Who spat in my coffee?
A Shriek in the Night (1933) is a run of the mill comedy / thriller / horror story concerning the death of a millionaire, who fell from his penthouse apartment to the road below.
Constituting the comedy is the investigative journalists, who not only compete with each other but also impersonate others, such as the journalist who was in the employ of the millionaire as his secretary, and whose attempted report to her employer is intercepted and rerouted by a competing journalist.
Who later … well … it seemed inappropriate between competitors.
I spat in his coffee!
The horror? That’s brought on by the madman at the heart of the mystery, the respected figure who drifts in and out of our focus. Who would have guessed?
But, like many movies of the era, it’s just a bit flat. The characters look somewhat alike, the cops are a little like punching bags, and the audio was a little bit fuzzy. And the mixture of comedy with horror is a little off. They need to feed off each other. Properly done, the comedy accentuates the horror, brings out the throbbing vein in the forehead.
And it’s a happy ending. That may be the most disappointing aspect of all. But it does have Ginger Rogers, so if you’re a completist with regards to her, this’ll be for you.
