February 1 1971

One of the last films directed by Walter Summers (The Lost Patrol, Dark Eyes of London), Premiere is rather a fascinating curio. It's typical of the kind of film that helped to wreck the economy of the British industry: it's elaborate, large-scale, obviously expensive, yet basically "B" fodder, without enough going for it in terms of names or content for it to make any real impression off its native soil. Also, like most British films of the period, it is (conservatively) several years behind the times - in this case quite literally, since it is exactly the same kind of film as the 1934 American Murder at the Vanities, likewise a mystery story in which a murder is committed, and solved, during the run of a musical revue. None of these comments on the film's commercial problems reflect on its entertainment values however; it's a breezy and handsome film, and the musical numbers, while not of a nature to cause any trepidations over at Warner Brothers, are surprisingly efficient and spectacular, and really only lack good hummable tunes to go along with all the chorine manipulation. (Admittedly, the lack is not a minor one!) The mystery element likewise, is not plumbed to any great depths, and it's mainly a matter of the inspector (that always reliable and interesting actor John Lodge) being on hand when the killer, for no very valid reason, goes to pieces and confesses. Since the killer is the British equivalent of Ralph Morgan, and has been cheerfully unmasked on several occasions as the unsuspected villain, there's not much guess-work involved there either! But the film is short, and interweaves neatly between melodrama and music, after first following one of the key rules of mystery construction (illustrated best in The Kennel Murder Case) in establishing the murderee as such a swine that everybody in the cast seems to have a perfectly valid motive for polishing him off.

In 1928-1933, Hollywood seemed inordinately concerned with the melodramatic potentialities of the Russian revolution (Rasputin and the Empress, The Virtuous Sin, British Agent), while the British of course trailed the field, making their contribution - Moscow Nights, Knight Without Armor - later in the 30's. Even the Russians, celebrating the 10th anniversary of the Revolution, were swayed to melodrama a little; Ozep's The Yellow Pass with Anna Stenn, though silent, was released in the US in 1931. The Yellow Ticket is based on a colorful earlier play (also made as a silent film in 1918) in which sex and suspense are happily given pride of place over political issues. (John Barrymore played the brash young hero in the NY stage version). The film is an astonishingly slick and fast-moving piece of work for the normally rather stodgy 1931 period. There's a constant musical score, decidedly rare for that transitional period, and excellent camerawork. Moreover, there are no long talky set-pieces; even when nothing much is happening, the film is constantly broken down into good compositions, exciting shots, and well-paced cuts. It's all appropriately florid and theatrical, with no subtlety needed or offered. There's also some incredibly fascinating and highly stylised stock footage of a prison camp; it also turns up in The Red Dance, but may not originate there, as it has a decided European look to it. The bordello however is pure Stroheim baroque, with even a little nudity for our voyeurs. Logic perhaps isn't a strongpoint, the disregard of diplomatic immunity in the British Embassy scenes displays behaviour that is untoward, to say the least – but theatrical bravura is a more than acceptable substitute. Lionel Barrymore has the time of his life as the villain, relishing lines and scenes that were only topped by his "Rasputin" shortly thereafter. Boris Karloff has an effective bit as a drunken lackey who tries to assault Miss Landi, only to be stopped by Walter Byron who likewise tries to assault Miss Landi, only to be stopped by Lionel Barrymore, who... All of this enterprise does rather tend to put the mannered and self-conscious playing of Laurence Olivier somewhat in the shade, and when he did finally get around to playing a Russian himself (in The Demi Paradise) the script alas did not call for him to assault the equally patrician Penelope Dudley Ward. (Coincidentally, a point I'd forgotten, he also played a Russian - opposite Miss Ward - in Moscow Nights!) But levity aside, Yellow Ticket is both above-average Walsh and certainly above-average 1931 movie-making.

- Wm. K. Everson -