Here’s the first state-specific title of Bob Steele’s sound era career. In later films, Texas, Arizona, Colorado,
Nevada and Utah will all get
spotlighted, some more than once. But Oklahoma’s first out of the gate. As for the “cyclone” part, well, no wind
machines were activated, no grainy stock footage of storms exhumed. There are, in fact, no actual cyclones in the
picture. Bob’s a fugitive from the law in this one and the name on the wanted
posters is “The Oklahoma Cyclone”. As a
matter of fact, only one copy of that poster ever appears onscreen, so even
printing costs were kept to a minimum. This is,
after all, Poverty Row. Though
you wouldn’t guess that from the elite name of the production company involved –
Tiffany Pictures. They’re the outfit that shepherded Bob’s previous talkie,
“Near the Rainbow’s End” into theaters too. As it happens, when the company was
first formed (in 1921), there was a
great deal of high end stardust attached to it. It was created by movie diva
Mae Murray and her husband, director Robert Z. Leonard. Murray, then famous for
her bee-stung lips and over-the-top star behavior, was the company’s most
glamorous asset. And as befit such a deluxe figurehead, Tiffany pictures were
released through Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. When Murray and Leonard divorced in 1925,
Tiffany sustained a good deal of the collateral damage. A change in ownership was quickly followed by
a dip in prestige. The company kept its head above water till ’32, producing
mostly modest properties (including several low-cost westerns). And
they tried self-distributing, though this proved difficult. One of their last gasp releases was called
(somewhat prophetically) “The Death Kiss” (with Bela Lugosi among those
embroiled) – but that didn’t come till ’32. In 1930 they were still in “damn
the torpedoes, full speed ahead” mode – and “The Oklahoma Cyclone” was the
second of eight Bob Steele westerns Tiffany was committed to making.
Now to the film. Unfortunately, things don’t start off too
well - with some sluggish, vaguely Mexican music treading murky water under the
credits; not quite what you’d expect –
or want - with a movie called “The Oklahoma Cyclone”. What seems ill-judged
initially gets even more problematic when, at credits’ end, that spiritless
music seeps into the film proper –as absurdly mismatched accompaniment to a
wild horseback chase. Mercifully, the hitch is only momentary. Someone
remembers to push the mute button. And - once the music cuts out - we can
concentrate on the chase (posse vs. Steele). To elude pursuit, Bob and his mount careen down a dangerously
steep incline, a maneuver that gains him a little time (to follow, the posse
must take a safer detour). Then comes a
great bit of business. Bob spots a ranch
and – while riding full-tilt toward it - cleverly loosens saddle and reins; he
races into the corral and leaps off his steed (who immediately becomes just
another horse in the pen). Snatching saddle and tack when he jumps, Bob quickly
stashes it, then races into the barn to
hide. Hats off to director J.P.
McCarthy, AD/stunt coordinator Perry
Murdock and cinematographer M.A. Anderson for creating and capturing this
exciting segment. Some of it’s Bob and
some of it’s probably a double – but it’s all carried off with seamless,
hold-on-to-your-hats perfection. The
first Steele close-ups, by the way, show him sporting an unshaven look; the
lipstick’s taken a vacation too. And
these style adjustments lend added zing to the proceedings.
Now we get a wider view of the ranch
where Bob’s taken cover. It’s a Mexican style rancho, ostensibly run by old Don
Pablo Carlos (ineffectual gentility incarnate, energies probably further sapped
under the weight of that double name). The film offers us another of those
“well meaning old fool unwittingly goes into partnership with the devil ”
scenarios. The devil, in this case, being
shifty Charles King, who’s bought into the place. Ostensibly to help
bolster Don PC’s sagging fortunes – but of course Charlie’s got his own rotten
agenda. King, by the way, would soon
become the busiest, best-loved of all B western heavies. Known
especially for his energy and endurance in fight scenes. He played
slugfest Ginger to almost every Stetson-wearing Fred in the business. And that in spite of the fact that for most
of his career he was on the portly side and seemed perpetually out of shape.
