The Orchestra Augmented

Just as we began to believe we knew all there was to know about "The March of Time," MGM's unreleased follow-up to the studio's 1929 "Hollywood Revue," there comes more to learn --- more to consider.

Seeing as there doesn't seem to be a single comprehensive study of the film in one place (bits of information are as scattered as the celluloid husk of the production that remains today) these pages seem as good as any to serve as a depository for information. An imperfect research venue to be sure, but far better than none at all.


A good deal of what we know today about "The March of Time" was painstakingly pieced together by Jonas Nordin, a Stockholm sound-engineer who, not unlike myself, considers himself something of an Entertainment Archaeologist. Jonas was instrumental in fine-tuning much of what I've written about "The March of Time," and, via a recent communication, provides us with additional insight:

"Apparently, 'The March of Time' was indeed complete when shooting finished in February of 1930. After that, (director) Harry Rapf or someone else wasn't happy with the result and decided to make what seems to be random alterations. I think this decision had very much to do with the musical genre suddenly falling out of fashion. MGM simply didn't know what to do with a big budget musical that no one was interested in. So, they tried to make something else out of the $750,000 spent, but failed. I am quite convinced that the finished product that Rapf presented to MGM early in 1930 was much of an artistic disappointment, apart from some good production numbers."

We also learn a bit more of what Marie Dressler's contribution to "The March of Time" likely consisted of: A Comic Ballet, and two beautiful parodies of 1890's sentimental ballads --- the titles of which are enough to conjure up the most fantastic mental images: "That's How It's Done On the Stage" and "But Father Mustn't Know I'm Going On the Stage -- He Thinks I'm A Shoplifter."

Jonas also relates the heart-breaking account of an employee who worked in the Technicolor vault on several occasions in the 1970's and actually saw much of what was then left of the doomed musical revue:

"'March of Time' was in fragments or sections in the vault. There were two-color matrices for certain scenes, and black and white fine grains for others. They also had various variable-density track negatives. (It was) surmised that there was approximately eighty to ninety minutes of basically unedited footage. Yet, we also discovered edited (finished) sections in another area of the vault. (However,) I don't believe that (the film) was finished or 'locked' before the studio pulled the plug on the project before they generated additional expenses. There was a script for the production with the studio legal department too."


"Technicolor was, at the time, going through a major purge of their vaults to make room for new materials. So, many two and three-color matrices, optical track negatives, trims, outs and dailies, black & white negatives and fine-grains were being sent to a company in Burbank, California for stripping. They would remove the emulsion and 'repaint' the stock in 1000' lengths for editorial purposes. By the time the footage reached this facility, it was too late to save any product. The owner of the facility showed me hundreds of boxes of film slated for destruction. Many of the boxes were under working titles and I had no idea what they contained, but the time period for other recognizable titles was the late-twenties to mid-thirties."


Bleak though the outlook is for additional footage for "The March of Time" turning up any time soon --- or ever, more about the film can be gleaned via the paper trail it left behind --- and that's a story that remains to be told. The University of Southern California is said to hold a box of documents that, it is believed, contains a shooting script and a wealth of other ephemera related to the film, including performer contracts. Brittle paper stacked within a pasteboard box --- all too often the final destination for the Entertainment Archaeologist, student of film and the amateur film historian. Surely "The March of Time" will again surface within these pages!

Abilene, Texas audiences attending the far more fortunate predecessor to "The March of Time" in November of 1929 were successfully lured to the theater with the promise of a "Ziegfeld, Earl Carroll and George White show rolled into one with many deft motion picture touches," and doubtless impressed by Metro's selfless charity in making such a grand show available to all: "Because it is a motion picture, many cities and towns of the country are witnessing a great revue of revues for the first time."

Even today, "Hollywood Revue" is oftentimes an exciting film to watch, and that in spite of the few sequences where it all seemingly all but grinds to a halt. But, magically, when seen with a receptive audience, the creaks and groans tend to vanish --- the long stretches of silence and leaden pauses filled with applause or laughter, and the myriad layers of age dissolve away as some of the biggest names in Hollywood step forward to enter new and largely unknown motion picture territory.

Here's one of the brightest melodies from "Hollywood Revue," one that wouldn't have anywhere near the longevity of "Singing in the Rain," but which seems somehow far more firmly attached to the film instead.

