Before the
grimness of war took direct hold on the American consciousness, there was still
time for carefree horror-comedy undiluted by mounting concern. A perfect
example of this was You’ll Find Out
produced by RKO in November 1940. It also came at an upbeat time for the studio
itself, released from receivership in January of that year and subsequently
splashed out on literary properties to herald its new prosperity.
During its
relatively short history, RKO Radio Pictures produced some of the truly classic
films of Hollywood’s Golden Age standing the test of time against their bigger
competitors, such as Citizen Kane, Bringing Up Baby and Gunga Din. They made an indelible stamp
on the horror genre as well with arguably the greatest version of The Hunchback of Notre Dame starring Charles
Laughton and possibly their most successful film (judging from its many
lucrative re-releases), King Kong –
not to mention the cycle of distinctive horror films produced by Val Lewton in
the 1940s including The Cat People
and The Body Snatcher; low-budget and
titled for sensationalism, they rescued the studio from later financial
trouble.
RKO, under
their President George Schaefer’s mantra ‘Quality Pictures at a Premium Price’,
were irreconcilably caught between trying to satisfy both the demand for
A-pictures and B-movies, unable to settle on an industry-recognisable ‘house
style’ or specialism like the gritty gangster films of Warner Brothers of the
lush glossy musicals of M-G-M. The same studio that in just one year would give
us Citizen Kane was also the same one
making vehicles for the Mexican Spitfire, Lupe Velez. Fred Astaire and Ginger
Rogers had a successful string of musicals in the 1930s here and an element of variety
glamour was maintained by their support of radio show band-leader Kay Kyser,
around whom You’ll Find Out was
constructed.
James Kern
‘Kay’ Kyser was a radio personality fronting a hugely-successful touring swing
band that settled into a broadcasting run staying in the Top Ten on NBC Radio
from 1939-1949. During that time, he developed an act that combined his band’s music
and singing with slapstick antics in his ‘Kollege of Musical Knowledge’
quiz-game format. Kyser did not hog the spotlight like many band-leaders. He
allowed the star quality of his bandmates to shine such as future talk-show
host Mike Douglas, vocalists Ginny Samms and Harry Babbitt, and comedian Ish
Kabibble, whose wig-like dark basin-cut is oddly reminiscent of Jim Carrey in Dumb and Dumber. Their on-air fame was
parlayed into a profitable run of RKO films beginning in 1939 with That’s Right – You’re Wrong (one of
Kyser’s many catch-phrases). It was a thin caper solely designed to showcase
the band but producer-director David Butler watched it make $129,000 and so a lucrative
series was born.
You’ll Find Out (1940) was the follow-up, its focus
on Kyser conveyed instantly by his name above the on-screen title card. This time
Butler at least framed the band-leader and members within a plot, albeit the overly
familiar haunted-house inheritance scam one. Bolstering the film’s chances with
three of the most recognisable names in horror was a smart move By the
director, who had asked the studio to furnish him with ‘three notable heavies”.
Though to some extent your enjoyment depends on how much you like swing sound,
the result is a winning combination. The whole film is played as a
spookily-tinged spoof romp with Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff and Peter Lorre all in
on the joke, a consistent irreverent tone that earns it entertainment value and
goodwill.
For those of
us born after Swing, the film begins with a live broadcast of Kyser’s show
quizzing two audience members while the band showcase their sound. Their energy
is infectious, with comedy set-pieces tightly rehearsed, if a little overdone, punctuating
the songs. Soon, we and the gang are transported to a date playing at a 21st
birthday party for Janis Bellacrest (Helen Parrish) at a creepy mansion owned
by her wealthy Aunt Margo (Alma Kruger). The band are spooked, understandably
so when they’re greeted by Margo’s otherworldly glazed eyes. She is under the
influence of a medium by the name of Prince Saliano and claims astral
familiarity already with Kyser’s music: “It comes to me from another source”.
As Aunt
Margo remarks about the paranormal origin of the faces that come to her, in
walks Boris Karloff. Apposite timing like this runs through the film adding to
the fun. Karloff is the family solicitor Judge Mainwaring (pronounced as spelt
here rather than the English Mannering
as in British sitcom Dad’s Army). He
easily surfs on a tide of audience typecast expectation – his urbane breeding
is surely a cover for something - else why would he be here? Butler and James
V. Kern’s script plays further on this knowingness by having him defend Aunt
Margo’s sanity against Kyser’s concerns: “I can assure you that Margo
Bellacrest is just as sane as I am”.
Kyser takes one
look at the master bedroom where he’s staying and asks: “Who decorated this
room - Robert Ripley?” referencing the cartoonist creator of Ripley’s Believe It or Not popular
newspaper column. The whole house is full of exotic and macabre African
artifacts brought back by Elmer, the deceased master of the house. As if on
cue, enter Bela Lugosi – just as exotic and reliably inscrutable as always. He
is Prince Saliano, Aunt Margo’s turbanned gatekeeper to the astral world.
