Bury Me Dead

A case of mistaken identity over charred, human remains (necklace i.d.) precipitates a declaration of death for a wealthy young woman (Lockhart) who then secretly attends her own funeral, revealing herself to selected people in attendance that include her husband (Daniels), step sister (O'Donnell) & lawyer (Beaumont), all coming under suspicion for trying to hasten Barbara's end. Bernie Vorhaus (B) directs on a screenplay by Karen DeWolf (B) & Dwight Babcock, based on Irene Watson's radio mystery of the same title. Bury offers a rare leading role to June who plays it cool as a cucumber in this nifty little noir, co-star Mark, aka Stan Barton, reminding of popular at the time Den OKeefe, coincidentally to utter in dialogue the title of DO's soon to be released Tony Mann vehicle ("raw deal") but sans the cigarette, Mr Carlin instead tossing back a brandy whenever the noose tightens (gulp). Watch for top billed Cathy O'Donnell as Rusty, Hugh Beaumont of TV's Leave It to Beaver, John Dehner in an early reporter role, the ubiquitous Charles Lane whose characters put the rank in crank & Sonia "Do so!" Darrin as hard luck schemer, Helen. One of the brevity beauties of post-war, Sonia's stunning looks, sharp features & thin frame had her typecast the femme fatale, best remembered as AG Geiger's Agnes Lowzier, aka, the "grapefruit" gal who does battle with bookworm Bogie in Hawks The Big Sleep (46), all of it is captured by the creative camera of John Alton (Raw Deal, American Paris). Movie ratings, like lab values, will look to trends and rest within a range. I call Bury Me Dead a variant of good (2.5/4).

Bury Me Dead is directed by Bernard Vorhaus and adapted to screenplay by Dwight V. Babcock and Karen DeWolf from a radio drama by Irene Winston. It stars June Lockhart, Cathy O'Donnell, Hugh Beaumont, Mark Daniels, Greg McClure and Milton Parsons. Music is by Emil Cadkin and cinematography by John Alton.

Barbara Carlin (Lockhart) surprises everyone by turning up alive and well shortly after she had been buried at funeral! This poses two immediate questions: Who was buried in Barbara's coffin? And who was it who attempted to murder her?

As has been noted by the few writers on line who have written about this film, it's a grand premise that unfortunately isn't exploited to the maximum. This is material that makes us lament that the likes of "Lang", "Siodmak" or "Mann" didn't have this written idea land on their desks. Compact at under 70 minutes, it's a film that, under Bernard Vorhaus' guidance, just doesn't know if to play it as straight or as a straight out murder mystery comedy. Something further enhanced by Cadkin's musical score, which, quite frankly, belongs in an "Abbott and Costello" movie. However, the film rises above average because the script is actually strong and John Alton weaves some magic with his photographic lenses.

Narratively it's a good who done it? The mystery is strong and the reveal is not easy to guess from the off, though in fairness the comedy moments in the flashbacks kind of distract you from any detective work you want to partake in. But coupled with some sharp lines given to Lockhart, who delivers them with a scorpion like sting, it proves to be well written stuff. Yet without doubt it's Alton's work that makes this well worth viewing, whenever the film gets indoors the film takes on another dimension. Alton creates stark images at every turn, angled shadows everywhere, the whites ghostly and the darks deathly black. The last 15 minutes of the film are played out on this atmospheric stage and it's everything that an Alton fan could want. Even if it ultimately is work that deserves a far, far better film. 6/10

June Lockhart has the dubious privilege of being an onlooker at her own funeral. She then proceeds to navigate the tricky path of revealing that she is still alive, whilst probing into the identity of the charred remains buried in her place.

What had the potential to be a taut, dark murder mystery, simply implodes into an implausibly jaunty, 'Oh, you're alive!' caper. The humour is never sufficiently strong or consistent to transform 'Bury me Dead' into black comedy and the frequent, distracting flashbacks come across as the antics of a director fixated by a new toy that he can't resist playing with.

Belatedly, there is at least the contrivance of mounting tension, as dithering detective, Charles Lane launches into an 'I didn't get where I am today' style criminology lecture instead of immediately responding to a rapidly escalating, life threatening situation.

This special deluxe edition comes with ultra low definition blurry print, numerous missing frames (probably lurking down the back of a sofa near you) plus...... a SNAP! CRACKLE! And POP! Soundtrack, occasionally veering towards pneumatic drill territory! Aah, they don't make 'em like that anymore.

An inferno against a night sky opens Bury Me Dead, with the whinnying of high-strung horses as they're being led from their burning stable. Still inside the tinderbox, all those present assume, is a well-to-do young married woman (June Lockhart). But later, at the burial, a mysterious veiled mourner hitches a ride home with family lawyer Hugh Beaumont and reveals herself to be the presumed contents of the casket.

She does her own version of the dance of the seven veils by dramatically appearing to her various survivors, who greet her re-emergence with a multicolored outbursts of consternation, shock and relief. (Lockhart's such a sweetie she can't bring this off with the panache it demands.) Among the surprised are her husband Mark Daniels, whom she suspects of setting the fire, and her spoiled and wilful kid sister Cathy O'Donnell (who oddly takes top billing). One by one, they and others relate to the police, in flashback, their own recollections of the night of the fire. One big question remains: Whose remains were laid to rest?

Starting off with a great premise – the fantasy of being present at one's own funeral – Bury Me Dead soon finds itself running low on ingenuity. Not completely out, just low. On the plus side, it boasts expectedly fine cinematography courtesy of John Alton, just before he embarked upon his legendary collaboration with director Anthony Mann. But here the director was Bernard Vorhaus, nearing the end of his humdrum career if not of his life, which would last almost half a century after his last movie (he fell victim to the Hollywood blacklist and relocated to England).

In a style inexplicably popular in crime programmers of the late ‘30s and early ‘40s, Vorhaus decides to leaven the homicides with laughs. Yet Bury Me Dead manages to pull short of the brink of one of those ghastly slapstick mysteries – not by much, but still short. (As a beef-witted prizefighter, Greg McClure shoulders most of the ungainly comedy on his very broad frame.) With its pleasant but low-voltage cast getting little extra juice from Vorhaus, Bury Me Dead doesn't quite count as forgotten treasure, even by the forgiving standards of nostalgia buffs and film-noir freaks. But it's not a disaster, either, in length and appeal about as comfy and silly as an old episode of Simon & Simon or Matlock padded out for a slot on TV after the late local newscast..

This film could not make up its mind whether it wanted to be a light comedy or a serious mystery. It tried to be both and failed at that attempt. The actresses in this film were a bit better than their male counterparts, but it still felt like it was a filmed version of Clue, without the various rooms. It also had a strange connection to Mel Brooks and his film "Young Frankenstein". When you watched Young Frankenstein, a great film, you knew it was a spoof right from the beginning. In this film, you are not sure if the writer and/or the director want you to consider the film to be a light-hearted romp, or if they intended it to be a serious thriller. I thought it was a bit funny; but not funny enough. And it certainly was not serious enough to be a good mystery. Watch at your own discretion.