Edgar “Slow Burn” Kennedy

Bijou favorite Edgar Kennedy was a brilliant and prolific comedy actor. Biographer Bill Cassara provides an excellent introduction to Edgar in the prologue (reprinted here) from his highly recommended book "Edgar Kennedy-Master of the Slow Burn".

Ned Comstock, the film archivist at the Doheny Library at the University of Southern California, answered the phone. The call was yet another person who wanted to write a book on an old Hollywood movie star. “Who are you writing about?” Ned asked. Without any further introduction, I confidently spoke the name of Edgar Kennedy.

There was a pregnant pause of about three seconds. This was not the rounding up of the usual suspects of controversial celebrities: Clark Gable, Charlie Chaplin, Marilyn Monroe, Jean Harlow, Fatty Arbuckle and their ilk. Ned curiously replied, “ ...Why Edgar Kennedy?”

Why Edgar Kennedy, indeed. Edgar died at the top of his game back in 1948, but, since then, Hollywood has barely bothered reflecting on one of its film pioneers. Biographical information about his long and bumpy road to success has always been scarce and has been generally limited to his films.

Edgar Kennedy appeared in more than 400 films spanning four decades. He was one of the first to be honored (posthumously) with a star enshrining his name on the “Hollywood Walk of Fame.” Known as “The Master of the Slow Burn,” he had many other monikers over the years: “Mr. Average Man,” “Kennedy the Cop,” “Uncle Edgar,” “One Punch Kennedy,” and even “The Human Donald Duck.”

An original Keystone Kop, Edgar predated the arrival of Charlie Chaplin and Fatty Arbuckle in the Keystone Comedies for Mack Sennett. He played foil to Laurel and Hardy, the Marx Brothers, W.C. Fields, Eddie Cantor and Harold Lloyd. Edgar also played memorable characters in prestigious Hollywood films, working with Clark Gable, Carole Lombard, Jimmy Stewart, Claudette Colbert, Dick Powell and John Wayne. He saw the rise of Frank Capra, Jean Harlow, Betty Grable, Ginger Rogers, Lucille Ball and Doris Day.


Edgar starred in his own short comedy series for RKO, which spanned seventeen years. These “Average Man” short comedies established films’ first all-talking situation comedy series. They fathered a genre emulated by radio program “families” and later television sitcoms.
A screen clown for most of his career, with some notable exceptions, Edgar also directed many comedies himself. After years of anonymity, he finally hit pay dirt by developing a character that was much put upon by others. He would seemingly simmer in frustration over life’s annoyances, determined not to let it bother him. As the tension would mount, Edgar’s pent-up impatience often boiled over. Unable to hold it in, he might finally ignite in anger, resigning himself to fate by emphatically wiping his face with his left hand. His stock-in-trade grimace and “Slow-Burn” made him one of the movies’ most recognizable faces, until death claimed him at the peak of his career at age fifty-eight.

Now, more than half a century after Edgar Kennedy’s death, the embers of interest in his life have been rekindled. Rare family photographs and stories, provided by Edgar’s only daughter, have been shared with the author. Archival research has revealed never-known details about his childhood, professional boxing career and the evolution of his film legacy.Edgar Livingston Kennedy never had the opportunity to tell his life memoirs, but, with the cooperation of his family, combined with gumshoe efforts, the story can now be shared.

You can read more about Edgar by visiting the official Edgar Kennedy website, and watch for our upcoming interview with Edgar biographer Bill Cassara.

Literary Depictions Of The Movie Matinee Experience

This week’s post by blogmaster Rich Mendoza combines a great depiction of depression-era moviegoing, a salute to a wonderful American humorist, and a “for real” Bijou Blog contest. Read on....

None of us at The Bijou Blog are old enough to have experienced the movie matinees of the 1930s and 40s, the phenomenon that we reconstructed, in part, with Matinee At The Bijou. Some of us Boomers did catch the tail end of the era in the 1950s when cartoons, cliffhangers and double-features were still part of the Saturday afternoon fare. Bijou associate producer Lance Pugh wrote vividly about these years in his memoir Sweet Saturdays. Though I saw the occasional Gerald McBoingBoing or Pink Panther cartoon before the main feature, the rest of the parade had passed me by.

So, when writing the theme song “At The Bijou” for the original series I set about researching the subject, but turned up very little. My two best sources for general information about life in these United States during the 1930s were "Since Yesterday" by Frederick L. Allen and the Time-Life series "Our American Century". Together they gave me a great sense of daily life during the depression and World War II, but neither had more than a few words about the movie-going experience. What words they had tended to be a collection of facts; the price of tickets, which actors and actresses were the biggest box-office draws for each year, etc. Then I recalled a story “Leopold Doppler and the Great Orpheum Gravy Boat Riot” I had read in Jean Shepherd’s collection "In God We Trust, All Others Pay Cash."

