Enigmarelle & Co.

Much to the disappointment of Frank Fay and Ned Sparks fans around the globe, print ads for the Pathe feature "Night Work" hailed Eddie Quillan as "1930's Drollest Comedian." In an uneasy example of enthusiasm grasping for just the right wording, the ad copy continues on...

"Eddie Quillan, young master of fun and clean romance who has flashed across the movie horizon like a breath out of entertainment heaven, tickles you in one of the most unusual fun-stories ever written for the screen. A laugh a foot, a sigh every once in a while, chuckles and wet eyes galore! See it -- you'll enjoy it!"

Released in mid-1930 and booked into theaters around the country as late as November of 1931, "Night Work" is one of those films which continues to be tagged as "lost" on various internet databases, but which is very much with us.... not perhaps, quite a "breath out of entertainment heaven" but very much a "fun and clean romance."

Compared favorably to Quillan's 1929 hit, "The Sophomore," the real attraction in "Night Work" is the large supporting cast of players --- familiar names and faces to fans of early sound films and, especially, early sound comedies. This value didn't escape Pathe publicists in 1930 either, and nearly all publicity releases for the film put this fact front and center, despite veering off into near-hyperbole territory:

"Boasting the largest cast of importance and number to support a comedy star since the inception of talking pictures, Eddie Quillan comes to the ______ Theater in his newest Pathe comedy feature, 'Night Work.' Twenty-seven players appear with this young star in his latest production, which is said to surpass in comedy and entertainment his previous triumph, 'The
Sophomore.'"

As period publicity releases easily surpasses my ability to describe the largely unconnected elements and vignettes that form the film's plot, I'll combine a few, and let them prattle on:

"Directed by Russell Mack from an original story by Walter DeLeon, 'Night Work' presents Quillan in one of those sympathetic comic characters so well suited to his personality. As an assistant window dresser in a department store, Eddie (as "Willie Musher") holds a unique side-line job of a 'fired man.' He is fired on all occasions when a disgruntled customer demands that someone be fired for one reason or another."

"As if this were not enough to make things miserable, he inadvertently (agrees to become) the ward for a four-year-old orphan at the expense of ten dollars a week, and from then on things go from bad to worse."

"In order to support the child, Eddie gets another job working in a night club. This leaves him but three hours of sleep and his endeavors to take a nap in between jobs affords plenty of amusement. Complications arise when Eddie and (orphanage nurse) Sally (Starr) are on the verge of matrimony, but the story is most delightful and has a fine ending."

Benefiting from a wide variety of settings --- with a good deal of outdoor location footage as well, "Night Work" moves quickly, continually shifting gears before any one setting loses attraction, with the film moving on and away from the initial department store setting after the first reel. Interestingly, the poster-art for the film is spot-on accurate (for once!) with the situation depicted being one of the film's brightest moments. Visited in his window-dressing workroom by a loud and ribald fellow employee (Frances Upton, a featured comedienne in the New York stage production of "Whoopee!" and a combination of Winnie Lightner and Zelma O'Neill rolled into one) their encounter is cut short by the arrival of Eddie's crotchety and nearly-blind manager, who believes Upton to be a mannequin in need of changing. Stripped down as far as modesty would allow, Upton's reactions to the required sham are priceless.

As a sleep-deprived nightclub waiter, a bit of music is featured here --- "I'm Getting Tired of My Tired Man," as warbled and danced by Marjorie "Babe" Kane. Alternately bluesy and hot, Kane's vocal and dance (on a cleverly designed modernistic stage set) is frequently cut away from and interrupted by dialogue, but what there is of it can be explored here:

"I'm Getting Tired of My Tired Man" - Marjorie "Babe" Kane

So tired as to be nearly hallucinatory, Quillan unknowingly insults and provokes the club patrons, (which includes Hal Roach player Anita Garvin in a brief but memorable spotlight role) before finding himself partnered with Frances Upton again in a genuinely merry dance contest sequence that allows for some eccentric moves by both Quillan and Upton as they endeavor to win by eliminating the other contestants in a variety of ways. It all ends up with Upton left alone upon the dance floor in a decidedly improper and provocative position --- unable to move, until she's warned to "remember her operation" by an uncouth friend!

Although the orphan angle to the story is frequently revisited, it never becomes the cloying mess it so often did in similarly themed films, for the kids are presented as an odd assortment of alternately sweet, utterly bizarre and mean-spirited brats instead of the usual angelic sorts one typically encounters. Among the children, viewers can spot Jean Darling (of "Our Gang") and Buster Phelps, best remembered for being tossed a plate of desiccated hors d’œuvres in lieu of lunch by errant mother Ann Dvorak in the 1932 Pre-Code minor masterpiece "Three on a Match."

