User Reviews

Elsa Lanchester has always been a favorite of mine. She's one of those rare character actors you wish you could hang out with; she comes off like someone well worth knowing. I haven't read her autobiography as yet, but know a few basic facts about her: she grew up in a Bohemian family, performed in the British music-halls from an early age, and was married to Charles Laughton for many years. I dimly recall seeing her on the Dick Cavett Show a long time ago, but otherwise know her mostly from her film and TV appearances, where she usually played slightly dotty eccentrics, or, occasionally, sinister characters. What I never knew until recently was that, in the late 1920s, she appeared in three silent comedy shorts, written by—of all people—H. G. Wells! (An author not usually associated with comedy.) I've now seen one of these shorts, Blue Bottles, which is not only enjoyable in its own right, but also provides Lanchester with a good comic role, as well as a memorable bit part for Laughton, in his film debut.

The premise is simple. Elsa, playing herself, is walking home from the music-hall one night when she notices a discarded police whistle on the sidewalk. What she doesn't know is that, minutes earlier, a gang of crooks had knocked a bobby unconscious on this spot, and dragged him into their hideout. This was his whistle, and she's standing right in front of the crooks' hideout. Curious, and without quite realizing what she's doing, Elsa gives the whistle a toot. Thereupon, all hell breaks loose. Next thing you know, bobbies are arriving a large numbers, ready for action. They invade the crook's hideout, and a shoot-out erupts. Elsa gets caught in the fray, and tries desperately to stay safe and protect herself.

(Watch closely during the shoot-out: the rotund crook, who laughs maniacally as he shoots at Elsa from behind an overturned chair, is her fiancée Charles Laughton, in his film debut.)

Elsa, though semi-dazed after a clout on the head, manages to subdue several crooks, then flee the scene without being noticed. But she leaves behind her hat, and it's used to identify and locate her. The next morning a cop shows up at her rooming house to bring her in. She's terrified, but there are several more twists in store before her comic ordeal comes to an ironic close.

Blue Bottles is droll, spirited and suspenseful. Lanchester, with her big expressive eyes and childlike demeanor, makes a perfectly sympathetic and appealing central figure. There are a number of amusing gags along the way, including some clever cinematic touches, to keep things fresh. For instance, when Elsa blows the whistle, there follows a montage of ever-increasing tempo and intensity: nearby bobbies react, blow their own whistles, run down streets, etc. What we see is initially realistic, but then there are shots of soldiers in combat, tanks, plane flying overhead, a battleship, etc. Thus, a dramatic montage turns into a comic one. Later, during the shoot-out in the crooks' lair, similar transitions occur as grim situations turn into comic routines. The balance is deftly maintained, and the sequence is both exciting and funny.

At this writing, Blue Bottles can be viewed online, but unfortunately the available print was poorly transferred: the image is blurry, and the action is too slow. Even so, the quality comes across. I'd love to see a good print of this short—and the other Lanchester-Wells collaborations, if they're available. Blue Bottles would make an ideal curtain-raiser to one of Alfred Hitchcock melodramas of the period, such as The Lodger or Blackmail. After all, it's a crime story set in London, featuring an innocent person thrust into a dangerous situation. Very Hitchcock-like, only played for laughs; and if it were to be screened for audiences today, I believe it would still earn them.

I think it was critic Walter Kerr who once claimed female actresses during the silent era were too concerned with being pretty to be funny-- that being said, he was very, very wrong and clearly never watched BLUE BOTTLES.

Elsa Lanchester makes a fine comic lead in this eccentric short comedy from the late silent period. She's highly animated and expressive without going overboard, and by the end of the movie, you wish you could have gotten to spend more time with this character. The situation itself is ripe with comedic possibilities and it all moves at a fast clip. I have to admit though, my favorite part is probably the scene in the police station, where the officers give Lanchester the most awkward thank you possible.

It makes me wish Lanchester could have been the lead in a silent comedy feature proper, but at least we have this little gem to enjoy. I only wish it existed in a less fuzzy print.

Elsa Lanchester picks up a whistle from a deserted street and blows on it. Within seconds, she is surrounded by a horde of uniformed policemen who do battle with a horde of uniformed crooks in a house, with Miss Lanchester trapped in the middle of the fight.

That's Charles Laughton shooting as Miss Lanchester at about 10:30 into this short feature. They would marry the following February. Whether this is intended simply as a silly piece of business, or as a satirical piece of business is something I cannot tell at this distance in time. Certainly, H.G. Wells, who is credited with devising the piece, was a serious writer and quite adept at phrasing his concerns through the elaborate symbolism of his scientific romances. He was also quite adept at devising elaborate games that served only to amuse; he was one of the founders of war gaming using toy soldiers and carefully written rules.

In any case, I laughed several times in this short feature. I'm pretty sure that's what the creators intended.

Strange - and not particularly successful - little British movie from when the police were something more than just an administration unit responsible for issuing crime numbers for insurance companies. Elsa Lanchester unwittingly summons a small army of police constables when she blows a whistle she finds in the street. It just so happens that the whistle belonged to a copper who was abducted by a convention of villains, all of whom wear the archetypal striped shirts so beloved of cartoon animators. A young Charles Laughton takes pot-shots at his future wife from the top of the stairs.

So perfect are the performances in this silent send-up of crime melodramas that the rare intertitles are redundant. The plot is simple - Elsa, the innocent heroine (not quite innocently) blows the policeman's whistle she finds outside the house in which the criminals' convention is assembling. The entire police force, the armed forces, all respond to her alarm and she is caught up in the shooting match between police and criminals, her hat an increasingly battered target in the violent turmoil around her. Consistently with its genre, our heroine unknowingly captures the criminals and, rather than being charged with improper use of a police whistle, is rewarded with a broken umbrella.

All but one of the characters can ham their parts with abandon, and do so to great effect. Only Elsa Lanchester must play it straight, if dramatically, and she succeeds so well. The bemused innocence of her expression, every carefully modulated gesture, every movement of her body, tell us that Elsa is at a loss, yet make her interesting, hinting at a subversive mischievousness that is never more than implied. The cinematography is excellent, the sequence of policemen successively blowing their whistles being an example. This film seems as funny, as completely enjoyable now as it was seventy-three years ago.