The uneven movie survives as an oversized curiosity and a record of English stage styles of the time. Its most interesting character turns out to be Fritz Kortner's murderous bandit chief, a wicked fellow who is most happy when dishing out horrible deaths to his enemies.
Synopsis: Lazy tradesman Ali Baba (George Robey) uses the magic words that open Abu Hasan (Fritz Kortner)'s cave lair to steal some of the bandit's loot. He immediately flaunts his new wealth, even though his son Nur-al-din (John Garrick) desperately wants to buy the freedom of his sweetheart Maryana (Pearl Argyle), a court slave. Hasan disguises himself as the Chinese trader Chu Chin Chow to gain access to the palace, but is detected by dancer Zahrat (Anna May Wong) and made to flee. Ali's brother (Laurence Hanray) talks him out of the secret of the cave but is caught and murdered by Abu Hasan, who also chains Zahrat to servitude at the machine that opens the cave doors. Abu traces his stolen jewels back to Ali Baba and prepares a bloody revenge. He plans to sneak his forty thieves into the palace in large jars and murder everyone, including the visiting Caliph (Francis L. Sullivan).
Chu Chin Chow takes a bit of getting used to. Some amusing comedy numbers are hidden among the tired love ballads and spirited orchestral compositions that accompany the big dance numbers, but overall the musical score sags. Walter Forde's direction doesn't match Ernö Metzner's undeniably impressive sets, as the camera simply records the scenes without entering into the magical spirit of the story.
A lively cast makes all the difference in this broad farce. Dumpy comic George Robey played Sancho Panza twice and was Falstaff in Olivier's Henry V; his Ali Baba is an unscrupulous fool from the first scene to the last. No sooner does he become rich than he starts to court his brother's chubby wife. Francis L. Sullivan is the feared Caliph, an enormous, bored tyrant. Sullivan looks much younger than his later bravura turns in Joan of Arc (1948) and Night and the City (1950).
The motivating factor for this disc set appears to be the growing cult around Anna May Wong, a Los Angeles model-actress who went to England to get decent roles. She's already been favored in Milestone's fine restoration of the 1929 silent Piccadilly; several books about her have appeared in the last few years. May figures in two exotic dances amid beautifully costumed women arranged as if in a Ziegfeld pageant. Her character is always trying to lead the thief Abu Hasan into a trap; the writers of Chu Chin Chow probably felt her strangely ambivalent attitude to the villain was appropriately "inscrutable."
Less impressive are the ingenue leads, John Garrick and Pearl Argyle. She mostly poses while John's lovesick Arab sings melody-challenged ballads. Argyle is as pretty as a picture but received a far better showcase two years later as Raymond Massey's astronaut daughter in William Cameron Menzies' Things to Come.
The real reason to see Chu Chin Chow is to enjoy Fritz Kortner's thoroughly self-satisfied villain. It was the celebrated German actor's first film after leaving Hitler's Germany, where he had played Louise Brooks' ill-fated bridegroom in G.W. Pabst's legendary classic Pandora's Box. Kortner later had unrewarding Hollywood bits in Sorry, Wrong Number and Berlin Express and a slightly larger part in The Razor's Edge. His Abu Hasan is the most ebullient character on the screen. Kortner's eyes roll with delight with each new crime and torture. He uses considerable style when coercing a street cobbler to lead him to Ali Baba, the thief foolish enough to steal from thieves.
The movie is not without its highlights. An early musical number does tricks with the water from a fountain, until the screen is filled with dancing girls sprouting waterspouts (we wonder who mops up afterwards). A slave auction flirts with implied nudity. Anna May Wong's final dance becomes a rather gruesome assassination, and equally disturbing acts of violence jar the light-comedy mood. A merchant victim is buried alive. Another is stabbed by twenty swords at the same time and must be stitched together by a cobbler to make an appearance at his own funeral. Behind the happy finale, scores of men are apparently being boiled alive. The emphasis on killing keeps our attention, to say the least.
The appeal of Orientalism must have been significant in 1934, for the movie's title is the name of a relatively unimportant victim of Abu Hasan that he then impersonates in the film's first act. Chu Chin Chow leads us to expect a Chinese setting and we're instead given an Arabian Nights fairy tale.
VCI's three-disc special edition of Chu Chin Chow gathers a lot of material of varying quality. Disc One has the main original feature in a decent transfer of the original full-length show -- subsequent reissues shortened it by as much as three reels. The soundtrack is from the optical track and isn't the greatest for clarity, although most speeches are easily understood. Robey's Ali Baba sometimes betrays a distinct Cockney accent! Film restorer Jay Allan Fenton's commentary track makes many comparisons between the film and the stage version. Disc one also has galleries of Anna May Wong photos, her comedy appearance in Elstree Calling and a battered dance scene from Piccadilly.
Disc Two has the much shorter 1950s American re-cut, released by Lippert under the more appropriate title Ali Baba Nights. The picture and sound quality are much improved but most of the songs have been removed, leaving awkward continuity gaps and opening the picture on a dull dialogue scene. Extras on this disc are more lobby cards and Max Fleisher's cartoon Popeye Meets Ali Baba's Forty Thieves, with Bluto as Abu Hassim. It's one of Fleisher's Technicolor efforts that used three-dimensional settings for some scenes. The cartoon is a tiny bit soft but otherwise is in great shape, with good color.
Disc three presents an entire Fritz Kortner follow-up feature called Abdul the Damned, a 1935 thriller about intrigue and assassinations in the Turkish court of Abdul Hamid II in 1908. Kortner also plays the tyrant's actor-double in sort of a Kagemusha arrangement. The print for this feature is reasonable, with good sound; it also stars Nils Asther and has an interesting score by Hanns Eisler.
For more information about Chu Chin Chow, visit VCI Entertainment. To order Chu Chin Chow, go to TCM Shopping.
by Glenn Erickson
