Perry Mason 151: Gorilla at Large

Note: In a newspaper interview Raymond Burr described his school years as “not particularly happy ones.” “When you’re a little fat boy in a public school, or any kind of school, he said, “you’re just persecuted something awful.” He learned to control himself probably because he realized he’d be fighting all the time if he didn’t. He developed preternatural powers of concentration, which in his acting life made him study scenes to the point where he seemed comatose: “He’s not looking at you, you’re just there,” said fellow actor Barbara Hale. “I was just a fat heavy,” Burr told journalist James Bawden in 1993. “I split the heavy parts with Bill Conrad. We were both in our twenties playing much older men. I never got the girl but I once got the gorilla in a 3-D picture called Gorilla at Large.”

Gorilla at Large
1954 / 1:23
Tagline: “The hate-beast who lives to kill is loose!”
[internet archive]     

Raymond Burr gets top billing as Cyrus Miller, the proprietor of the delightfully named Garden of Evil amusement park, and he attacks the role with considerably more gusto than the script probably deserves. Burr was one of those actors who never seemed capable of giving less than a professional performance, and here he lends Miller a mixture of authority, resentment, and wounded pride that keeps the character interesting even when the plot threatens to wander off and trash all its commitments.

There are moments when one suspects Brother Ray took the assignment partly to cash a check and partly to remind Hollywood that he could do more than glower ominously from the sidelines. If so, the gamble pays off. He finds several shades to play: the calculating showman, the suspicious husband, and ultimately a man whose certainty gives way to disappointment and despair. Burr was always better than many of the projects he appeared in, and this is one of those occasions.

He is helped enormously by the supporting cast. Anne Bancroft, as the trapeze artist Mlle. Laverne, radiates danger in a remarkably compact package. She has the kind of presence that can make a room full of men forget their better judgment. Lee J. Cobb, meanwhile, stomps through the picture as a detective who delivers dialogue with such conviction that even the most improbable lines sound like pearls of wisdom. When he growls, “We’ve got two gorillas around here and one of them is a murderer,” resistance is futile.

Burr's performance works because he never tips his hand too early. Miller begins as a chilly, manipulative operator, but Burr gradually reveals the insecurity beneath the bravado. His jealousy and hurt feel genuine. Particularly effective is the sequence in the police office where he struggles with the window; it is a small moment, but Burr's frustration and helplessness tell us more about the man than pages of dialogue could.

Nor can the film be dismissed merely as bargain-bin entertainment. The Technicolor is magnificent. The circus setting positively explodes with gaudy reds, blues, and yellows. Cameron Mitchell sports hair of such an enthusiastic copper-red hue that it deserves its own screen credit. Having slimmed down considerably, Burr cuts an impressively sharp figure in a succession of well-tailored blue suits.

And then there is Bancroft. Born Anna Maria Luisa Italiano, she possesses a smoldering presence that the camera clearly adores. When she sizes up Cameron Mitchell, her expression suggests she has just discovered another willing volunteer for a lifetime membership in the sucker club. John Tannen contributes a memorably slippery turn as a publicity man whose instincts for blackmail are almost as finely developed as his instincts for self-preservation.

Taken together, the performances, the color photography, and Burr's unexpectedly layered work elevate the picture above its lurid premise. One arrives expecting a curiosity. One leaves remembering Raymond Burr.

As for the Perry Mason connection, ape-keeper Peter Whitney played an ill-tempered farmer in TCOT Pathetic Patient, an irascible gangster in TCOT Stand-In Sister and a venerable sea captain in TCOT Wrongful Writ. He was one of those big guys that sadly don't last too long: he died of a heart attack in 1972 at the young age of 55. 

The Kalends of Robert Florey: A Study in Scarlet

Note: As a young French boy, Robert Florey became obsessed with Hollywood movies in the silent era. He came to the US and became the King of B-Movies at Paramount, proud that he should bring craft to a studio system that churned out movies like sausage.

A Study in Scarlet
1933 / 1:11
Tagline: “SHERLOCK HOLMES Playing his Part in the Drama of Life-love and Dangerous Living!”
[internet archive]

The movie opens with a Robert Florey-type touch: we see a guy who’s been strangled through the broken glass of a railway carriage window. The death of Robert Murphy is ruled a suicide, though how exactly one strangles one’s self is left obscure. Sherlock Holmes is consulted by the widow Murphy, who is miffed at being left penniless by her husband’s executor.

Murphy was a member of a secret society. The Scarlet Ring is headed by lawyer Thaddeus Merrydew. The terms of membership in the society are that the assets of any of its deceased members will be divided among the remaining members (widows are left in the cold).