Yet, boy could he deliver (and absorb) a fantastic amount of punishment! Light-footed
and heavy-fisted. This is one of
his early sound credits so he hasn’t packed on the pounds yet. “The Oklahoma
Cyclone” finds him downright svelte and rather sophisticated.
We get an interesting scene between
King and Steele in the barn where Bob’s hiding. It seems eyes-in-the-back-of-his-head
Charlie actually saw Bob’s flashy shake-the-posse maneuver and was impressed.
Bob’s expecting to be ambushed, but instead Charlie coaxes him out of hiding.
And, taking him for something of a kindred spirit i.e. crook, offers
Bob a chance to lay low as a ranch-hand. Bob’s up for it. And there’s a
neat moment in the next scene, when the pair reveal their secret identities to
one another. Coming across side by side wanted posters, Bob fires a bullet at
the one marked “Oklahoma Cyclone”. Charlie answers by doing the same to the
“Black Diablo” poster. In other words, they’ve exchanged calling cards. Felonious
identities acknowledged; phantom hand-shake shared.
By the way, Don PC’s folly wouldn’t be
complete if he didn’t have a nubile daughter, whose welfare was being
jeopardized by his silly partnership with Black Diablo. Enter Carmelita, played
by Rita Rey – who is one bad actress. Her accent’s largely impenetrable, the
em-phas-is unerringly on the wrong syll- ab –le. But it’s clear that even if she
were doing the part entirely in Spanish, she’d still be atrocious. Whatever talent Rita Rey had, it wasn’t for acting. Yet, to
give credit where it’s due, from certain angles she does look quite fetching while mangling her lines.
Bob’s character’s a bit of a
loud-mouthed boaster in this one – also a self-professed ladies’ man. None of
which sits too comfortably with the image we’re used to. Though (slight
spoiler) subsequent developments explain
away the discrepancy . By this time, he’s also, unfortunately, shed the facial
hair – and rustled that lipstick tube out of his saddlebags. But as Bette Davis said “why ask for the moon ...?”. When you’re a B western fan, you learn to go
with the flow.
“The Oklahoma Cyclone” turns out to
be even more of a musical than “Near the Rainbow’s End”. Bob reprises both of
that film’s duets here – but minus Perry Murdock. This time “Ro-Ro- Rollin” and
“Ragtime Cowboy Joe” are Steele solos.
I’ll never understand the ragging Bob takes in print for his vocal
efforts. Given the musical styles of the day, I think he sounds pretty
good. In tune, with a decent baritone-tenor range. You also get
the feeling he enjoys doing it. Which,
to me, is always a plus. After that, though, the musical menu tends to
bog down. A slow as molasses serenade
(Song of the Range?), pitched at Carmelita, definitely drags – especially when
she insists on singing it back to him. Even with her own back-up trio
conveniently roving the rancho grounds, Carmelita proves herself no singer. It threatens to turn into Battle of the
Ballads when Bob volleys back with yet another dirge (“Let Me Live out on the
Prairie” is what I’m guessing it’s called). But music’s used to better effect a
little later when it helps get Bob some
laughs. He’s sitting around the campfire
with his fellow ranch-hands, playing “Oh Susannah” on a harmonica. Most of the kid’s colleagues have been turned
off by his smart aleck attitude. When chief belly-acher, Rawhide (Slim Whitaker),
starts badmouthing him, Bob segues seamlessly into a mouth organ version of
Chopin’s Funeral March. Which leads to
the film’s first fistfight, a brief
outdoor contest that sends Rawhide sprawling. After the fracas, Bob gets off
one of his best bits of drollery. “That
reminds me of a song that’s right fittin’” he says, “ ... and seein’ as you
hombres don’t like my singin’ ... I’ll see ya later” and strides off .
Whitaker, by the way, gets good grumpy mileage out of lines like “I hates him –
and there’s nothin’ I likes better ‘n’ hate”. He also makes an entertaining
Iago-lite in the picture, constantly planting seeds of jealousy in boss King’s
mind, forever hinting that Bob and
Carmelita (whom the boss covets) have taken a shine to one another (they have).
