Tomorrow at Seven

The Black Ace warns his victims ahead when the time will come for them to die. Such is the basic premise of Tomorrow at Seven directed by Ray Enright and scripted by Ralph Spence. Interwoven into this basic premise is a young Chester Morris going to a Mr. Thorton Drake because he knows all there is to be known about the Black Ace. Morris is writing a book, meets a cute secretary that can introduce him, and all the main characters from that point on - including two cops included for protection - board a small plane to go to a huge mansion in Louisiana. All this to escape the ominous note saying Mr. Drake, played indelibly by Henry Stephenson, would die "tomorrow at seven." The old Southern home is reminiscent of the home used in the 1939 version of The Cat and the Canary(also taking place in Loiusiana). This film works because it has a pretty tight and inventive script, some good direction, and good acting. The mystery is not too terribly easy to solve - and though I figured it out - I could never be 100% sure!

I was impressed by Chester Morris as the square-jawed hero. He seems to be a more rugged version of Dick Powell. He is Clint Eastwood intense in some scenes, but quite relaxed on others. Great 1930's character actors Frank McHugh and Alan Jenkins provide some laughs as two bumbling, cowardly cops.

The plot is intriguing. A killer taunts his victims and the police by sending them the Ace of Spades as a sign that they're going to be murdered the following night at 7 P.M.. There are several nicely done scenes with some suspense, including an early 1930's passenger plane ride with lounge chairs rather than the passenger seats we're used to.

I thought the number of suspects should have been increased. There are really only about three people who could have committed the murders. Most good murder mysteries give us at least four or five to consider.

Still, a mixture of light humor together with a few moments of danger makes this film quite pleasant.

The residents of a dark mansion are threatened by a mysterious murderer who uses cards to tell his future victims the exact time of their death.

One intended victim decides he will get on an airplane to try to outwit the murderer , but at the appointed time the lights in the plane go out - death calls again

Tomorrow at seven is another one of those mysteries featuring a couple of annoying inept police officers, while Chester Morris works things out in regard who the black ace murderer is - a fast-paced and nicely plotted mystery, however as much as the inept police men provides some funny moments they can be a bit too much at times.

A good cast enlivens this rather routine closed circle of suspects murder done by RKO. Chester Morris over from MGM stars in this film, as a rather cocky crime novelist out to solve some real crimes. Over at Warner Brothers James Cagney would have fit this part better than O.J. Simpson fit that glove.

Morris is on the trail of a killer known as 'the Black Ace' who leaves an ace of spades at each of his crime scenes daring the police to catch him. Morris is following a lead concerning millionaire Henry Stephenson and on the way he meets up with Vivienne Osborne who is the daughter of Stephenson's private secretary Grant Mitchell.

When Stephenson gets a calling card they all decide to fly to his bayou plantation including a couple of Chicago cops played by Frank McHugh and Allen Jenkins. As they are about to land Mitchell is murdered when the lights go out.

Things might have been solved faster if the law wasn't in the persons of McHugh and Jenkins. These two geniuses couldn't catch a cold they must have had influence at City Hall to have been made detectives. But they are a great deal responsible for a lot laughs in this film. Political influence wasn't exactly unknown in Chicago.

This probably would have been done with more style at Warner Brothers, still this is an entertaining mystery with more laughs than usual thanks to McHugh and Jenkins.

Tomorrow at Seven (Ray Enright, 1933) is like a Monogram Chan before the fact: a creaky, archaic mystery with a none-too-surprising culprit - but fun just the same. Chester Morris (later Boston Blackie in Columbia's exceptional B movie series) is a novelist investigating the inspiration for his latest book, a killer known as The Black Ace. He travels to see wealthy Henry Stephenson, who's also researching said homicidal maniac, and before you can say "when you finish that jigsaw, it's going to contain a threat from the killer", Stephenson's secretary finishes a jigsaw, and finds it contains a threat from the killer. This is a slow-moving production that recalls movies made in the early days of sound cinema, but the name cast keeps the questionable narrative afloat and it's a delight to see legendary character actors Frank McHugh and Allen Jenkins as a pair of thick cops. "Anyone touch the body?" a creepy coroner enquires of them. "Nobody," replies McHugh confidently. "Only Dugan and me and Drake and that guy Henderson and Broderick."