Who in their right mind, the movie-goer wonders again, would belong to such a society given that it is unsurprising when members start exiting this vale of tears before their time, helped along by gunshots? When Captain Pyke is shot, Sherlock Holmes focuses on his mysterious Chinese widow (Anna May Wong) as well as the nasty Merrydew. Other members are put in a dying way: Malcom Dearing first, then Mr. Baker. There is also an attempt on the life of young Eileen Forrester, who became a reluctant society member upon the death of her father. She engaged to a guy so dumb that she gets kidnapped when he is tricked.

Reginald Owen is a 20th century Sherlock Holmes. He has the manner of a successful business executive, which does not comport with my image of a believable Holmes. I mean, Holmes ought to have a slight whiff of eccentricity and instability whereas Owen always has his feet on the ground. Dr. Watson takes a minimal part and he's stuck in the Victorian era. The English actors have that offhand manner of being offensive that makes American rudeness seem merely out of ignorance. I mean, the English can act like cold bloody monsters with no effort at all (in movies; in real life, they’re always ever so nice).

Gleefully wicked, Anna May Wong is smiling that inimitable “I’m gonna chop you up into little pieces” smile.  She’s well-dressed too, as usual. She could wear a poncho and look poised and elegant. She’s in the movie for 10 minutes, tops, and she’s her compelling self for every second.

The plot is nothing like the original novel. In another Robert Florey touch, the subjective camera is used when Marrydew is consulting a hit man. The secret passage is pretty cool as is the fog here and there. But the utter lack of music – didn’t the silence ring in 1935 like it rings in 2026? - seems strange.

European Reading Challenge #6

I read this for the European Reading Challenge 2026.

Death and the Dutch Uncle – Patricia Moyes

Released in 1968, this is the eighth mystery starring Henry and Emmy Tibbett. Having recently been promoted from Inspector to Superintendent, Henry is getting used to his new duties and his office in New Scotland Yard bit by bit.

A petty hood who worked in hotel kitchens between temping on individual heists gets himself shot dead in the restroom of a private bar. Henry is assigned to the investigation.

It happens, however, that Henry and Emmy host a dinner with the brother of the victim in Death on the Agenda. Gordon Trapp is suspicious over the sudden deaths of two judges on an international board which adjudicates border disputes between countries. He tells Henry the two judges were to vote on a case between two newly independent African countries. I’m giving nothing away because the veteran reader of mysteries already knows the two sudden deaths turn out to be murders.

Because Henry and Emmy find themselves immersed in an international conflict, this feels more to me like an out-and-out thriller than a detective story. Though stable middle-class people, the Tibbets didn’t mind getting into breathless action. So this thriller reminded me of Margery Allingham in Traitor’s Purse or Nicholas Blake in Smiler with a Knife or Victor Canning in The Python Project.

Moyes was a traveler so sometimes her mysteries are set in England touristy areas or foreign climes. For instance, Down Among the Dead Men had the backdrop of sailing on England’s East Coast and  Dead Men Don’t Ski was set in the Italian Alps. This one is set in rural Holland with scenery and houses rendered vividly. Moyes’ second husband was a linguist, so the character of the interpreter Gordan Trapp is persuasive. 

There's a diverse variety of people and places in Moyes’ books that makes them different from many mysteries. She still retains the deft characterization, plot twists, exciting climaxes and surprising reveals that we like in traditional police procedurals, before whodunnits got socially conscious, regional, lengthy and dark in the Seventies.

Perry Mason 150: The Fifties’ Finest

Note: Critics generally view the Perry Mason novels from the 1950s as emblematic of Gardner’s efficient, formula-driven storytelling - with noticeable strengths and predictable weaknesses.

The Fifties’ Finest: Three Perry Mason Must-Reads

The Case of the Moth-Eaten Mink (1952)
The only 1950s Mason novel to receive a perfect 5/5 rating on FictionDB. Widely celebrated for its clever plot twists, engaging courtroom scenes, and memorable characters.

Several Perry Mason mysteries begin in restaurants, where Mason is trying to make up to Della Street for the fact that he's once again forced her to work punishing hours. They are unwinding over martinis when trouble strikes. Waitress Dixie Dayton vanishes mid-shift, leaving a paycheck and a shabby mink coat.

Soon, someone tries to run her down, then shoots at her. After a hospital stay, she disappears again. Her anxious boss hires Mason to find out why. A pawn ticket in the mink leads Mason to Seattle, where Dixie pawned a diamond ring - and a gun tied to a cop’s murder. Her boyfriend becomes suspect number one, and the body count rises with another killing.