In one of many surreal orphanage sequences (which include a hapless toddler getting his head stuck between the rails of his bedstead) an elderly orphanage nurse (played by the wonderful Tempe Pigott --- whom you might remember as Una O'Connor's gloom and doom shrouded mother in "Cavalcade") attempts to dose Kendall McComas ("Breezy" in 1931-1932 "Our Gang" comedies) with castor oil. A simple and oft-used premise, but Kendall's reactions to the sight of the medicine bottle --- cowering, trembling, poised to run but too terrified to move, and with quavering voice --- are borderline hysterical. You can get a vague notion of the sequence via this audio fragment.

Although "Night Work" would spawn no tuneful hit in the way that "The Sophomore" did for the melody "Little By Little," both Quillan and Sally Star are given a chance to vocalize, singing a love duet, "Deep in Your Heart," which serves to put their young ward swiftly to sleep in short order.

"Deep In Your Heart" - Eddie Quillan & Sally Starr


"Night Work" (Pathe-1930) - 9 Reels
Directed by Russell Mack
Featuring: Eddie Quillan, Sally Starr, and Frances Upton.

With: John T. Murray, Tom Keene, Addie McPhail, Tom Dugan, Arthur Hoyt, Ruth Lyons, Nora Lane, Marjorie "Babe" Kane, Anita Garvin, Jean Darling, Buster Phelps, Irvin Bacon, Jed Prouty, Ben Bard, Robert McWade, Kendall McComas, Tempe Pigott, Douglas Scott, Addie McPhail, Kit Guard, Georgia Caine, Georgie Billings, Charles Clary, Billie Bennett, Cactus Mack, Arthur Lovejoy, Marion Ballou, Martha Mattox & Harry Bowen.


A musical intermission!

The sleek, nattily clad musicians depicted right are The London Savannah Band, as they appeared circa 1926, and the following audio is the band as they could be heard in September of 1928 --- under the direction of Billy Cotton, performing the unfailingly bright "Sunny Skies," --- a tune which still radiates good cheer and optimism, despite the somewhat muddy audio transfer:

"Sunny Skies" (1928) London Savannah Band


In listening to the Victor Salon Orchestra's oh-so-elegant, dainty 1929 rendering of "I'm A Dreamer (Aren't We All?)" from the Fox film "Sunny Side Up," it's marvelously easy to imagine this 78rpm disc being played upon an expensive electric phonograph and radio console, in the sort of ritzy apartment that only seems to exist in vintage films. The music filters into the dining room --- a room filled with people who know precisely which spoon to use with the mock turtle soup. Depending upon your view of such scenes, the meal may or may not be served by Mssrs. Laurel & Hardy, and the guests may or may not include James Finlayson and Anita Garvin.

"I'm A Dreamer" - The Victor Salon Orchestra

Here we again encounter "Let Me Have My Dreams" (from the film "On With the Show!",) a languid melody that fluttered from radio sets and phonographs the world over in 1929 --- acting as a musical mill pond in comparison to the far more boisterous jazz tunes that would be far more in evidence that year. It's performed here by Alfredo's Orchestra -- depicted left --- in a sweetly lyrical style befitting their appearance.

"Let Me Have My Dreams" - Alfredo's Orchestra

"The Syncopated Jamboree" dates from April of 1930, and although it's performed by the grandly named Adrian Schubert's Salon Orchestra, it's swiftly brought down to earth by the Irving Kaufman vocal and a merry arrangement featuring a bit of hot violin work.

"The Syncopated Jamboree" (1930)

Before moving on to our next topic, we pause long enough to hear wildly evocative 1928 rendition of "Can't Help Lovin' Dat Man" from --- of course, Jerome Kern's "Show Boat." Period recordings of the tune are legion --- but I consider this one of the best, with it's only fault being that it ends too soon!

"Can't Help Lovin' Dat Man" (1928)


I'm always taken aback by newspaper ads such as the one depicted left, from 1915 --- heralding the screening of what appears to have been a two-reel talking "feature" version of the operetta "Fra Diavolo," as rendered by Edison's Kinetophone. A brilliant idea born much too early to survive in the technology deprived air of 1915 --- and instead, one that gasped and floundered, bravely fighting for life and acceptance before passing on virtually unnoticed and decidedly un-mourned by the public.