I had been an avid Shepherd fan during my teenage years. I was one of the faithful who, after pretending to go to bed, tuned in to WOR and turned the radio down low so my mom wouldn’t know I was up past 10. Shepherd was a great story teller and a very funny guy. Now and then comedians are accused of playing to the band, keeping their references too inside for the room in general. Shep made his listeners feel like we were the band. When “In God We Trust...” came out in 1966 I read it eagerly. (More about the Shepherd story anon....)

Fast forward 42 years, and I’m taking over editorship of The Bijou Blog. I’ve become the blogmaster. That may not sound all that exalted to you, gentle reader. Frankly, it doesn’t sound all that exalted to me either, but it was my first title with “master” in it. I’m kind of jazzed to be the master of anything and can’t pass up the opportunity to throw the title around a little. BLOGMASTER...okay, I’m ready to move on now.

In thinking about articles I’d like to see in the blog I planned a piece that would give an overview of, well, literary depictions of the movie matinee experience (see above). By the way, the point was never as much exploring moviegoing in literature, as it was answering the question “What was going the movies like during the 30s and 40s?” Reference books and history books don’t paint a very vivid picture for those of us too young to have been there. Matinee At The Bijou provided some of the answer, of course. I assumed that a little digging would turn up plenty of pertinent prose, memoir and fiction to flesh out the picture.

Not so. A Google search turned up nothing useful. At my local library, where the librarians are very helpful, knowledgeable and thrilled to be asked a question about books, (instead of “Why can’t I get on the FreshBooty.com website? ) my librarian came to the same impasse. She remembered the Jean Shepherd story right away, but could think of no other examples. She called over the other librarians but we got no further. Oh, there was plenty of “I think there might have been something in an Art Buchwald column I read...you should try Art Buchwald” but nothing concrete. Call me lazy, but I’m loath to read 30 years of Art Buchwald columns in hopes that he might have written something on the subject.

This is where you, the Bijou Blog faithful come in. We’ve had a few facetious contests in the blog, but this one’s sincere. We’ll send a press kit and poster from the original run of Matinee At The Bijou to the reader who gives us the best lead on this. Citing chapter and verse would be helpful, rather than just naming a book or author. We’ll announce the results in a month.

And now, back to our Feature Attraction, the wonderful story “Leopold Doppler and the Great Orpheum Gravy Boat Riot”. At the Orpheum of the story each night of the week had a different theme: Monday night-Screeno, Tuesday-Bank Night, Wednesday-Amateur Night, Thursday-Sing Along Night. Friday night was Dish Night...

FREE! FREE! Beginning next Friday, one piece of this magnificent set of Artistic DeLuxe Pearleen Tableware, the Dinner Service of the Stars, will be presented FREE to each adult woman in attendance...

The amber spot played sinuously and enticingly over cascading ledge upon ledge of pearlescent, sparkling, grape and floral encrusted tureens and platters, saucers and gravy boats, celery holders and soup bowls. It was a display potent enough to bring moisture to the eye of a Middle Eastern caliph.

The movies, and the Orpheum in particular, had never known such total and complete popularity. It was more than popularity; it was verging on True Love...The incandescent Pearleen beauty of Mr. Doppler’s dinnerware had a grip on the aesthetic fancy of the population that was unbreakable. A whole new dimension had been added to Art Appreciation in Northern Indiana...

Shepherd, with his characteristic verbal felicity, brings to life a piece of popular culture that might otherwise be lost with the passing of the WWII generation. We’ll finish up the post with another excerpt from the story, on a subject that’s dear to all of us at Matinee At The Bijou, the Saturday matinee...


More than one kid, caught up in the inchoate intricacies of a Republic picture Cowboy plot, found himself torn between answering an urgent call of Nature or missing the final defeat of the treacherous sheep ranchers, and had to make a bitter and crucial decision... Clamped in his seat from 10A.M. to well past 7 P.M., or just before the Greasy Love Stuff came on, a kid swirled in a maelstrom of excitement and convulsive passion that has left a lasting mark on all who sat in attendance. There are countless men today, and not a few women, who have what they euphemistically call “bad knees”, resulting from a malady just recently diagnosed as Triple Feature Paralysis...

Back out in the real world at last, splinter bands of bloated, sticky, Tootsie Roll-filled kids drifted homeward, recounting in absolute detail every labyrinthine twist and turn of each feature, reliving each fistfight and walkdown, each ambush and thunderous escape in the embattled stagecoach as the idealogical arguments began. The Ken Maynard faction snorting derisively at the lesser Bob Steele contingent. An occasional Roy Rogers nut would sing nostalgically, nasally “On The Streets of Laredo.” A few holdouts for Tim Holt, outnumbered but game, all united finally in UNIVERSAL disdain for the effete Dick Foran and Gene Autry.

Thanks, Shep.

I Saw The Giant Vampire Bats!

A blood-curdling report from our man in the cinema, Bijou executive producer Ron Hall.


In 1954 I was frightened by the giant vampire bats in Tarzan Escapes. I saw them in Madison, Wisconsin on a double feature with Tarzan the Ape Man. I was eight at the time. The bat attack has stuck in my head like a nightmare that can’t be resolved because the bats are lost.

