I usually edit and re-write the notes I jot down at a movie's press preview, but for some reason I kept my original material. Here it is:
Despite a credit title brag that this film was actually photographed in the Bahamas, it is obvious that a 2nd unit contributed the few bits of local color transferred to the screen (often via clumsy back projection). Except for a few brief shots of Miss De Carlo herself, and even less of Mr Duff, the entire roster of Republic's players remain fixed in the 4024 Radford Avenue, North Hollywood studio. And oh, yes, I forgot to add Miss De Carlo's double to the location roster. She's the one who takes the plunge. A really lovely girl. It's a pity she didn't carry the role itself.
Okay, I'm prejudiced, I'll admit it. Like a few other Hollywood stars I could mention, De Carlo had little time for the press. She was obviously bored. She'd answer a few questions in monosyllables and then give us the brush-off with the excuse that the director needed her on the set. And when we wandered on to the set about 40 minutes later, there she'd be, talking most animatedly with one or two of her male co-stars – and the director nowhere in sight! Yes, that could happen for real occasionally, but with Miss De C., it happened all the time. Yes, I'm prejudiced. You have been warned!
It's obvious – studio publicity to the contrary – that De Carlo's "singing" has been dubbed (except for a drunken chorus). Her miming is, to say the least, inexpert; while her "dancing", to be charitable, is embarrassingly gauche.
In fact, Flame of the Islands is a sorry film all around. The screenplay is impossibly contrived, with characters so inconsistently motivated from scene to scene as to drive a halfway decent actor to despair. Of course, few of the players in this line-up probably noticed, though Zachary Scott does seem to wear an understandable air of bewilderment. We wonder what his character is supposed to be too. It seems he is just along for the ride. No such problems afflict De Carlo and Duff. In fact, Duff seems even more wooden than usual. Only Kurt Kasznar as the amorous villain has any chance to shine.
The screenplay seems to have gone through a wringer in the censor's office and has thus been robbed of what little sense it may have had originally. Laughably inept cost-cutting robs even the final (and only) spurt of action of its belated bit of drama.
With all these negatives against the movie, Ludwig's direction is understandably banal and lethargic. Admittedly, the film's editor has attempted to speed things up a bit by eliminating some tedious continuity footage. Some further jump cuts have probably been contributed by the studio's desire to chop the film down to exactly 90 minutes. Mr. Yates was not a fan of long movies – unless, of course, they starred Mrs. Yates.
The photography is likewise indifferent. (The first reel in the TV version seems to be printed through gauze).
Yes, all told, this is a very sorry film, which even rabid Republic fans (like me) will count a dead loss.
Despite a credit title brag that this film was actually photographed in the Bahamas, it is obvious that a 2nd unit contributed the few bits of local color transferred to the screen (often via clumsy back projection). Except for a few brief shots of Miss De Carlo herself, and even less of Mr Duff, the entire roster of Republic's players remain fixed in the 4024 Radford Avenue, North Hollywood studio. And oh, yes, I forgot to add Miss De Carlo's double to the location roster. She's the one who takes the plunge. A really lovely girl. It's a pity she didn't carry the role itself.
Okay, I'm prejudiced, I'll admit it. Like a few other Hollywood stars I could mention, De Carlo had little time for the press. She was obviously bored. She'd answer a few questions in monosyllables and then give us the brush-off with the excuse that the director needed her on the set. And when we wandered on to the set about 40 minutes later, there she'd be, talking most animatedly with one or two of her male co-stars – and the director nowhere in sight! Yes, that could happen for real occasionally, but with Miss De C., it happened all the time. Yes, I'm prejudiced. You have been warned!
It's obvious – studio publicity to the contrary – that De Carlo's "singing" has been dubbed (except for a drunken chorus). Her miming is, to say the least, inexpert; while her "dancing", to be charitable, is embarrassingly gauche.
In fact, Flame of the Islands is a sorry film all around. The screenplay is impossibly contrived, with characters so inconsistently motivated from scene to scene as to drive a halfway decent actor to despair. Of course, few of the players in this line-up probably noticed, though Zachary Scott does seem to wear an understandable air of bewilderment. We wonder what his character is supposed to be too. It seems he is just along for the ride. No such problems afflict De Carlo and Duff. In fact, Duff seems even more wooden than usual. Only Kurt Kasznar as the amorous villain has any chance to shine.
The screenplay seems to have gone through a wringer in the censor's office and has thus been robbed of what little sense it may have had originally. Laughably inept cost-cutting robs even the final (and only) spurt of action of its belated bit of drama.
With all these negatives against the movie, Ludwig's direction is understandably banal and lethargic. Admittedly, the film's editor has attempted to speed things up a bit by eliminating some tedious continuity footage. Some further jump cuts have probably been contributed by the studio's desire to chop the film down to exactly 90 minutes. Mr. Yates was not a fan of long movies – unless, of course, they starred Mrs. Yates.
The photography is likewise indifferent. (The first reel in the TV version seems to be printed through gauze).
Yes, all told, this is a very sorry film, which even rabid Republic fans (like me) will count a dead loss.