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.
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