The lost footage story is told by John McElwee at Greenbrier Picture Show and at ERBzine Issue 0618. Gabe Essoe writes in “Tarzan of the Movies” (1968): “The Capture of Tarzan was finished in late 1935 and screened to preview audiences. The film terrified the children and brought outraged complaints from irate mothers. Afraid that if released in its present form, Capture would be heavily criticized and alienate more people than it would attract, studio bosses ordered all gruesome scenes cut and replaced with re-takes.”

Despite all reports, I saw the vampire bats twenty years after they were filmed. What exactly did happen? Can this mystery be solved today?? Can the bats be found???

I had never seen a Tarzan film when my mother dropped me off at the kiddie matinee. They looked exciting from the newspaper ad and were more thrilling than I had imagined. Tarzan the Ape Man ran first. The pygmies were disturbing. The giant ape that Tarzan fights in a pit was terrifying. The elephant attack was breathtaking.

Then came Tarzan Escapes. Near the end of the film today, Tarzan, Jane, her two cousins, evil Captain Fry and thirty natives enter a forbidden juju cave. The path winds through dead trees and misty swamp. Cheeta chitters at giant lizards in the bubbling muck. A native slips off the path and vanishes in quicksand. Jane also slips but is saved. Two minutes later they emerge at the other end but with only fifteen natives left alive! Tarzan forces Fry back into the cave where he dies. You can watch the scene here.

I saw more in the tunnel of terror. I saw the lost climax of the entire film! Tarzan cautions quiet as they pass through a high chamber where hordes of huge sleeping bats hang upside down. A native stumbles and makes noise. The bats wake and drop down to attack. Bang, bang, bang! Utter mayhem erupts! Rifle shots and spear jabs are useless. A bat grabs one native and flies aloft with him, flailing and screaming. A few of them are that big -- monsters! A bat lifts Jane off her feet. Tarzan saves her. Everyone slides down a muddy bank into the swamp to seek meager protection among gnarled trees. More natives succumb to quicksand. Tarzan flashes his knife in hand-to-bat combat. He kills one, but there are too many more.

A tribe of friendly pygmies arrives carrying torches, which scare away the bats. This is mentioned in the 1935 trailer, but I do not clearly remember pygmies saving them. The relief at being rescued had far less impact than the fear of abduction by bats.

Another scene that has since been cut to tone down the violence involves Tarzan killing two lions. I had seen the same fight that day in Tarzan the Ape Man, so it is not lost, and the lions could be edited back into Tarzan Escapes like this.

An advertising "bat blitz" was planned in 1936. The pressbook that went to theaters several months before the opening promised, “The attack of the giant vampire bats,” as one of the "Ten Big Thrills in Tarzan Escapes." This elaborate bat lobby display also appears in the pressbook. A sample “Herald” flyer features Tarzan battling a giant bat.

Then something else bad happened to this jinxed film. It was too good! MGM preview audiences were outraged at the excessive violence. Kids, who were now the target audience for Tarzan, screamed and ran. A censored version without the bats and lion fights was hastily and quietly sent out across the country. The Herald and lobby display were scrapped. While many newspapers mentioned the bats from the pressbook blurb, no bats appeared.

Eighteen years later MGM found an un-cut negative in their vaults and unleashed the bats! The 1954 reissue poster shown at the top depicts Tarzan fighting a bat. The newspaper ad promised “Giant vulture bats swoop from the sky in a vicious air attack!” Killer bats sounded like good clean fun in the cold-war era. No mothers objected. Of course few of them ever saw the film! The matinee audience made up of 90% young boys enjoyed one of the best Tarzan films ever made for the first, and possibly last, time. A new mystery soon settled in. Whatever became of this “director’s cut?”

In the early sixties I was watching Tarzan Escapes on TV and recall saying to my brother: “Oh, boy, here comes the good part!” when they enter the cave. I had a long wait. The bats had disappeared. While they have never shown up on TV or video, other Tarzan fans now in their sixties must have seen them in the 1954 revival. John McElwee reports: “I did ask my brother (born 1945 and nine years older than me) if he saw the two Tarzans on reissue. He did, and does remember the vampire bats. I don't think it was suggestive recall, because I barely mentioned the content of the scene before he picked up on it and described the sequence in some detail. I'm convinced he saw the bats same as you did.”

I urge that every print of Tarzan Escapes that was made before 1955 be screened. The bats might lurk on some 35mm print in a foreign archive or on a 16mm print made for the armed forces during the war. Warners/MGM archivist George Feltenstein has cheerfully taken up the quest. Knowing that the bat attack was transferred to safety film for the 1954 release has been a fresh incentive to start searching.

Like the censored scenes in King Kong that were lost for years and like the nude swiming scene in Tarzan and His Mate that was found outside the USA, the giant vampire bats from Tarzan Escapes may yet swoop down to carry off hapless victims to their bat lair while thrilling Tarzan and horror fans for the first time!

An expanded version of this article can be found on the Edgar Rice Burroughs website.