VHS Review: SHERLOCK HOLMES AND THE SECRET WEAPON (1942; Vintage Video, 1985)

Over the last two or three years, I’ve found myself really getting into the classic mystery (read: whodunit) films. Not that I had never watched them before or didn’t have any in my collection; I had and I did. But as you may or may not have surmised while looking at my dumb blog, my tastes have traditionally (but not exclusively) leaned towards classic horror & sci-fi. (Well, and b-westerns, too.) The sad fact of the matter is whodunit flicks had been woefully neglected for much of my movie-watchin’ life.

While I still love the stuff that has mostly been my bread & butter, as I’ve grown older I’ve also progressively grown to appreciate an absorbing mys’try flick. Charlie Chan, Mr. Wong, Bulldog Drummond, lay ’em on me mama. (Nearly a year ago, we took a look at an old Dick Tracy film, but I tend to think of those movies more as crime thrillers than full-fledged whodunits – though ultimately in the same wheelhouse.)

Anyway, Sherlock Holmes. The name is practically synonymous with “whodunit.” I haven’t read any of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s original stories, but I’ve certainly gotten into films based on the character. Well, classic films. Well, the Basil Rathbone series, at least. I have no idea which cinematic version of the character purists consider definitive, but I think it’s safe to say that in the general public consciousness, Rathbone’s rendition is the one that immediately comes to mind. We’re talkin’ iconic here.

And that brings us to or subject today.

Four of the films in the Rathbone series have long been delightfully public domain, and while my current probable-favorite in the series (The House of Fear) isn’t one of them, there’s still good stuff to be had. And even more fun is the smorgasbord of budget releases these now-PD entries have enjoyed over the years. And that brings us to our subject today. (Wait, I already said that.)

1942’s Sherlock Holmes and the Secret Weapon is the earliest of the series to go public domain, though luckily in regards to this review, it’s one I hadn’t seen prior.

Wacky Fact: I picked up a terrific two-disc DVD set at the dollar store some months back that included all four PD Rathbone flicks, other vintage, presumably-PD Holmes movies, and a load of episodes from the 1950s TV series. I had the ‘movies’ disc loaded up for quite awhile, but as is my wont, aside from a quick looksee, I never got around to actually watching any of it before it got swapped out for something else. Not that I can’t load it back up again when the mood strikes me, of course, and if nothing else, the four Rathbone flicks were more than worth the price of admission alone.

Who dun-it this time? Why, Vintage Video, of course!

My unintended hesitation turned out to be fortuitous though, because when this particular home video release turned up for sale online and I duly slammed my meaty paws on the “BUY DIS” button, I got to go into it fresh. Once the tape arrived and I found the time/drive to sit down and watch it, I mean.

As you can see, we are once again taking a trip into the world of Vintage Video/Amvest VHS. A cursory glance through the contents of this site will quickly show how fond I am of this label. Certainly we’ve looked at their Grampa Al Lewis series multiple times, but our subject today is more in line with one of their ‘regular’ releases, which we’ve also seen before. (In other words, no, Al Lewis doesn’t host Holmes here, though that would have been pretty baller.)

I’m a real sucker for tapes from this manufacturer, even though they (mostly) dealt with the same public domain movies multiple budget outfits during the home video boom of the 1980s dealt with. Certainly this all stems from the aforementioned Grampa series, but there’s also the sometimes-unique cover art, sometimes-interesting prints used, and frankly, the relative-obscurity the releases as a whole share. (They tend to be scarce – maybe one or two copies for every, I don’t know, twenty comparable releases from Goodtimes – though they’re not particularly valuable. This copy here, the first I’d ever seen, was mega cheap – and still sealed, to boot.)

‘Course, you kinda need an affinity for VHS and budget home video and whatnot to appreciate all this (growing up with it all probably helps, too), because technically, this is pretty superfluous to have in the day and age. We’ve got DVD and Blu-ray and innernet streamin’ and all that, and when the movie in question has long been in the public domain, from a practicality standpoint, there’s really no reason to get so stoked over something like this.