"Low Down Rhythm" (1929) Lloyd Keating & His Music

At the same time that Fox's "7th Heaven" (1928) was shimmering from screens across the country, accompanied by a synchronized Movietone score and sending exiting patrons scrambling for sheet-music and phonograph recordings of its theme song, "Diane," the film was being given no less a grand reception and presentation by theaters that hadn't as yet invested in the Movietone - or Vitaphone - or both systems for their venue.

Masterful though the music and effects score for "7th Heaven" is, it's lovely to contemplate seeing the film for the first time --- in sparkling, pristine condition --- with music provided by not just a full orchestra, but a specially "augmented" one, as detailed in the full page ad to the left: "The management has added to the orchestra and this attraction will be made stronger than ever."

"Those who heard the orchestra in the great British-made picture, 'Second to None,' were delighted in the stirring numbers rendered, and those who attend the magnificent presentation of '7th Heaven' will be charmed by the lovely music accompanying the picture, special arrangements for which are being made."

As we're left to wonder precisely which musical selections so stirred those attending 'Second to None,' we have no less a stirring rendition of "Diane," the theme song from "7th Heaven," performed here by vocalist Franklyn Baur.

"Diane" (1927) Franklyn Baur

Indeed, as a reviewer for the New York Graphic noted in mid-1928, "What a picture! It is all that the most extravagant praises from the West Coast have it, and more. There's life and love in every reel." And, at twelve reels, that was --- and is, a lot of living and loving. It's fun to realize that 1928 audiences were apparently quite a bit more technical savvy than we might suppose today, being readily able to understand the length of time that twelve reels translated into!

The great one, Paul Whiteman... standing at the feet of George Washington's statue at Federal Hall, in New York City's Wall Street --- participating in what amounts to a live street performance in the early 1920's, decades before such events would be regular fodder for "Good Morning America" and "Today Show" cameras. Details of the event are largely lost to time, but clearly the Weber Piano Company didn't lose the chance to secure a bit of free publicity, and in the image to the left we see Whiteman apparently awaiting his cue on a warm summer morning while an unseen speaker --- or speakers --- addresses the crowd. (Prompting the wonderful posture of the seated fellow, doubtless!)

While Paul Whiteman's arrangements and recordings would, by the end of the decade, often become somewhat indulgent and over-inflated affairs --- each one aspiring to become a 78rpm miniature extravaganza --- his work on Victor at this point was straightforward, comparatively simple and just magnificent.

"I'm Just Wild About Harry" (1922)


"I'll Build A Stairway to Paradise" (1922)

Listen to the above recording, then see if you can't imagine that music reverberating through the Wall Street canyons, across that sea of straw hats!

Interesting to note, too, that among the faces peeking out of the open windows of the building overlooking Federal Hall, all seem to be exclusively workmen (in caps and overalls) as opposed to office workers. Subtle but evident division between the working classes, of the sort that doesn't exist today. Indeed, at similar events today, the overall clad fellows would doubtless be front and center at the performance podium, and the straw boaters pondering the advisability of elbowing forward!

"Fate" (1923)

"Way Down Yonder in New Orleans" (1923)


We again visit with bandleader Clyde Doerr, who seems less than pleased at having been pulled away from his newspaper. Despite Doerr's clipped Teutonic appearance, he hailed from Coldwater, Michigan and while a master of the violin, his work as an alto-saxophonist would bring him fame.

Hired by bandleader Art Hickman in 1916, Doerr arrived in New York in 1919 with the Hickman band, hired by Ziegfeld --- and struck out on his own shortly thereafter, forming orchestras that would serve as "house bands" for both New York City's Club Royale and Chicago's Congress Hotel.

In addition to appearing on the radio as early as 1925, Doerr and his Orchestra would also tour the country via the vaudeville circuit. One such play-date, in the Davenport, Iowa of 1924, was described thus:

"When one desires to bestow the high modicum of praise upon a vaudeville offering and on basis of two or three curtain bows, it is more or less honest to say the act stopped the show, but Columbia (theater) patrons last night participated in and witnessed a real Stopping of the Show when Clyde Doerr and his Orchestra, direct from the Congress (Hotel,) Chicago, used every device of the footlights to indicate that the act was finished -- done -- no more -- and the folks out front were equally insistent that they didn't care what happened next just so long it was the Doerr Orchestra."

