The Little Rascals Volume 4

The Little Rascals Volume 4
Blu ray – The ClassicFlix Restorations
ClassicFlix
1933, ’34, ’35,/ 1.37:1 / 218 Min.
Starring George McFarland, Dorothy DeBorba, Dickie Moore
Written by H.W. Walker
Directed by Robert F. McGowan, Gus Meins

Often dismissed for their old-fashioned ways, classic films should be applauded for those very qualities. For better—and sometimes for a lot worse—movies operate as de facto documentaries of their generation, and none more so than the string of depression-era comedies produced under the most un-comical circumstances. Those two-reelers featured bankable stars at center stage but lingering on the sidelines were the dime a dozen extras who came to California looking for work and found it in, of all places, Hollywood. Brutalized by their circumstances, these migrants would not have been out of place in a Walker Evans photograph—instead those careworn faces would be documented by the likes of Mack Sennett and Hal Roach. One of Roach’s subjects was John Lester Johnson.

Born in South Carolina in 1893, Johnson was a professional boxer with a middling career (in 1916 he fought Jack Dempsey to a draw while breaking three of the future champ’s ribs in the process). When the depression hit, Johnson found himself on the ropes for good—so he packed up and joined other African-American actors on film stages where they usually played the part of butler, doorman, or restless native in a Tarzan film. Johnson’s most “memorable” role was as a feeble-minded sideshow attraction with a bone through his nose in The Kid From Borneo.

1933’s Borneo was the 122nd film in the Our Gang series, directed by Robert F. McGowan, and written by Carl Harbaugh, H.M. Walker, and producer Roach himself. The short starred Matthew Beard as Stymie, Dorothy DeBorba as Dorothy, and George McFarland, Roach’s most valuable commodity, as Spanky. The story, what there is of it, is propelled by a disastrous case of mistaken identity—the gang confuses “Bumba, The Wild Man of Borneo” for their own Uncle George. The film is one of many moral quagmires of early cinema, essentially an 18 minute chase scene that is both extravagantly funny and wildly racist. The Kid from Borneo leads off the new Blu ray from ClassicFlix, The Little Rascals Vol. 4. Though most revivals of “problematic” films sport disclaimers about the unsavory content, ClassicFlix offers a warts and all presentation with no historical context in their supplemental materials—and there’s a lot of historical context to be had, most of it bad.

The Kid from Borneo offers up a laundry list of Klan rally talking points; the out-of-control “Bumba” is an unstoppable nightmare to the children and a brown-skinned invader to their cowering parents—a black man dressed in jungle drag loose in the suburbs and coming after our women folk (Bumba winds up in the family bed.) The episode would be a fit subject for critical race theory—only it’s no theory, the ugliness plays out right in front of us. Kudos to ClassicFlix for presenting Borneo in its uncut and unvarnished form—and for shining a high definition light on the sins of our past, present, and foreseeable future.

If  The Kid from Borneo is by definition, “painfully funny”, 1933’s Mush and Milk is mostly painful, the closest thing to a horror movie in the Our Gang series, thanks to the appearance of the unnerving Louise Emmons. Emmons’ haunted-house presence made her perfect for the part of the stereotypical old crone (or “hag” as the cast listings put it) and she played dozens of them, from Blood and Sand to The Mark of the Vampire. In Mush and Milk, she’s the terrifying doyen of a boarding school that feels more like a work prison.

There’s plenty of comedy in this Dickensian melodrama (the name of the creaky old house is Bleak Hill) but with Emmons skulking around every corner (she even carries a whip), the laughter is halting at best. Tommy Bond, soon to reach his zenith as the villainous Butch, is still in moppet mode which makes his powerhouse rendition of Just Friends even more startling—his vocal precisely mimics the plaintive nature of a grown-up torch singer all too well. Sadly this was the final appearance of the perpetually wide-eyed Dorothy Deborba alongside the Rascals. The mood is lightened considerably by that same year’s Wild Poses, notable as director McGowan’s final go-round with the Gang and a career-defining turn from Franklin Pangborn as a nervous baby photographer driven to distraction (and God knows what else) by a hilariously unhelpful Spanky as Pangborn’s reluctant camera subject.

Directed by Gus Meins, 1934’s For Pete’s Sake! uses and abuses our heartstrings in a sob-story featuring little Marianne Edwards—a sleepy-eyed four year-old who suffers her fate as convincingly as Lillian Gish. Marianne’s favorite doll has been mutilated by a neighborhood bully and the gang is forced to use their beloved Pete the pup as a bargaining chip to replace the tyke’s toy. It all ends well of course, otherwise there would still be outraged letters pouring in to the Culver City post office.

All was not quite so melancholy for the Rascals that year; they enjoyed plenty of footloose fun in episodes like Honky Donkey, a slapstick adventure featuring a mule and an impossibly stuffy matron, and Hi-Neighbor!, a class war pitting a rich kid and his deluxe model fire engine against the Gang who jerry-rig their own ramshackle vehicle. More of the kids’ resourcefulness is on hand in Mike Fright, another Meins-directed farce that introduces us to the International Silver String Submarine Band—in other words, it’s Our Gang dismantling a talent show while brandishing their own home-made instruments.

In 1935 the kids’ fanciful adventures became downright fantastical—Mama’s Little Pirate sends the treasure-hunting Spanky off to an eerie cavern where he discovers a towering pirate instead of pieces of eight (the hirsute giant is played by the 7′, 6″ Tex Madsen, a sideshow performer billed as “The World’s Tallest Man”).

If seen at the right age, Shrimps for a Day will live in that young fan’s memory for all time. The kids are once again quasi-prisoners of an orphanage operated by two cantankerous taskmasters, a joyless duo by the name of Crutch. It’s a happy day however, because the children are being feted by Mary, a wealthy debutante played by Doris McMahan, and her boyfriend Dick, played by Joe Young. Thanks to a magic lamp, both Mary and Dick shrink to the size of the visiting rascals. The little person versions of Mary and Dick are played by real life siblings, George Brasno and his sister Olive. Though compact in size they were dazzling entertainers on the circuit—popular enough to have turned down roles in The Wizard of Oz. The 24 year old George was still discernibly an adult, but the then 18 year-old Olive appears positively doll-like while exuding a disconcertedly grown-up sex appeal—theater owners should have offered free therapy sessions on the way out.

The Little Rascals Vol. 4 is another splendid release from ClassicFlix, offering up the same rather bare-boned presentations but with beautifully high quality transfers. Coming up, now like clockwork, is Vol. 5 which will send some fans to the fainting couch—it features the debut of both Carl Switzer as Alfalfa and Darla Hood as… Darla.