SONG OF THE THIN MAN: Blu-ray (MGM, 1947) Warner Archive
Again, based on characters created
by the immortal detective/fiction writer, Dashiell Hammett, the screenplay
authored by Steve Fisher and Nat Perrin, with additional dialogue contributed
by James O’Hanlon and Harry Crane – everyone cribbing off a story idea from
Stanley Roberts – had Nick and Nora embroiled in a slight whodunit. This one
involved the murder of a musician aboard a fashionable and floating gaming
palace, aptly christened the S.S. Fortune, during a charity benefit, sponsored
by well-heeled, David I. Thayar (Ralph Morgan – Frank ‘the Wizard of Oz’ Morgan’s
elder brother). The Fortune belongs to Phil Orval Brant (Bruce Cowling) who, as
it turns out, has arranged for some heady fireworks along with the nights’
entertainment, supplied by Tommy Eldon Drake (Philip Reed) and his jazz band, featuring
slinky chanteuse, Fran Ledue Page (Gloria Grahame, whose star, on the
ascendance could not sing her way out of a paper bag and was instead dubbed by
Carol Arden). The ensemble also includes talented but high-strung clarinetist,
Buddy Hollis (an ineffectual and overwrought, Don Taylor). After their first
set, Drake informs Brant he is quitting, having landed a more lucrative booking
with Mitchell Talbin (Leon Ames). Too bad, Drake owes gangland mob boss, Al
Amboy (William Bishop) a cool $12,000. Learning of Drake’s intent to decamp,
Amboy calls in his marker. Drake pleads with Talbin to give him an advance on
the band’s salary but it’s a no-go. Desperate to be free of Amboy, Drake skulks
off to Brant’s office below stairs. While breaking into the safe, he is promptly
murdered.
Brant and society jetsetter, Janet
Thayar (Jayne Meadows) elope, as her father disapproves of her choice in men. However,
when Nick and Nora discover Brant is the police’s prime suspect in Drake’s
murder, they smell a rat. After all, Brant narrowly escapes a bullet, proving
to Nick someone is trying to get him out of the way too. For his own safety,
Nick has the police arrest and incarcerate Brant, then, begins to sniff out the
clues to unearth who really killed Drake. Aboard the Fortune, Nick discovers a
receipt signed by Amboy on the back of sheet music, resolving the debt Drake
owed him. Nick questions the band, learning their fallen leader had made an
enemy of Buddy Hollis. Fellow musician, Clarence ‘Clinker’ Krause (Keenan Wynn)
throws in his lot with Nick to track Hollis down but to no avail. Next, Nick
and Nora pay a call on Janet, whom they find openly unpleasant and quite
unwilling to entertain their interrogation. Exposing that the gun that killed
Drake is an antique, and furthermore suggesting Janet’s father, an avid antique
gun collector, might be a viable suspect in the murder, leaves Janet incensed.
After taking an impromptu phone call, she informs Nick the interview is over
and leaves immediately. However, Nick and Nora tail Janet to Fran's apartment.
Tragically, they also find Fran's body with a fatal knife wound in the back. A
frantic Janet insists it was Fran who called to sell her information.
Nick discovers a matchbook from a
hotel in Poughkeepsie. Connecting the dots, he winds up at the sanitarium where
Buddy, as unstable as ever, is undergoing treatment. Delirious, Buddy is no use
to Nick, although Nora’s presence has a soothing effect on his nerves. Alas, Buddy is no good – even as his own
alibi – and after Nora attempts to question him alone, he becomes agitated, revealing
the antique gun in his possession in an attempt to shoot Nora. Mercifully,
Buddy is a bad shot. But Nick does not believe such a deranged fellow could
have so calculatingly murdered Drake. Instead, Nick reopens the S.S. Fortune,
gathering the usual suspects around, informing the lot that a fully-recovered
Buddy will expose the murderer to all in due course. Now, Nora takes notice of
Amboy’s wife, Helen (Marie Windsor) wearing a valuable necklace, perfectly to
match the earrings owned by Talbin's wife, Phyllis (Patricia Morison). A short
while later, that necklace appears around Phyllis’ neck. Nick confronts Talbin.
But Phyllis reveals she paid off her lover, Drake's debt with the handsome jewelry.
Nick prompts Buddy to expose the killer. Talbin beats them by confessing to
both murders and pulling a gun on the crowd. But, hell hath no fury… Phyllis
shoots first, merely to wound her husband. Despite Nick’s pleas, she finishes
the job, plugging Talbin with multiple shots until he is quite dead.