"As it was, one Frank DeVoe is what happened immediately thereafter, and everyone promptly got over his disappointment, especially when DeVoe -- with a disarming frankness -- walked out and said with all sincerity, 'Say, now ain't that orchestra hot?' DeVoe faced a hard job following the Doerr Orchestra but his honest-to-goodness appreciation of that fact put him over as solidly as his very unique jazz singing."

"There have not been more than three of the whole deluge of jazz band acts that interrupted the melodies of the hour as the Doerr Orchestra. Possibly because they have spent the season in a hotel ballroom where blatant weird harmonies were not demanded, but more likely because Mr. Doerr does not incline to that style of play, the musicians never give the impression that the walls were bulging outward with the crashing syncopation. Nevertheless, every effect of the jazziest band was there with a richness of melody and harmony."

Interestingly, Clyde Doerr would participate in sound films too, and at opposite ends of the medium's technical evolution. There would be a DeForest Phonofilm in the early 1920s, "Clyde Doerr & His Sax-O-Phone Sextet" and there are newspaper references to at least one Clyde Doerr Orchestra short film making the rounds in June and July of 1930.

"I Wish I Knew" (1922) - Clyde Doerr & His Orchestra


In a previous post, the intriguing and somewhat mysterious Syncrophone device was seen in a January 1929 advertisement providing sound accompaniment (of some sort) for the film "Streets of Algiers," although whether the device was also used for "The Heart of Broadway" is a matter of doubt, as pointed out by a number of blog readers who (to my surprise and pleasure) were moved to do a bit of research of their own following my post.

Frequent contributor George Moore forwards some information on the Syncrophone device:

"The Syncrophone Company evidently produced films with the sound track on a disc. They called the discs 'Octacros.' The 'Maltese Cross' comes into it having given its name to the rotating cam that governs the transit of film through the gate of a projector."

Although the device pictured left appears to be a scaled down version of the Syncrophone (intended for home or institutional use) a general idea of the mechanism can still be gained.

As to what sort of sound accompanied "Streets of Algiers," and other titles, well... that's still a matter of conjecture. Were scores especially prepared and recorded for these Syncrophone presentations? Was there ever any attempt at providing the illusion of dialogue or sound effects?

Or, was the Syncrophone used simply as an elaborate highly amplified phonograph, to play suitable mood music for the film being flashed upon the screen?

We do know that the system lasted into the early to mid-1930's, and that it had (by then) developed to the point where it provided synchronized dialogue for one of the earliest Welsh language sound films, "The Chwarelwr," which (amazingly) was preserved and restored by the National Screen and Sound Archive of Wales! All in all, there's more to the Syncrophone saga to be told, and I invite readers with additional information to share what they may know about this shadowy technical curiosity.

Hastening back to more familiar territory, a selection of melodies from films of 1929. From "Fox Movietone Follies," (a lost film which was examined closely in a very early post which can be read here) a spirited rendition of one of its hits by Arnold Johnson & His Orchestra which really soars just a moment before it concludes: "The Breakaway" (1929)

The theme song for "Weary River" has appeared within these pages at least as many times as it can be heard in the film itself, so what's one more? Here, vocalist Jack Miller gives it his all --- and then some. Say what you will, there's just something about this tune...

"Weary River" (1929)

From "Syncopation," Del Delbridge and His Capitol Theater Orchestra plead "Do Something" (1929)...

... and Ray Miller and His Orchestra lament the fact that "Nobody's Using it Now," a temporary condition enacted on the screen in 1929's "The Love Parade."

All ends well however, as proclaimed by the Ipana Troubadours in "My Sweeter Than Sweet," from the 1929 Nancy Carroll romp, "Sweetie."

Mr. Jolson (right) may look a bit anxious (and a good deal mottled) while thumbing through "Variety," but he'd doubtless be supremely satisfied to learn that early reports indicate the forthcoming DVD release of his "The Jazz Singer" will offer the landmark film looking as though it was "filmed yesterday," and hopefully sounding as though it was recorded the day before that.

Interestingly, some early review discs contained a glitch which swapped the Technicolor swan ballet from "The Rogue Song" for the designated selection from "Gold Diggers of Broadway," giving the impression that someone's hand merely plucked the wrong tin off an archive shelf labeled "old color musical stuff." No, but really --- I wonder if any of these production-error copies will filter onto the retail market? Be sure to examine yours closely!

"Toot Toot Tootsie, Goodbye" (1922)
The Benson Orchestra of Chicago

Rounding out this post, a diverse selection of vintage music --- accompanied by appropriate visuals, and then our usual departing glimpse of various items that line the hallway leading to the exit.

