Late Wallace Beery vehicle leans back to THE CHAMP to glean a bit of the father/son sentiment that made it such a hit for M-G-M back in ‘31. In this one, Beery’s an ex-champ, a Bowery institution fronting Edward Arnold’s popular bar and now charged with running a pesky Salvation Army outfit off the block. (Especially since Army Sargent Cameron Mitchell is sweet on Arnold’s daughter Dorothy Patrick.) That’s where little immigrant orphan Dean Stockwell comes in, sticking to surrogate Dad Berry like glue while working on an accent somewhere between cute Hollywood Irish & posh Hollywood British as they hunt up his only living relative. A reasonable construct of a plot, but everyone’s just going thru the motions, in front and behind the camera. Particularly second-unit man John Waters in his only sound feature as director, showing little aptitude for ringing in laughter or tears from a setup loaded with possibilities. (Chaplin’s THE KID/'21 as much as King Vidor’s CHAMP in the mix.) A toss-off programmer under the best of circumstances, Beery, one of the few silent stars who not only effectively transferred, but thrived as sound came in, deserved a little more attention than he got here.
WATCH THIS, NOT THAT: Creaky round the edges, and with a risible boxing match finale, THE CHAMP has too many fine naturalistic elements, thanks to King Vidor’s comfort level with the material, to write off or not shed a tear at. OR: For Berry without slobbering sentiment, George W. Hill’s remarkably advanced early Talkie THE BIG HOUSE/’30. (Both written by Frances Marion.)
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