes." The police lieutenant calls every suspect by name except Moreland, who become "the porter there." Moreland, on the other hand, addresses everyone as "Mistuh Frankie" or whatever. Speaking of eyes, his seems to be on springs. They pop out just before he becomes frightened and flees the scene, which is about every other five minutes.
What a time of innocence. Except for Moreland, I can't think of many other reasons to bother watching what is a routine B movie about the solution of a murder.
It's strictly functional. At one point, Frankie Darro, the diminutive hero and page boy, blows a line but just corrects himself and dashes on. Two lady singers are featured, both looking pretty good.
The direction, like the acting, is effectively rudimentary. If five people are going to be in the scene, two of them arguing, the five actors are lined up next to one another like troops at attention. The jokes are applied with such blunt force they could be hammering nails.
But the movie does have Mantan Moreland at his glorious best. Oh, how un-politically correct it all seems now. Darro dresses up in black face and he and Moreland do an Amos and Andy number trying to get on a radio show. A singing cowboy calls him "Banjo Eyes." The police lieutenant calls every suspect by name except Moreland, who become "the porter there." Moreland, on the other hand, addresses everyone as "Mistuh Frankie" or whatever. Speaking of eyes, his seems to be on springs. They pop out just before he becomes frightened and flees the scene, which is about every other five minutes.
What a time of innocence. Except for Moreland, I can't think of many other reasons to bother watching what is a routine B movie about the solution of a murder.