BELA LUGOSI MEETS A BROOKLYN GORILLA (1952)
The Universal Monsters were likely the closest thing Old Hollywood has to the modern vogue for shared universes, with each archetypical terror spawning not only an initial solo showcase, but a series of sequels and team ups. 1944's HOUSE OF FRANKENSTEIN gave a horror hungry public the triple terrors of Dracula, The Wolf Man, and Frankenstein sharing the screen for a monster mash up audiences of the period had never seen before. As is typical of big budget studios, the sweet smell of success at the box office was enough incentive to stretch the concept to its limits. By 1948, even comedy team Abbott & Costello were having slapstick run-ins with the classic fiends. Given that scares and laughs both rely on tension and timing, the initially unexpected pairing spawned another series of hits.
Where the money went, hard hustling B-movie producers would follow.
Even as late as the mid-60s, there were still variations of the team up theme, skirting on the razor's edge of copyright infringement and pure roadshow style misdirection, promising familiar favorites in a variety of increasingly incongruous situations.
1952's BELA LUGOSI MEETS A BROOKLYN GORILLA distinguishes itself in the sheer audacity with which it courts the fanbases of both people and intellectual property that never actually appear in the film. If not for an accident of birth and one very pissed off A-Lister, BROOKLYN GORILLA would have likely found itself in the same cultural dustbin as mail order coonskin caps and passing your fraternity pin to your steady.
The movie was meant to be a star vehicle for a nightclub duo. Specifically, a laid back Italian crooner and his chaotically comedic pal who interrupted the musical numbers with jokes. In a brilliant mix of ballyhoo and malicious compliance, BELA LUGOSI MEETS A BROOKLYN GORILLA delivers exactly that. It's just that the duo at hand isn't the one anyone was expecting. Rather than Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis, BROOKLYN GORILLA presents us with Duke Mitchell and Sammy Petrillo.
Sammy Petrillo was a Bronx born kid from a family of minor grade vaudevillians. Given his limited connections, Petrillo had done a few bits as a performer, dropping in on his father's gigs in the Catskills. Despite the fact that his career wasn't exactly booming, Petrillo managed to snag a talent agent relatively quickly. Sammy Petrillo was a clever mimic and an eerily accurate doppelgänger for Jerry Lewis.
Lewis himself hired Petrillo as a lookalike for a television sketch, but things went sour between the two men soon afterward. Lewis was reputedly more than a bit paranoid—less concerned with losing gigs than with the teenage Petrillo possibly impersonating Lewis to cash checks around town. Jerry Lewis had his management sign Sammy Petrillo to a talent contract, which mysteriously failed to provide him with any work. It took the intervention of Petrillo's father (and the fact that Sammy Petrillo was still a minor) to get the contract dissolved. Petrillo managed a couple of minor TV gigs, but soon was back on the club circuit.
It was on a nightlife engagement that Petrillo met singer Duke Mitchell, who had a similar background in bit parts and small clubs. Be it spite or a pragmatic decision to capitalize on their most marketable skills, the pair began touring with an act that focused on impersonation and parody, an off-brand offshoot of Martin & Lewis antics for the supper club set.
Faring better together, the act got them a small movie deal with distributors Realart Pictures.
Jerry Lewis had been suitably incensed by the nightclub act, but it was the film deal that spurred his handlers to legal action in an attempt to stop the film's release. While close associates of Lewis have confirmed his deep displeasure with Petrillo's imitations, Dean Martin's reaction to Duke Mitchell has been lost to history. Considering the volumes that have been written about both men and their legendarily successful partnership, it's safe to assume Martin mixed himself another martini and shrugged with the same unflappable cool that had made him famous in the first place.
A cursory glance at the film definitely indicates Martin's reaction was the correct one. BROOKLYN GORILLA is slight even by midcentury B-movie standards, mixing the mad science of countless Bela Lugosi vehicles with the sheer male fantasy wish fulfillment and misplaced exoticism of something like UNTAMED WOMEN. Petrillo and Mitchell find themselves marooned on a remote island after falling out of a plane on the way to a gig. Soon, the pair makes contact with the local tribe of miraculously English speaking natives, and Duke begins a romance with island princess Nona (one-named starlet Charlita, doing her best Dorothy Lamour).
Nona also moonlights as a lab assistant for the only other white guy on the island, Bela Lugosi's castle-dwelling man of science Dr. Zabor. All of this overcomplicated plotting is barely held together with aging vaudevillian punchlines and digressive musical numbers. A trained monkey gets more screen time than some of the human actors, as the doctor and Duke become rivals for Nona's affections.
Sammy Petrillo's physical resemblance to Lewis is undeniable, and he mugs and meanders in a reliably manic and child-like way. Duke Mitchell, if one squints and denies the existence of Elvis as an influence on his vocal inflections, manages to squeak by as a Dean Martin-type. The duo have all the right accessories to pass, but for all of their carefully curated resemblance Petrillo and Mitchell are missing the most important element: comedic timing. Watching a Martin and Lewis routine it is clear that their act is as carefully choreographed as a ballet, considerable effort expended in the appearance of effortlessness. Petrillo and Mitchell are a couple of kids stepping on each other's feet as they rehearse for a cotillion they didn't want to go to in the first place.
The comedy mostly lies in the sheer curiosity of it all, as the film's stars flub the delivery on even the most basic jokes. The duo never makes the same mistake twice, yet still fails to land a single punchline where the music cues clearly intend for it to be. It is amusing to see Duke Mitchell —grizzled star of GONE WITH THE POPE— fresh faced and tiny waisted, floral shirt jauntily knotted into a crop top as his wacky island adventures lead him to both romance and the magical ability to conjure a full orchestra sound out of a couple of extras with bongos.
While its reputation as a brazen piece of copycat cinema and shoddy construction make BELA LUGOSI MEETS A BROOKLYN GORILLA a perfect target for those fond of hunting cinematic turkeys, one moment stands out amongst all of the silliness. In one of the film's best bits, a meta joke finds Sammy apprehensive about how much Dr. Zabor looks like "the guy who bites little kids on the neck". Dutifully, straight man Duke argues that that is impossible, given that particular unnamed for legal reasons vampire character isn't real.
Until Bela Lugosi's Zabor throws back his head and lets out a laugh that could only belong to Count Dracula.
The fact that Bela Lugosi even agreed to titular billing on this movie shows the greatly reduced circumstances of his career in 1952. Struggling from a morphine addiction and short on cash, he slipped on the old lab coat and delivered the tongue twisting speeches full of junky science jargon, inhabiting a thankless role with practiced professionalism. Seizing an otherwise throwaway moment, Lugosi took the audience back to 1931 again, reminding everyone he still had the star power that launched a sinister cultural icon.
If there's anything noteworthy to be found in BELA LUGOSI MEETS A BROOKLYN GORILLA, it's the class and grace of an old show business trouper still giving every performance his all. Even one that requires you to share the bill with a singing monkey.