The next few days will be spent transferring this blog's audio material to new file server digs --- a mind-numbing complicated task --- so once again, please be advised that some glitches may be encountered until the swap is complete. I shall be starting with the very first posts and working my way forward, so readers (old and new) might wish to re-visit some of the earliest posts in order to avoid any disappointment.

Update: All posts to date have been transferred to the new server.

"An Old Guitar and an Old Refrain" (1927)
Roger Wolfe Kahn & His Orchestra
Vocal by Franklyn Baur

"Deep Night" (1929)
The Victor Salon Orchestra (Pictured Below)


"What'll We Do On a Dew, Dew, Dewey Day?" (1927)
Jim Miller & Charles Farrell (Pictured Below)


"Carolina in the Morning" (1922)
The Bar Harbor Society Orchestra

"Muddy Water" (1927)
Harry Richman


Until Next Time!
###

"Sweetie" (Paramount-1929) Lobby Card


Movietone a la Moderne 1930 Exhibitor Book Illustration


Two Years Earlier... Movietone Arrives in San Antonio, Texas January 1928

8 December 1929

"Noah's Ark" (1928)

Souvenir Programme

"Song O' My Heart" (Fox-1930) Poster

Syracuse, New York 27 October 1929

The Film that Started it All Uniontown, Pennsylvania - 21 May 1927

###

Go Along Bad Times

On February 26th of 1943, Louella Parson's syndicated Hollywood column included a portion of a note sent to her by a serviceman stationed somewhere in the Pacific.

The writer was Private William R. Goewy, aged 24, who'd been at Pearl Harbor when the December 7th attack occurred. The note said, in part, "Today we saw Joe E. Brown in this desolate spot. He is the only movie star I have seen since the war started and it was really great to see a human being from the States. Do you know a Johnny Marvin of Hollywood? He was with Joe E., and is tops. He says he came here to make the boys laugh and we sure did all the time he was here."

Although Parsons didn't say so, if she didn't personally know a Johnny Marvin of Hollywood, then she surely did --- at least, remember him and likely the image that would have come to mind would have been of a slickly groomed fellow in an impeccable tuxedo, accompanied by a ukulele or guitar, who sang in a radiant, ringing voice the songs of another day and time that, by the darkest days of 1943 would have seemed so unreal and distant as to be a dream remembered.

Two months later, news syndicate wire services would carry an article in which Johnny Marvin was given voice. Not the voice of the former 1920's entertainment icon though, but of a desperate man making an impassioned and worthy plea: "If the folks at home only realized how starved our boys are out there for songs and other entertainment, they'd sure do much more about it than they are doing. Soldiers have been able to develop little of their own entertainment in camps... Weather conditions are hard on the few musical instruments they have, mostly guitars and fiddles. Strings, which deteriorate rapidly, would be highly welcome wartime contributions."

In the company of his one time fellow Warner Brothers and Vitaphone film star Joe E. Brown, Marvin would travel 14,000 miles by plane, presenting 180 shows. They performed whenever they arrived at their destination, day or night. "We staged shows for groups as large as 12,000 and we trudged across battlefields still strewn with bodies --- to entertain little groups of American boys in their outposts. But, it was the tears that came to the eyes of the boys in the hospitals that proved how much just a little bit of entertainment would please them."

The article later mentions that Johnny Marvin became ill while traveling through New Zealand, prompting a reluctant return to Hollywood. Whether connected to this illness or not, the performer would pass away a few days before Christmas the following year, 1944 --- leaving this world too soon to see the end of the conflict that troubled him so, or to see the thousands of men and women whom he entertained in hellish places return home to what was hoped would be a better world, a world closer to the one Marvin first achieved fame in.

It's 1927 and Johnny Marvin's long years spent in vaudeville and before the microphone have elevated him to musical stardom. A year before he scored as a feature performer in the Broadway musical "Honeymoon Lane," and his recording career continues to blossom as a soloist and vocalist for bands of the day. A current song hit is "Me and My Shadow," and while a somewhat creepy, dirge-like rendition by Whispering Jack Smith would prove the best-selling version, it's Marvin's rendition (for Nat Shilkret & His Orchestra) that puts life into the tune. It's resplendent with cheerful optimism, suggesting that the loneliness spoken of in the tune is only temporary at best --- so vastly different from the morose and forlorn Smith rendition!

