In this modest, unambitious crime mystery, Ray Milland is Bulldog Drummond, an adventurous, thumotic young fellow who looks for crime everywhere he goes and, as Inspector Nielson observes, always seems to find it. I don't see anything special about that. Lots of fictional detectives find crime wherever they go, even when they're trying to get away from it. Can Hercule Poirot escape murder, even when he takes a paddle boat up in the Nile on vacation? No. No, he can't. And look at Inspector Morse. A quiet little college town like Oxford is turned into a charnal house. There should be a big "Second Coming" headline: JESSICA FLETCHER DESTROYS CABOT'S COVE. Let's face facts. These guys are detriments to society. You want to rid the world of crime? It's simple. You just lock up all the detectives. The only fictional detective who ever found himself between cases was Sherlock Holmes, and he had his cocaine to liven up his life.
In this one, which I believe is the only film in which Drummond was played by Milland, the detective has his car stolen by a pretty woman, traces her to a mental institution for the up-trodden, finds she is being held prisoner because of something to do with fake war bonds, enlists the aid of his pal Algie and his butler Tenny, rescues her after many tribulations, and rushes off to get married.
Either Milland or the director, James P. Hogan, made a mistake, I think, in allowing the character of Bulldog Drummond to be played as an eager Eagle Scout. Milland never put such energy into another role. (He was a fine, suave villain in Hitchcock's "Dial M For Murder," by the way.) Here, his eyes bulge, his vocal contours take on the outline of a roller coaster, and overall he's very animated. (Some might call it "overacting.") The rest of the cast go through their B-movie motions, hit their marks, and say what they're supposed to say. The young woman in jeopardy is Heather Angel. She has a great name but little to do. Porter Hall isn't really convincing as the chief heavy. He's not the criminal director of an insane asylum. He's an ordinary guy from Medford -- Medford, Oregon.
The plot has a lot of twists and turns but none are particularly memorable. They've all been used at one time or another in some Charlie Chan movie. Let's see, there is a lot of sneaking around in the shrubbery in the fog, a pistol slowly extrudes from behind a curtain, there's a secret door in the wall that's activated by pressing a button, a body sinks into a dangerous marsh, the hero sneaks into the nest of vipers through a window, a running gag is that poor Algie is about to become a father and continually tries to get to a phone and find out what's happening, Porter Hall fires his pistol holding it chest high and close to his sternum (which I think I prefer to his holding it at arms' length sideways), a couple of constables guarding Milland are served drugged drinks, Milland never loses his fedora or finds his necktie askew.
All in all, a fast-paced, good-natured slog through very familiar territory. It does what it was presumably designed to do -- entertain and distract an audience on a Saturday afternoon in 1937. They had plenty to be distracted from.
In this one, which I believe is the only film in which Drummond was played by Milland, the detective has his car stolen by a pretty woman, traces her to a mental institution for the up-trodden, finds she is being held prisoner because of something to do with fake war bonds, enlists the aid of his pal Algie and his butler Tenny, rescues her after many tribulations, and rushes off to get married.
Either Milland or the director, James P. Hogan, made a mistake, I think, in allowing the character of Bulldog Drummond to be played as an eager Eagle Scout. Milland never put such energy into another role. (He was a fine, suave villain in Hitchcock's "Dial M For Murder," by the way.) Here, his eyes bulge, his vocal contours take on the outline of a roller coaster, and overall he's very animated. (Some might call it "overacting.") The rest of the cast go through their B-movie motions, hit their marks, and say what they're supposed to say. The young woman in jeopardy is Heather Angel. She has a great name but little to do. Porter Hall isn't really convincing as the chief heavy. He's not the criminal director of an insane asylum. He's an ordinary guy from Medford -- Medford, Oregon.
The plot has a lot of twists and turns but none are particularly memorable. They've all been used at one time or another in some Charlie Chan movie. Let's see, there is a lot of sneaking around in the shrubbery in the fog, a pistol slowly extrudes from behind a curtain, there's a secret door in the wall that's activated by pressing a button, a body sinks into a dangerous marsh, the hero sneaks into the nest of vipers through a window, a running gag is that poor Algie is about to become a father and continually tries to get to a phone and find out what's happening, Porter Hall fires his pistol holding it chest high and close to his sternum (which I think I prefer to his holding it at arms' length sideways), a couple of constables guarding Milland are served drugged drinks, Milland never loses his fedora or finds his necktie askew.
All in all, a fast-paced, good-natured slog through very familiar territory. It does what it was presumably designed to do -- entertain and distract an audience on a Saturday afternoon in 1937. They had plenty to be distracted from.