Amusingly, he has come to assure Kyser that the spirit of Elmer occupies the
room “…but I’m sure you’ll find it a friendly one”. This coupled with the evidence of a blowpipe
dart attack embedded in the wall is enough to convince Kyser that he should
skedaddle with his band before the concert starts.
Another
fateful response is the sudden lightning blast that blows up the bridge, their
only means of escape that night. Unseen forces seem to be conspiring to keep
everyone confined together. When Janis goes to call for help, wouldn’t you know
Karloff promptly sidles up to her and elegantly dead-pans: “The telephone is
probably dead”. The guests were hoping to assemble for a Saliano séance under
the beady eye of expert fake-detector Professor Fenninger, but surely he won’t
be able to attend? And with an almost audible click, the last piece of the
jigsaw slots into place as the Judge presents the Professor already there,
obscured all this time in an armchair. It is the silkily enigmatic Peter Lorre.
I’m surely innocent of any real spoilers to state that the fix is now in.
I daresay I’m
not alone in erroneously believing that, until coming across this film, Lorre
and Karloff hadn’t worked together before The Boogie Man Will Get You in 1942, yet the welcome evidence is on show and adding Lugosi it becomes a
priceless triple-play of sinister scheming between them. As soon as Lorre is
alone with Karloff, he gets straight to the point regarding the bungled
blow-dart: “Why’s she still alive?” All three men came to genre prominence in
the early 1930s and each have a ball in laying down their cards of similarly veiled
evil behind a gentlemanly facade, The three-shots of them together are a horror fan's joy. In Lugosi’s case as ‘that turban-top
Svengali’, our disbelief is harder to suspend when we actually see his séance.
It is pure Vegas coach-party hack magicianry using a silk bunko-booth style
tent and a pair of crackling static electricity globes a’ la Frankenstein’s set designer Kenneth
Strickfadden. The Prince sucks in the gullible with disembodied voices and
floating masks posing as an African chief and Elmer. Kyser is not fooled for a
minute, causing Lorre to query who this interferer is: “Oh, some band-leader”,
mutters Karloff distastefully.
The band
members soon catch on to the inherent phoniness of the enterprise. Before they
can get to grips with some sleuthing though, they perform their much better
show for the guests including the inexplicably Oscar-nominated song ‘I’d Know You
Anywhere’ (an apt title for exposing the shenanigans they’ve just witnessed).
Kyser and Chuck (Dennis O’Keefe) engage in Scooby-Doo
detection along with Kabibble’s dog and uncover Lugosi’s lair from which
he’s been projecting his voice electronically. This film was one of the first
to demonstrate the real technology gadget called the Sonovox, (later nicknamed
a Talkbox), arguably an early synthesiser that enabled musicians to sing or
speak converting an instrument’s sound into their own vocals. The séance
certainly makes effective use of its eerie synthetic drawl.
Regardless
of the elaborate stage-management, even the horror threesome are no match for a
bunch of intrepid musos and a second séance of hokum is exposed by Kyser and
crew as a sham. One possibly unintentional detail of amusement is when the Elmer
mask is ripped off to reveal Karloff – his own face of white hair and moustache
is almost an exact double of the rubber version. If you’re in any doubt as to
the value of screening this movie, or its gravity, consider that in the climax
you get a rare sight of Lugosi in a stand-off, turbaned and brandishing a stick
of dynamite.
The close of
the picture is a good-natured capper scene that unusually breaks the fourth
wall once Kyser’s band have finished their last number. He takes a moment to address
us directly, reassuring us in a folksy way that, far from being the nasty
figures they portray on-screen, in reality the trio of Karloff, Lorre and
Lugosi are “nice fellers and good friends of mine”. (Karloff and Lugosi in
particular might well have appreciated this movie gesture as neither could avoid
occasional press grumbles about their limiting horror personas). Lest we take
this seriously, we soon see it’s a mischievous set-up for one more undermining
genre gag – during his sincere moment, the earlier static globes sidle into
shot on either side of him and then zap him into an electrical-burst credit of
‘THE END’.
You’ll Find Out generated enough crackle at the box-office, like
its predecessor, to exceed it in a respectable profit of $167,000, keeping Kay
Kyser and company on screen for some time longer. This is just as well in terms
of publicity for the actors as Lugosi was still dogged by the continual unequal
bargaining power of a weekly salary less than a third of Karloff’s ($1,250
compared to $4,166.66 as documented by Stephen Jacobs). Lorre was paid $3,500 but gained the most
prominent credit below Kyser who as headliner pocketed, on behalf of his team,
$75,000 for the shoot.