Thomas A. Watson (1854-1934) assistant to Alexander Graham Bell and in attendance at the 1876 birth of the telephone, lived long enough to see the invention rise from curiosity to worldwide necessity. Living in an age when technological advances seem to occur with almost precision-like regularity, it's impossible not to wonder if indeed he ever contemplated the vast sweep of technology he witnessed during his one average lifetime.

Surely, such thoughts would arise when he was called before Edison's Kinetophone in 1914 to relate his observances at the birth of the telephone --- and again, when he'd relate the story yet again for the Vitaphone in 1926, by which time his still engaging speech would be performed with all the verve of a polished vaudeville performance, which I suppose --- in a way, it was.

Thomas A. Watson - Kinetophone Talking Film Cylinder

At the same time Edison's Kinetophone was attempting to retain life's spark, Ziegfeld's Follies of 1915 would feature a song that at once praised and scorned the telephone --- "Hello, Frisco." It's interesting to note that --- thanks to cell phones, and other alternate methods of vocal communication, the experience of calling across town is akin to the 1915 adventure of coast-to-coast conversation, peppered with just as many "can you hear me?" inquiries and many more far less genteel, as are those heard in this 1915 recording!

"Hello, Frisco" (1915)

February of 1891: "One of Edison's talking dolls has reached Winnipeg (Canada.) It is at Miss Maycock's store and is inspected daily by a large number of people. It is a very good evidence of the uses to which the phonograph can be applied, but as a conversationalist or an elocutionist, the doll cannot be pronounced a success. The piece which the manufacturer has arranged for the lifeless talker to say is that familiar old nursery rhyme, 'Jack and Jill.' When the crank is applied to the mechanism and turned, the sound is emitted from a perforated plate on the breast of the doll. At first it is hard to distinguish any words, but by listening attentively and following the rhyme from the start, every word can be heard although not distinctly. As a novelty it is interesting."

"Little Jack Horner" (1890) Edison Talking Doll Wax Cylinder

"The Toymaker's Workshop" - Orchestra with Effects





The inclusion at the tag end of this blog's last post of a series of images of the automaton "Enigmarelle" and it's inventor, sparked no small amount of interest from readers. In truth, I was hoping someone might provide information about the origin of the photos --- but instead, spurred on by "can you tell us more?" e-mails, I set out to see what I could find.

The earliest mention of Enigmarelle in the print sources I've viewed seems to be in this October of 1904 bill for Washington D.C's Chase's ("Polite Vaudeville") Theater --- although the degraded quality of the print leaves it questionable as to if this was our Enigmarelle or something quite other.

There's no doubt whatsoever attached to November of 1908 newspaper coverage of the mysterious automaton's appearance in Oakland, California however:

"Thousands who attended the performance at the Bell Theater yesterday were entertained at the special feature provided by Enigmarelle, who walks, rides a bicycle, writes his name, turns corners of his own volition, and performs a number of feats only hitherto attributed to human beings."

"The appearance of this most marvelous sensation was eagerly awaited, and hundreds of mechanics, electricians and other scientifically inclined, who were in the audience, all agreed that is was without question a marvel, the product of a great genius, and an education in itself."

Enigmarelle vanishes from print here in 1908 --- although it's to be presumed his career in vaudeville and fairground alike continued steadily on, before he reemerges in 1914, this time quite literally as window dressing. As a May 1914 LaCrosse, Wisconsin newspaper ad titled "The Eighth Wonder" states:

"Enigmarelle, wonderful, wax automaton, will be a special feature in the display windows of the Bergh Piano Co. This marvelous figure has been featured over the best vaudeville circuits and made an entire tour of the Eiler Piano Co. houses. The figure operates and plays an Auto Player Piano just the same as a real live man is perhaps the most complicated and delicate mechanism ever invented."

But, whether he knew it or not, Enigmarelle had, if not a rival, then a friend.

As early as September of 1905, there's mention of Phroso in an Oshkosh, Wisconsin news article titled "Is It Man or Manikin?" which gives us a rare glimpse as to how these devices were presented:

"'What is it anyway?' This is the question that is being asked by those who attended the performances at the Bijou theater and saw the act 'Phroso, the Mechanical Doll.' Phroso certainly is a puzzle, whether man or automaton. He or It is a marvel in fact, and is a study worthy of some good hard thought. After a short announcement by the operator, Miss Campbell, the curtain rises, disclosing a figure, man size, dressed in evening attire, features waxen in appearance and with staring, glassy eyes."