Gardner packs in oddities: lipstick messages, Mason as both defense counsel and witness, a shady Paul Drake operative, mob ties, and a finale where Lt. Tragg shows grit. Gardner’s style - fast tempo, dialogue-driven, twists - eschews lush description but delivers ingenuity within its narrow frame.

The Case of the One-Eyed Witness (1950)
Earned a 4.5/5 rating on FictionDB, marking it as one of the most highly-praised entries of the decade. Praised for its riveting mystery centered on an accidental eyewitness and Gardner’s trademark legal maneuvering.

What makes TCOT One-Eyed Witness stand out among Gardner’s 80 Perry Mason novels? This entry brims with period Americana: crowded movie theaters, soda fountains, pay phones, and nightclubs with orchestras, hat-check girls, and cigarette girls. Characters sport names like Medford and Myrtle and toss off vintage slang - “in a blue funk,” “hell’s half acre,” “You’ve got a lot of crust.” In a rare product placement, we find out Mason smokes Raleighs.

But nostalgia isn’t the whole story. Beneath the retro gloss lies a plot tackling issues that still resonate: human trafficking, scams exploiting racial prejudice, and systemic flaws in criminal justice - overreaching cops, shaky identifications, and misuse of circumstantial evidence.

Though famous for puzzles over atmosphere, Gardner here adds touches of mood and humor. A highlight: Mason and Paul Drake hiding in a Turkish bath from Lt. Tragg, who barges in fully clothed, demanding answers while they protest they’ll “catch their death” if they step into the cold. Fast-paced, dialogue-driven, and slyly topical, this novel offers more than nostalgia - it’s Gardner at his most inventive.

The Case of the Angry Mourner (1951)
Also rated 4.5/5 on FictionDB. Noted for its emotionally charged narrative, intricate legal tactics and the protagonist’s compelling inner turmoil.

Belle Adrian never imagined breaking into a house, but fear for her daughter Carlotta drove her there. Carlotta had been skiing with Arthur Cushing, a playboy in tweed now stuck in a wheelchair. Dinner at Arthur’s ended badly - he got fresh, Carlotta slapped him, and left.

Moments later, a gunshot shattered the night. Belle slipped into Arthur’s place and found him dead. Panicked, she cleaned up, fearing Carlotta had pulled the trigger.

But resort towns thrive on gossip, and neighbors saw Belle sneaking in. Carlotta, meanwhile, thought Belle had done the deed. Family loyalty changed into suspicion, and the sheriff stirred the pot.

Enter Perry Mason, vacationing nearby. Belle calls him but hides the truth - typical Mason client behavior. He listens, spots holes big enough for an ATV, and digs in. Gardner’s world moves fast: bold characters, sharp dialogue, and courtroom maneuvers slick as ice.

Evidence plays musical chairs between mother and daughter in a drama worthy of Debbie and Carrie. In this small town, secrets travel faster than a puppy jumps on cheese, and Mason’s skill is the only check on an innocent ending up in Q's smokehouse.

Perry Mason 149: Some Slips Don’t Show

Note: The Cool and Lam books – especially the later ones, like this 17^th one, from 1957 -  never got the shake they deserved. Twenty‑eight short novels, all sharp as a tack and as riotous as fun could be, and these days you’d be hard‑pressed to find many of them in e‑format. And very few reviews, even by bloggers hardcore enough to still be writing reviews of more than 100 words.

Some Slips Don’t Show – A. A. Fair (Erle Stanley Gardner)

Erle Stanley Gardner - moonlighting as A.A. Fair when he wasn’t busy with Perry Mason - built the series around two detectives with different values and styles. Bertha Cool is big, blunt, and manages money the way a mother bear guards her cubs. Donald Lam is small, quick, and feels loyalty to clients he doesn’t even like. Somehow, the partnership works. Usually.

The trouble this time starts with Barclay Fisher, who has the uneasy sense he might’ve made a fool of himself in San Francisco. He’d been there for a convention, had a few drinks - well, more than a few - and woke up on the couch of a blonde party girl named Lois Marlow. Barclay can’t remember if he crossed any of the lines that matter in marriage, but he’s sure his wife Minerva won’t appreciate the nuances. One poison pen letter hinting at infidelity and he’s toast.

Someone plans to send exactly that letter. Barclay comes to Cool & Lam with $500 - more than good money in 1957, $5800 nowadays - and the desperation of a man who knows his not broad-minded wife.

Bertha takes the case because five hundred dollars is five hundred dollars. Donald takes a plane to San Francisco because somebody has to do the legwork, and Bertha’s not built for travel. He meets Lois, who’s lovely, cooperative, and just mysterious enough to set off the little alarms Donald keeps tucked in the back of his mind. It turns out the blackmail is only the top layer of something knottier, and before long there’s a dead body, a few bad actors circling, and Donald catching heat from the police for his usual looking too sincere to be telling the truth.