The one fellow cow-hand that isn’t
put off by Bob is a character named Slim. As a matter of fact, he takes a real
liking to the kid. Slim’s played by Al
St. John, a vaudevillian who carved out a long movie career for himself,
playing sidekick to a battalion of B-movie cowboys. He eventually took on the nickname “Fuzzy” in
most of his films – and as such –is among the most admired B western Sancho Panzas. I must admit I’ve never really been a fan.
Gabby Hayes, Si Jenks and the other Fuzzy, Fuzzy Knight – these are all
sidekicks I’m eternally on board with.
Al St. John not so much. Maybe it’s his odd timing, maybe the fact
that he’s seldom able to cool his jets if there’s the slightest chance of
hogging the spotlight. It’s just hard not to zone out when large chunks of
B-western screen time get eaten up by one of his long, feeble comedy routines.
That doesn’t happen here. As a soft-hearted bad guy who finds himself warming
to young Bob, he plays things straight and does a great job. Turns out this guy had a real flair for
genuine dramatic acting. The flavor’s folksy but the sentiment’s pure. He warns
Bob of King’s pending plots and gently advises him to break away; the
boy’s young, there’s still time to change his life. Slim also confides that he,
too, has had it with King’s escalating nastiness and hankers to move on
himself. Waxing poetic, he observes
that - when you notice the grass around you turning from green to yellow
- it’s always best to hit the trail. This long stretch of conversational
mentoring is beautifully handled by St. John, but Bob’s a great reactor in
the scene; he seems honestly affected.
And the friendship‘s well and truly cemented when Bob says at the end, “I guess you and I are hobbled together from
now on”.
This all happens on the sidelines of
Carmelita’s big birthday bash, an event that briefly gives her center stage so
she can murder a few more lines of dialogue. For plot purposes, Bob has to make
Carmelita believe he’s a heartless trifler; so, within her earshot, he denies
his feelings for her. This is really just a trick to fool the eavesdropping
King and Whitaker. When they leave, he reassures Carmelita with some tender
words that basically boil down to “please trust me; all will be revealed”.
Given Rita Rey’s limitations with both English and acting, we’re not fully
convinced that Carmelita understands much of this. Meanwhile Rawhide has whipped King into
full-on Othello mode and - to protect Bob from his wrath - Carmelita winds up
hiding him in her bedroom. Where’s that duenna?
Crisis averted, Bob takes off on a mysterious mission. New BFF Slim, tags along.
At this point, the action moves to a
Texas border dive, described in the inter-title
as “The Rendezvous of Wanted Men”.
It’s the grubby little set we’ll be seeing in many future Steele movies, usually when things head Rio Grande way. Stocked with unsavory looking men, South of the Border-ish flappers and a lone
Spanish dancer catapulting herself and her castanets around the room, jumping
bean style.
Bob and Slim show up. And a number of
previously puzzling plot points are untangled when we get a surprise father/son
reunion scene played with full Victorian fervor. Bob’s dad isn’t the director
on this picture, but the family bond concept’s right out of the Bradbury
playbook. There are no inhibitions about physical intimacy and tears between
men; this is territory where Steele and his films - at least in the early 30's
- are far more willing, even eager, to venture than most other westerns. And
once again, the sincerity and commitment in Bob’s playing count for a lot here.
It may be melodrama, but there’s a beating heart on display – and that’s never
a bad thing.
Vengeful Charlie King aka Black Diablo has
trailed Bob here and everything erupts in a dandy Steele-King brawl, a
full-throttle dress rehearsal for oh so many rematches in movies to come. Then
we get a shootout, where Slim stops a bullet. By this time, Carmelita’s shown
up too, posse in tow (spoiler: Bob’s not really an outlaw; he’s an undercover
lawman). But the picture doesn’t bother with any Bob and Carmelita clinches.
The power of friendship’s what director J.P. McCarthy wants to honor here. And he trains his final shot on Steele,
tenderly cradling his dying buddy’s head in his arms.
“You and me are friends, right kid?”
“Right, Slim”
“I just wanted to hear it one more
time”.
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