"After Miss Campbell presses the proper buttons, the figure is placed in motion, walking across the stage with a stiff, mechanical movement. After doing several stunts, the figure is walked down the stage and into the audience where it is made to shake hands with whomsoever desires to do so. All the time the machinery can be heard distinctly in operation."

Whether or not Enigmarelle and Phroso ever crossed paths is unknown, as indeed is the possibility they were one and the same --- utilizing different names for different territories and under different managers and "operators." What we do know is that each incarnation enjoyed surprisingly long careers --- longer than most vaudevillians, in fact.

Enigmarelle's swan song may well have been at an April 1935 midway carnival held in Kingsport, Tennessee where he competed for attention amidst the likes of Doraldina (The Mule Faced Woman,) the Hawaiian Revue, Artes Varieties, Jungle-Land, Tropical Reptiles and the Cotton Queen Minstrel Show.

Not content with merely walking about and shaking hands, Phroso donned skates and danced atop an eight foot square table in 1907, and claimed to be the invention of Englishman Fred Trevalian in 1910 while pointing out that his full and correct name was La Moto-Phroso. Despite additional claims of being a direct descendent of the famed Mechanical Chess Player (then holding court at New York City's Eden Musee,) Phroso would experience much the same inevitable decline Enigmarelle would.

In March of 1929, Phroso found work where he could --- and ended up in the window of the Man-O-War Clothing Company of Lima, Ohio, where he demonstrated the smart fit and reasonable price of Kibler Clothes. The manager of the Man-O-Wear store offered a free Spring suit to anyone who could make Phroso laugh, likely a wager he had no need to fear fulfilling given the fact that Phroso had a wax visage.

We last see Phroso as a featured element of Ogden, Utah's October 1932 much anticipated yearly "Dollar Day" event. Weakly reminding readers of his past glories (which appear to have included not only the Utah State Fair but the London Hippodrome and Paris' Moulin Rouge as well!) it's heartening to picture Phroso stiffly mounting the bandstand to the delight of youngsters and the smiles of elder viewers who may have encountered him --- or Enigmarelle, in another day and place where such things seemed not only possible, but probable.

For all we know, the wax husks or shells of both Phroso and Enigmarelle may still be slumped in a dry attic's chair --- or tucked into a forgotten steamer trunk in a damp basement, where their once brightly festooned velvet and gold-braid costumes have long decomposed into a black, velvety mass of nothingness --- leaving behind only two bright glassy eyes set in a grinning waxen face.

Failing my knowledge of any period tunes written about automatons or robots (although surely there must be some?) here's Winnie Lightner engaged in some wishful thinking set to music from the Warner Bros. 1929 All-Technicolor film, "The Gold Diggers of Broadway."

"Mechanical Man" (1929) Winnie Lightner

(Note: An earlier post, "Elixir Vitae" of March 2007, contained another feature story about a series of somewhat more well documented, but no less mysterious automatons. This link will take you to the proper page.)

The Story of a Song:

In September of 1933, in the dressing room of a Brooklyn Theater, an elderly colored gentleman sat alone in grief --- mourning the passing of a woman to whom he rightfully insisted he owed his success to anyone willing to listen and old enough to remember. The aged fellow was Robert Cole --- performer, composer, lyricist --- now appearing in an "Old Timer's" act on the last vestiges of the vaudeville circuit.

His memories of the hot New York City summer of 1902 were clear and vivid --- memories of him and his partner, Rosamond Johnson, desperately seeking work in a city that seemed as empty as it did stifling.

Reduced to pennies, listlessly tramping from one booking office to another, the heat radiating off the blazing white pavement in undulating waves, Johnson began humming an old and vastly obscure spiritual that his grandmother had taught him as a child. Immediately, Robert Cole visualized the melody's possibilities as a popular song --- but Johnson demurred on the ground that it was sacrilege to distort a hymn, no matter how faintly known. Soon, that greatest of all inspirations -- hunger, defeated his misgivings and within a day their new version of the tune was completed.

It was not difficult to see and speak to stage stars in the New York City of 1902, and following an urgent plea delivered by messenger, they were summoned up to the hotel room of Broadway sensation Marie Cahill, who's performance of "Nancy Brown" had become a sensation. Cole and Johnson performed their tune for the beaming Cahill, who immediately promised to use it in her new production, "Sally in Our Alley." But then, trouble arose.