In many ways, Song of the Thin
Man marked an end to an era – and, not just at MGM. With the departure of
Powell and Loy from their family stable of stars, the legacy in gala-day glamor,
a la one-time production V.P., Irving Thalberg was truly gone. Having taken
hold of the reigns after Thalberg’s untimely passing, L.B. Mayer was still
considered the lion of Hollywood and raja of all he surveyed. But barely a year
later Mayer would struggle to maintain merely a toe-hold on the fast-changing
empire he had practically built from scratch two decades earlier. By the end of
1950, Mayer was on the outside looking in, the victim of a palace-styled coup. So
too, the age of B&W B-budgeted serials like The Thin Man was winding
down. Virtually every studio in Hollywood dumped these ‘bread n’ butter’ quota
quickies after television began to make inroads into popular entertainment for
the masses, encouraging once robust ticket buyers to stay home in the comfort
of their living rooms. And while MGM would maintain the illusion, they were
still ‘the king of features’ (indeed, during the Great Depression their output
and profits had outranked every major studio combined), the grand edifice was
fast proving merely a clever façade of obfuscate the erosion of Mayer’s fantasy
dream-land from within. With Mayer’s edicts as a bona fide star-maker stripped
from its core, MGM functioned as an increasingly impersonal entity overseen by
Dore Schary whose prejudice against its top-heavy star system was an anathema
to its sacred past, and the fiscal security going into a very uncertain future.
Viewed today, Song of the Thin
Man is not quite up to the best of the series, but still holds together as
a competently made, and largely enjoyable way to pass the time. Changing times
in 1949 contributed to its tepid box office performance. Yet, in hindsight,
there is much to admire here, not the least, the ole Powell/Loy chemistry –
Teflon-coated and indestructibly appealing. We will also give a nod to Charles
Rosher’s gorgeous B&W cinematography, delving into Metro’s peerless visual
finesse with a moody underlay of noir-styled darkness. And then, there’s Asta –
or rather ‘Skippie’ – a dog almost as famous as Lassie, and certainly to be considered
as an invaluable figure in this enduring franchise. Skippie only appears in the
first 3 Thin Man movies, the various animals to ‘take over’ the role
thereafter, decidedly lacking something of his unique personality. Reportedly,
Skippie took a nip at Loy on the set of the first Thin Man, but
thereafter behaved like a proper gentleman for the duration of their screen
teaming. Here, the role of Asta is played by a non-descript wired-hair terrier.
Documentation on the successors to Skippie’s throne are a bit vague, illustrating
the lengths to which MGM meant to keep Skippie’s retirement a secret from the
general public.
Song of the Thin
Man arrives on Blu-ray via the Warner Archive (WAC) and in a transfer to
resolve the sins committed on Warner’s retired DVD. We lose most of the edge
effects that plagued that transfer. This one is billed as a new 4K scan derived
from the best surviving elements and looks every bit up to the heavy-lifting of
a native and rather pristine 1080p presentation. WAC has paid this one the same
due diligence as its previous 5 Thin Man releases. So, again, we get a
gorgeous gray scale, with subtleties in tonality and texture, marvelously
revealed in hi-def. There is a satiny sheen to this monochromatic presentation,
not only to befit Rosher’s cinematography, but staggeringly beautiful besides. Contrast
is excellent and there is not even the slightest hint of age-related artifacts.
The DTS 2.0 mono audio is adequate for this presentation. David Snell’s reworking
of the time-honored ‘Thin Man’ theme and other music cues sound fabulous,
with crisp dialogue throughout and no hint of hiss or pop, even during
quiescent scenes. Extras are limited to
a short and trailer, ported over from the previous DVD release. Bottom line:
for more than Thin Man completionists, Song of the Thin Man is a
reminder of solid second-tier picture-making Hollywood used to admire and
indulge in to buoy their more costly experiments in days of yore. TV killed
this sort of venture and it’s a damn shame too. Because nothing has come along
since – on either the big or small screens – to top William Powell and Myrna
Loy - truly, one of the greatest partnerships in movie history. The Blu-ray is
wonderful and well worth your coin and time. Highly recommended!
FILM RATING (out
of 5 – 5 being the best)
3.5
VIDEO/AUDIO
4.5
EXTRAS
0
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