"Me and My Shadow" (1927)

1927 would also be the year in which Marvin was approached by Warner Brothers & Vitaphone to appear in a one reel recorded vaudeville performance that was exceptionally well received, and one which often accompanied the prestigious and technically superb Warner Bros. synchronized comedy of the Great War, "The Better 'Ole."

Two excerpts from Johnny Marvin's premiere Vitaphone performance, in which he performs "A Little Music in the Moonlight" and "Deed I Do."

"A Little Music in the Moonlight" (1927) Vitaphone Disc Excerpt

"'Deed I Do" (1927) Vitaphone Disc Excerpt


When Marvin was called upon to pair with another vocalist for a recording, which he frequently was, the result was always satisfying. Marvin never battled for prominence nor dissolved into the background in these recordings --- he'd simply meld with whomever he was with, while still retaining his identity.

Two of the nicest duo recordings follow. The first, from 1927, has Marvin with female vocalist Aileen Stanley (who's pairings with Billy Murray are mentioned in an earlier post,) and their handling of the tune "Under the Moon," is the sort of lyrical, lightly comedic melody that could have only come from the heart of the decade it was recorded in.

"Under the Moon" (1927) Stanley & Marvin

Next, he paired with Ed Smalle (an incredibly versatile vocalist in his own right) to cover the theme song of the Paramount film "The Shopworn Angel," a silent film that had been fitted out with a synchronized musical score and tagged on talking sequence when it became obvious that synchronized films, if not thought to be a permanent fixture, at least certainly made more money than their silent counterparts. The tune, "A Precious Little Thing Called Love," was one of the bigger musical hits of the year, widely recorded and still sometimes even performed today --- although not without usually seeming a bit absurd, if not slightly grotesque, when uprooted from the day in which it was first heard.

"A Precious Little Thing Called Love" (1929) Mavin & Smalle

1929 would prove to be one of Marvin's busiest and most prolific years, in which he combined film appearances with vaudeville, recordings and a special engagement with the Kit Kat Club in London on May 14th of that year, as indicated in the promo below and to the left, which mentioned Marvin's transatlantic crossing on the S.S. Leviathan.

The Kit Kat Club featured a tight, fine orchestra under the direction of Alan Selby, as indicated by this 1928 recording in which it's easy to envision how Johnny Marvin's vocalizations might have fit in.

"Why Should I Feel Lonely?" (1928)

As was often the case, the boom in film musicals provided a wealth of material for performers and recording artists, and Johnny Marvin would benefit as much as anyone. Although he'd never become closely identified with any one particular tune from a musical film, his recordings of melodies from films were always featured front and center in Victor print advertisements, as well they should have been. Two highly representative recordings from Metro's "The Hollywood Revue" are offered next, the languid "Orange Blossom Time" and the seemingly inescapable "Singing in the Rain," the rendition here of which is given a neat twist by the inclusion of The Brox Sisters (who were featured in the film) on the vocal refrain.

"Orange Blossom Time" (1929)

"Singin' in the Rain" (1929) Marvin & Brox Sisters


By the late October of 1929 recording date of the next and final tune, time and tide had shifted --- at first imperceptibly, but setting off events that would serve to effectively seal off the 1920's permanently from the decade, and decades that followed. Ironically titled "Happy Days Are Here Again," and a tune which took on a life of its own far removed from its original source, it was first presented in the Metro film musical "Chasing Rainbows" as part of a show-within-a-show sequence set at the end of the First World War --- making its typical connection with the carefree 1920's even more ironic and misplaced.

"Happy Days Are Here Again" (1929) Johnny Marvin

Johnny Marvin would continue to perform on radio and in vaudeville for a good portion of the 1930's, at which point he left his wing-tipped collar "crooner" image behind forever, morphing into a country-western persona nurtured by his early Oklahoma upbringing. Although some Internet database sources are dramatically chronologically muddled (claiming Marvin came out of retirement in 1929 to become a singing cowboy,) it could well be that, as stated, he had indeed suffered a serious financial loss in the stock market crash. What we do know for a fact, however, is that by the 1940's the fellow who entertained troops in far flung outposts of the Pacific and prompted a soldier to write to Louella Parsons asking if she had ever heard of him, was as far removed a man from tuxedos, jazz, and one-reel synchronized musical vaudeville performances as could be, and apparently with nary a regret nor with a need to either.

###