The producer of the musical, George Lederer, had bought and paid for a complete score for "Sally In Our Alley" and didn't propose destroying its pattern (or incurring the wrath of the composer!) by interpolating a number by a team of relative unknowns. Marie Cahill insisted. If the song was not used, she would not allow herself to be either.

Finally, Lederer agreed and "Sally In Our Alley" was converted into a meteoric hit by the inclusion of one song --- "Under the Bamboo Tree," by Robert Cole and Rosamund Johnson.

"Under the Bamboo Tree" (1902) Marie Cahill

"Under the Bamboo Tree" (1904) Arthur Collins




Three years before her death, Broadway star Marie Cahill
found a niche in the material hungry radio medium in a half hour broadcast titled "Cahillogues," the title a reference to her successful series of comedic monologues she recorded for Victor after her viability as a musical-comedy headliner had waned.

In these recordings, Cahill is invariably engaged in conversation with an invisible and unheard second person --- usually her girlfriend, but sometimes shop clerks, policemen and streetcar conductors. Filled to the brim with sharp humor, puns, biting topical references that always take aim at pretense and high society fashions and foibles, these recordings are ripe for rediscovery --- if not for the extraordinary talent behind them, then for their unique ability to lift the veil on a past we can barely grasp in our attempt to understand.

Try one or two, and chances are you'll enjoy them all.





"The Symphony Concert" (1923) Marie Cahill

"In a Shoe Store" (1923) Marie Cahill

"Washing the Baby" (1922) Marie Cahill

"Shopping" (1922) Marie Cahill

"The Dallas Blues" (1917) Marie Cahill

"An Idle Woman's Busy Day" (1917) Marie Cahill




Dept. of Additions & Corrections:

A recent post detailing Sir Harry Lauder's 1929 radio broadcast for the Enna Jettick Shoe Company sparked a bit of confusion as to how the broadcast was transmitted. A fine friend of these pages and it's author contributes the following information, as originally published in promotional material originating from the Etta Jettick Shoe company itself:

"The procedure is about the same when an entertainment is originating in Los Angeles, the difference being that you have two long telephone wires. For example, when Sir Harry Lauder was guest artist in Los Angeles on December 1st, he sang into the microphone just as you would talk into the receiver of a telephone. Arrangements had been made to have a direct wire from KFI (the Los Angeles studio) to Station WJZ (now WABC) in New York. That was a one way wire. The voice could travel east only."

"When it reached WJZ it was, practically speaking, taken off the end of the wire right into a microphone in WJZ. Then, it went through the same procedure as though Sir Harry Lauder were in WJZ's studio. That is, the voice went by wire into the control room in the transmitting station of WJZ, over the air from WJZ to the listeners of that station, and by telephone wire to all other stations connected with the system, the voice finally returning to Station KFI, Los Angeles, over a wire running from east to west, where it was put on the air."

Much to my surprise, after lamenting the fact I hadn't ever encountered a vocal rendition of 1918's "Hindustan," one turned up last week --- and an exceptionally fine performance too, by Campbell and Burr, who combine their voices effortlessly in order to capture the sweeping range of the melody --- at once sweetly soaring and appealingly flat. The disc (and transfer) were equally problematic, but until and if a better copy comes along, this is what we have:

"Hindustan" (1918) Campbell & Burr



Lastly, a bit of sentimental fun in the form of sight and sound.

A series of motion picture views of the early 1900's, cobbled together, edited, switched about --- and combined with what I deem the perfect musical accompaniment to create a glimpse of the past as seen in a waking dream.

The scenes will likely be as familiar to readers, as they've virtually all been visited in these pages --- Lower Broadway, the Flatiron, Astor Place, Brooklyn, Herald Square, flashes of the Pan-American Exposition in Buffalo, NY --- and the massive New York Hippodrome. Viewable via YouTube (below,) readers can also download a higher quality (47mb) version which offers much improved visual and audio via this link.



Until Next Time!

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Marie Cahill on Modern Music - April 1928

Among Many, Marie Cahill - Christmas 1923

Marie Cahill - 1908

Marie Cahill - 24 August 1933

Edison's Talking Doll, Undraped - 1890

Edison's Talking Doll - Woodland, California - 18 April 1890

Edison's Talking Doll & Mechanism - 1890

Enigmarelle - 28 February 1917

Having survived the castor oil, Kendall McComas - Circa 1932

MGM Publicity - 1929

MGM Publicity - 1929

MGM Publicity - 1929

MGM Publicity - 1929

The Deluge as a Half Sheet - Warner Bros. - 1929





5 September 1929

December 1929



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