a little laughter, a little tear
by Douglas Messerli
Waldemar Young (screenplay, based on the novel
by Tod Robbins), Tod Browning (director) The Unholy Three / 1925
One of the biggest surprises for me in a long
while was seeing Tod Browning’s silent film of 1925, The Unholy Three. A
mystery, detective story, and courtroom drama, as well as a romance and a tale
of criminal perversity all in one, Browning wields his camera as if traveling
through a rat maze, easily rounding corners before darting off into new spaces
of horror and delight.
Like so many of Browning’s works of cinema, this begins in a sideshow,
featuring Professor Echo (Lon Chaney) as a ventriloquist with a dummy who
agrees to join him at a local bar, a muscle man who bends rings of steel,
Hercules (Victor McLaglen), and a “midget” performer Tweedledee (Harry Earles)
who has such a short temper that at one point he attacks a child who heckles
him, turning the crowd against all the performers so that the three and their
picket pocket friend Rosie O’Grady (Mae Busch) are forced to run for their
lives.
But
as they regroup, Echo has an idea that is so strange and unthinkable that they
all agree to join him in an “unholy” trio in which he is determined to play the
role of a kindly grandmother with their little friend performing as her young
grandson, the strongman as the child’s father and her son-in-law, and Rosie as
her granddaughter. With a hired man, Hector McDonald (Matt Moore) they open a
pet bird shop using it as a cover to enter wealthy homes which they then rob.
Although one can’t precisely describe Echo’s determination to dress in
drag for most of this movie to be LGBTQ-related, one has to wonder why he—or
more importantly perhaps, why the original novelist and screenplay writer
Waldemar Young—chose a transgender figure for their central figure’s undercover
identity. Chaney’s crossdressing is not only convincing, but contributes, along
with Earles’ very realist portrayal of the infant whom Mrs. O’Grady often
pushes around the city in a baby carriage, to the sense of the complete oddity
of this group’s behavior and draws the film into a stranger territory than if
they were simply a band of thieving thugs.
Things are made even more complicated by Echo’s love for Rosie, who
herself falls for the “straight” and almost nerdy clerk Hector. The constant
plot machinations of the intelligent Tweedledee along with Hercules’ penchant
for violence and the nearly inexplicable affection Echo has for his pet gorilla
of whom Hercules is terrified further shift this film into a slightly
surrealist world that reminds one a bit of later satires of such hothouse
groupings such as The Rocky Horror Picture Show and The Little Shop
of Horrors, turning even a benign small town pet shop into a kind of
sideshow.
By the time the story catches up with their actions, they have already made several robberies whose treasures they keep in a safe. And the central heist they plan in the story is the robbery of a ruby necklace, just purchased by the local socialite Mr. Arlington. One of the ways they gain entry to the houses to stake them out, evidently, is to sell talking parrots using a breed of the bird that doesn’t actually speak, the ventriloquist granny doing the talking for them. When Mrs. Arlington comes home with the bird, of course, it has not a word to say, and her husband wants his money back. Mrs. O’Grady with her grandson in his carriage comes to the rescue, of course, childing the naughty bird for refusing to speak as baby Tweedledee cases the place.
As Christmas Eve arrives, the gang is almost out the door to collect the “beads” when Rosie and Hector return from shopping, gifts and a tree in hand, planning to decorate it in the shop. Echo quickly sends Hercules and Tweedledee into the kitchen to wait, while he gets back into drag, both angry about the intrusion and jealous for Rosie’s attentions to the clerk.
While Echo as Mrs. Grady attempts to deal with the couple, Tweedledee
suggests that he and Hercules pull the caper, sharing the money they get for
the necklace. And off they go before Echo can prevent their acts.
It
works, and the poor innocent clerk is taken off for examination. Yet Echo knows
they will be back for more questions and also that Rosie, now in love with the
jerk, might well let the cops know that Hector was framed. He kidnaps Rosie,
accordingly, traveling with the other two members of his “unholy three” to a
cabin in the country where they hideout.
Eventually, Hector’s trial comes up for hearing, Rosie growing more and
more worried about saving his life. After promising to stay with Echo if he
will only get Hector out of the bind, Echo suddenly regains a conscience,
attending the trial in male attire and attempting, during the final summation,
to provide some evidence, without incriminating himself, that Hector is
innocent. At one point he even manages to get Hector back on the stand,
speaking for him through his ventriloquy. But when no one will believe what
Hector seems to say or his lawyer believe that he actually didn’t say
anything, Echo has no choice but confess to the crimes.
While he has been in town, Tweedledee again attempts to get Hercules to
split the money and escape the clutches of Echo. When Hercules bulks, the
little man looses Echo’s gorilla on him, the beast suddenly attacking and,
presumably, killing them both, allowing Rosie to run away.
In what seems to me an illogical plot development, but one that surely
fits the logic of Browning’s outsider heroes, the court decides to let Echo
free as reward for his confession. Rosie returns to him as promised, but now a
redeemed man, he lies to her, suggesting that he was only joking about his love
for her, permitting her to return to Hector, while a tear falls from his eye.
In the very last scene, we once again see Echo, the dummy on his knee,
performing in the sideshow, repeating the lines he spoke early in the film:
“That's all there is to life, friends, ... a little laughter ... a little
tear." Like the mythical Echo, this ventriloquist can only repeat what has
previously been said, while losing his imaginary lover in the process.
As in so many Browning films, we observe in this work his fascination
with societal outsiders struggling with issues of identity, gender, deformity,
and a double life involving imitation. Focusing on their world, rather than the
normative society, the director demonstrates even more purely the moral
differences of individuals, and the ability of some, like Rosie and Echo, to be
redeemed. Basically, however, the outsiders of Browning’s world remain just
that, permanently separated from the normal society that surrounds them, but
perhaps more pure and morally exemplary for that very reason. One might
describe Browning’s films as early exemplars of the kinds of issues pursued
later by filmmakers such as Tim Burton and John Waters, moral fabulists with a
fascination for the perverse.
Los Angeles, February 5, 2024
Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog
(February 2024).
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