Monday, March 20, 2017

BOB STEELE "SOUTH OF SANTA FE" (1932)



The last eight Bob Steele pictures had been distributed by Tiffany. Unfortunately, the quick money drummed up by the Steeles was pocket change compared to losses accumulated by that company over the years. Watching its hopes for a future sail away on a sea of red ink, Tiffany shut up shop once and for all early in ’32. But Trem Carr, resourceful independent producer of the Steele westerns, had all his ducks in a row at exactly the right time. In the latter half of  ’31 he was ready to launch his own little distribution outfit, ambitiously named Sono Art-World Wide Pictures. Several Tiffany-related projects, in various stages of production, relocated to Carr’s company. The Steele westerns, reliably proven money-makers, definitely ranked among the new company’s prime assets. Speed-bump negotiated, filming began on Bob’s first non-Tiffany talkie. The result – “South of Santa Fe” - was already on movie screens by January, 1932.
I’d like to be able to say the new round of Steele westerns started on a high note. Sadly, that’s not the case. It’s hard to say just why “South of Santa Fe” went wrong.  Were they in a bigger rush than usual to get the thing wrapped?  Nobody even bothered to remove “a Tiffany production”  from the opening credits,  though Tiffany was no longer part of the equation.  Somehow, the whole affair has a slapdash feel to it. Even Bob seems less committed than usual.  Though it’s hard to imagine any actor committing to this particular script. No one expects Eugene O’Neill.  But  the plot’s poorly set up and unnecessarily confusing.  And the dialogue’s dreary – never any spark or wit in the perfunctory exchanges between characters.  Maybe everybody involved was just burnt out at the time. Perhaps cinematographer Bert Glennon, in a rare stint as director, was simply in over his head. Although he continued on successfully as a D.P., he never directed another film after “South of Santa Fe”. I don’t want to exaggerate the badness of SOSF. I’ve certainly seen worse. But considering the high standards set by the Steeles so far, the drop in caliber here is depressing. Of the first eight Bob Steele talkies, seven were good, several of those better than good. Only “The Sunrise Trail” showed a slight dip in quality (from which the series quickly rebounded). 
                                    