All the elements that make the series hum are here: Bertha throwing her weight around, Donald tampering with evidence, and Gardner keeping the pace brisk. The setup echoes Nero Wolfe - big boss at the office, smaller assistant in the field - but Cool and Lam have their own rhythm, less refined but more combustible. Donald tells Lois, for example, “Bertha hates me.”

And in the middle of trying to keep a guilty husband from the ire of his humorless wife, Donald somehow inspires a modern artist to produce a masterpiece. It’s that kind of case: crooked, lively, and unmistakably Cool and Lam.

Perry Mason 148: TCOT Screaming Woman

Note: Maybe AAA got to Gardner about traffic safety but in this 1957 novel Mason - usually a menace behind the wheel, a busy man who treats speed limits as quaint suggestions - suffers a sudden conversion. To Paul Drake’s astonishment, Perry begins operating the vehicle like a Sunday-school teacher driving a car held together by paper clips. No screeching tires, no hairpin theatrics. Just calm, law-abiding motoring. Drake, who has spent years bracing for impact every time Mason shifted gears, is delighted he can finally uncoil his white knuckles.

The Case of the Screaming Woman - Erle Stanley Gardner

Super-lawyer Perry Mason carefully avoids disputes between spouses. But in this 1957 mystery he acquires a client because the client’s wife – probably due to bitter experience - doesn't believe for a minute her husband's tale. He says he just wanted to help a stranded damsel in the middle of the night and dropping her off at the Beauty Rest Motel. Well, dear, registering as husband and wife seemed like a good idea at the time. The unamused wife asks Perry Mason to cross-examine the confident hubby in order to prove his tale is full of holes.

The husband is a sales manager and trainer who has excessive confidence in his ability to overcome sales resistance and make people relish anything he wants them to swallow. During the interrogation, Mason finds the client is so up to his keister in suspicious circumstances that his lame story won’t wash.

Soon enough the relentless tentacles of the police tighten around the sales guy. Mason too finds himself in legal quicksand. Though he protests legal mires and more challenging and interesting, even his loyal confidential secretary Della Street wonders aloud if he can avoid being disbarred this time.

 Follow Mason as he blazes a trail to uncover black market adoptions, narcotics abuse and blackmail until he plays one last gambit in the climactic court-room scene.

Perry Mason 147: TCOT Musical Cow

Note: “Stand‑alone” is a slippery label with Erle Stanley Gardner – most of his so‑called one‑offs are really pulp‑era story collections in disguise. The only one of those I’ve tackled is Dead Men's Letters (1990), a posthumous batch of Ed “Phantom Crook” Jenkins tales. As for actual stand‑alone crime novels, I’ve read This Is Murder (1948). Another is the 1950 title reviewed below.

The Case of the Musical Cow – Erle Staley Gardner

Rob Trenton is innocent - naturally. But he’s also the sort of guy who accumulates incriminating circumstances the way some kids got “Kick Me” signs taped on them in school. He returns from Europe on a ship with a suspected dope smuggler. He drives the very car where the illicit goods are stashed. He happens to be at the murder scene, gets off two shots for good measure, and - oh yes - the cops recover his gun with two shells missing, the slugs in the deceased matching up as easily as colorful socks from the dryer. Add a sworn eyewitness pointing straight at him, and you’ve got yourself the sort of evidentiary dogpile that would make Perry Mason say, “Sorry, son, include me out.”

Gardner’s blurb writers bill this 1950 outing one as a new twist on the classic courtroom thriller, and for once the copy writers aren’t completely blowing bushwah. The trial sequence introduces a fresh hero model and enough procedural zigzags to keep even seasoned Perry-maniacs awake. And despite the author’s fondness of the far‑fetched - Gardner trusted his readers to just enjoy the ride - it all goes down surprisingly smooth. I, for one, enjoyed it enough to postpone sleep, which should count as an endorsement or a medical warning.

Is it a perfect stand-alone? Hardly. The first forty percent sways like a jet‑lagged tourist stepping off their first trans‑Pacific flight; only when Rob is hauled in does the plot finally decide to sprint. By the time the forensic specialist Dr. Dixon unspools his lecture on bullet mysteries, most hardcore mystery readers will already have pieced together the essentials. The characters themselves barely register, and some resolutions take place offstage with all the drama of this scribe re-writing an informed consent form.

But the courtroom scene - baby, that’s the payoff. Gardner brings the hammer down with precision and confidence, reminding you why millions of readers like us kept coming back. Flaws and all, it’s a brisk, fun ride - classic Gardner, complete with thin characters and his relentless use of full names.