 Right off the bat with “South of Santa Fe”, we’re in murky territory. The contents of a letter appear on the screen (and stay there till the slowest reader in the place has time to digest them).
  “Tom
  If your ornery nature still craves excitement come a runnin’ ‘cause I reckon such is ready to pop at Thorntons. The no account bearer of this invitation will provide directions.
                                                                                                      Lankey”
Bob (in a bigger than usual hat) reads the letter and tips the supposedly no-account bearer, a perfectly respectable looking guy we never see again. As a matter of fact we’re in Mexico, though why Bob’s there is anybody’s guess. When asked just that question by a local official, he say it’s ‘cause he’s “got a cravin’ for society”  and is “hankerin for a letter”. Do you go to Mexico to pick up your mail? I don’t. And Bob doesn’t seem to be on the run from the law. Is he on vacation? We never do find out. Now – in some scenarios – this kind of thing might supply a touch of mystery. But here, as in so much that follows, it just adds another level of narrative clutter. That official, by the way, who questions Bob turns out to be one of the picture’s most annoying a characters, a pesky flea the script just can’t seem to shake. He’s over-groomed, thinly moustachioed, sports a heavy Mexican accent and struts around in ranchero garb like a plump pullet practising for RuPaul’s Drag Race. The guy's primary shtick is the pompous – and very slow - repetition of his long, long, long Spanish name. It’s unfunny to begin with – and with each of what seems like a dozen encores during the film – gets progressively more irritating. He also calls himself captain of something that sounds a bit - though not quite - like Nogales. The actor playing him was apparently Al Herman Garcia (though, strangely, he’s actually billed here as “Captain Garcia”, probably just a careless slip-up when the credits were being slapped together). As Al Herman Garcia (and Al Garcia, Allan Garcia, Earnesto Garcia and a host of other names) he’d been in films since 1911. So the ineptitude we see here’s the result of twenty years’ practice. We’ll ignore his character name (too much typing required) and just call him Garcia from now on. Anyway, for some reason, he demands credentials from Bob. To which Bob responds by grinning and knocking the guy to the ground.  As Bob gallops away, the captain, jumping up and down like a three year old pitching a tantrum, rallies his ragtag bunch of followers into some sort of loosely military formation. And the whole pack chases Bob to the U.S. border, which he easily crosses. Bob looks back, taunting that they can’t legally follow - and a frustrated Garcia vows his revenge. But, though we haven’t seen the last of this annoying guy, that revenge plot never really goes anywhere.
Next thing we encounter is a white guy on a hilltop sending smoke signals. Whaaa? A sign nearby indicates he’s close to the Mexico/U.S. border. Over on the Mexican side, these signals are spotted by a man named Granger at what appears to be his ranch in Mexico. Why does an American have a ranch in Mexico?
“That’s Thornton’s signal,” says Granger to his boys. “I told him I’d go if he needed help”.
Again, whaaa?  Granger?  Thornton? Who are these guys?
Immediately we’re inside a ranch-house somewhere else. White-haired  John Elliott  (he turns out to be Thornton) is examining some kind of map while a young woman (his daughter Beth, as it happens) is furiously slamming clothes into a suitcase.
Says Thornton,“ It’s been tough for you this past year, honey. But now I can make it up to you. You can have anything you want”.
Beth, going for feedbag chic, wears the same unflattering sleeveless dress from start to finish. The actress involved is named Janis Elliott. And this being her sole screen credit, it’s our only chance to assess her appeal. She’s very short. Wears the bee-stung lip look that went out with the  twenties. And in some close-ups resembles a bargain basement Fay Wray, one King Kong would only consider in a pinch. Line delivery with Ms Elliott is hit and miss; occasionally it even appears to be dubbed in by somebody else. And she’s generally got the screen presence of a flour sack. So where Beth’s fate is concerned, audience reaction tends toward “who cares?” . Two armed thugs break into the house, immediately angling for the map. (How do they even know about it?). Head hooligan Jack Stone also casts a lascivious eye on substitute Fay Wray. Threatening, if he doesn’t get the map, to take her with him to the Corpus Christi(?) where - his words  building to an incongruous  Jane Austen-ish formality - “my men get drunk free and often, having nothing better to do”. Thornton hands over the map and silly Beth makes a lunge to grab it back. She tears off half of the thing and - in the scuffle - Stone shoots Thornton dead. Nice work, Beth.
At this point, Granger and his men thunder into view and the thugs beat a hasty retreat with half a map in their possession. That map, by the way, shows the way to an old Aztec mine.  But don’t worry. It’s a mine we’ll never ever see in the movie. Just one more half-assed MacGuffin  in a script rife with them. 
Meanwhile, some of Stone’s other men have captured the guy who was sending smoke signals.  This is apparently Lankey, the one who wrote that letter to Bob.  So smoke signals aren’t his only means of correspondence. The ruffians tie the guy up and drag him behind a horse for some reason. Apparently he works for Thornton and – though he’s of no discernible use to the gang– Stone decides to keep him as a prisoner, meaning for most of the picture his boys’ll  have to make sure Lankey’s fed and guarded.  Bob’s been observing some of this from a distance, though it’s unclear whether he realizes his friend Lankey is the one being dragged behind the horse. Bob also does some random snooping  around the Thornton place. Granger and his boys are eager to put a stop to Janis Elliott’s bad acting (she’s slumped over Thornton’s corpse, giving out with the grief. Hey, honey -It’s your lunge for that map that got him killed). So, figuring a change of scenery will do the trick, they decide to bring her back to the Granger ranch. Somebody plops her onto a horse where she sits catatonically. Seeing this from behind a bush, Bob (who’s already randomly cold-cocked Granger's man, Pedro in the bushes) suspects the girl is being kidnapped. Even we, with our supposedly privileged view as audience members, remain fairly clueless as to what’s going on. And I don’t think that’s intentional. Granger revives Pedro (Chris Pin-Martin), who fabricates a tale of being ambushed by four or five men. This becomes another of the film’s lame running gags. Granger sends Pedro on horseback to alert Captain Garcia. Bob rides after Pedro, overpowers him and demands answers. Getting none, he just lets Pedro go. More wasted effort.
Listless comings and goings continue. And Bob is captured by some of Granger’s men. They bring him back to their headquarters, where he finds out that Beth is there willingly. He apologizes for interfering and Beth thinks he’s sincere. But Granger figures him for one of Stone’s gang and decides to hold him prisoner. Without breaking a sweat, Bob wriggles out of captivity and races away.
Lankey, by the way, after sharing a long, mirthless comedy bit about sharp-shooting with drunken gang member Al Bridge, escapes from the Stone outfit. Bob encounters him in the woods. And once updated, decides to infiltrate Stone’s band. Apparently the head crook’s expecting a shyster lawyer from Santa Fe, who’s going to help him get a legal deed for the invisible mine. How does that work?  Lankey has overheard the plan and knows Stone’s never actually clapped eyes on the lawyer. So Bob decides to impersonate him. He shows up at Stone’s shack with Lankey in tow, pretending he’s captured the runaway. He pulls the impersonation off for all of three minutes before the real lawyer shows up, credentials in hand. During his brief window of credibility, Bob, however, manages to effect yet another Lankey escape; this time Lankey drags along dead-drunk Al Bridge (to prevent him from tattling should he ever sober up).  Bob’s still in the clutches of the Stone gang. But - exposed in his charade - he leaps out a window and disappears. This picture’s setting a record for getaways.
Various threads of the action converge at Granger’s place in Mexico. Yet again he dispatches Pedro to alert Captain Garcia. Garcia, still trying to get a laugh from that mile-long name of his, somehow contacts a U.S. marshal for reinforcements (Telegraph? More smoke signals? Who knows?) Result: so many competing gangs riding around it’s bewildering: the U.S. marshal’s guys, assorted Granger hands, Stone’s gang,  swollen to previously unseen numbers (including a suddenly prominent Perry Murdock).  Not to mention the crowd already milling around at Granger’s where everybody seems to be heading. Plus  Bob and Lankey. So many pay-checks to hand out on this picture. But the onscreen overpopulation only adds more levels of confusion. Ordinarily in B-westerns you expect economy of budget, accompanied by economy of narrative. Not so here, where hordes of performers are constantly tripping over competing plot strands.
Stone tries to abscond with both pieces of the map and Beth. But the colliding mobs block his way. He winds up rolling on the ground in a fistfight with Bob. Just to ram one more false note into the proceedings, Bob, in mid fracas - his back to us - delivers a pointless line (“how ‘bout droppin’ that gun, mister?”) clearly dubbed by someone who sounds nothing like him. It should have been left out entirely. But Team Santa Fe just couldn’t resist landing one last aesthetic thud. Stone’s overpowered, his gang’s rounded up and the final cymbals prepare to crash. Bob makes calf-eyes at Beth; visions of a sleeveless wedding dress dance in her eyes and she forgets all about that map everybody’s been fighting for. Just lets both pieces of it slip through her fingers, perhaps to blow away, Sierra Madre style.  The End.
There is one silver lining to all this, though. Bob’s team seems to have learned from their mistakes. And the very next Bob Steele movie, released about two months later, turns out to be one of his best ever.  A return to form  – and then some.