Except that with the right mindset, there is: forget picture quality and bulkiness and ease of use – it’s all about taking a trip back in time here. Are there better ways to watch this movie? Well, yeah. But this here, it’s like holding a piece of a bygone era in home video in your hands – which of course is exactly what is indeed happening. Necessary? Naw. A trip back in time? Well, yeh. (Or so says I, and as we all know, my word is of tantamount importance.)

I like the cover art here; certainly it’s in the 1980s budget video release tradition, but that’s perfect for our purposes today. A good many of these VV/Amvest tapes, at least earlier ones (1985, as opposed to 1988 and beyond) simply used original poster art, usually (but not always) bordered with the VV banner you’re seeing here. There could be some modifications to the original artwork, but for the most part, it was still ultimately, you know, the original poster art. However, the tapes I find especially interesting in this particular arena are the ones that used original, or at least more original, motifs. Such is our case here: sure, they just used stock photos of Rathbone’s Holmes (along with Nigel Bruce’s Dr. Watson), but the watercolor (?) filtering (?) of them coupled with the unique title font (and slightly silly “Who dun-it this time?” tagline) intrigues your pal me. Also, dig the credits at the bottom of the cover, you can’t really read ’em here but they seem to be mimicking those of a ‘big time’ video release, which is something I can’t really recall one of these VV tapes identically doing. Was there some then-recent Sherlock Holmes movie this was piggybacking on?

(Speaking of dates, the one found on the back of the box here was indeed 1985, but in the interest of full disclosure, the label on the tape itself was a newer one akin to what Amvest was using around 1988 or so. Thus, this was undoubtedly a later re-release, but since I don’t have an exact date otherwise, I’m sticking with ’85 here, as you can see in the article title above. Aw, it’s not like it really matters anyway…)

I don’t have much interesting to say about the back of the box, so what say we look at the movie proper now…

The opening image, such as it is.

Upon firing the tape up, I was treated to this: the credits already in progress, right from the very start. No title card, credits already rolling. Thaaaaaanks. Ah, budget tape tradition! I’m not going to go out of my way to track down another copy to see if they’re all like this (‘course, if I come across another one in-person during my travels…), but this begs the question: how does this even happen? Was it the way their “master tape” (whatever that constituted) was, or were they making copies tape-by-tape and this was a goof they didn’t notice or just didn’t feel like correcting? It’s kinda funny, but also kinda irritating. Then again, this sort of thing wasn’t totally uncommon with budget video releases, and it’s not even the first time I’ve run into the opening/closing parts of whatever being MIA with VV/Amvest. It is what it is.

Our plot: Holmes has been enlisted to protect one Dr. Tobel, who has created a new fancy schmancy bombsight to fight them Nazis with. As a precaution, he separates the bombsight into four pieces and entrusts them to four different scientists. For good measure, he notates who has what, but as a coded message involving “dancing men.” (Said code being the only part of this movie that was based upon an original Doyle story, apparently.)

Of course, rather than following Holmes’ simple directions and staying put, Tobel just has to slip out of protective custody to visit his fiancée (wimmins, amiright?), which promptly and naturally gets him abducted by baddies. The specific baddies in question? Holmes’ arch-nemesis Professor Moriarty and his cohorts, that’s who! Turns out Moriarty is in league with the Nazis; selling them the bombsight would be very lucrative, as you may well imagine. This is undesirable to say the least, so now Holmes must rescue Tobel, recover the four pieces of the bombsight, and thwart Moriarty (and by extension, the Nazis), for the time being at least.

Holmes facing off against Moriarty (or rather, from left to right, Moriarty facing off against Holmes).

Wait, Nazis? Say what?! It’s true; this is a WWII-era Sherlock Holmes adventure! Y’see, 20th Century Fox produced the first two entries in the Rathbone Holmes series, and they were in the natural Victorian setting. But afterwards, Universal picked up the series, turned them into b-movies, and placed them in a then-modern wartime setting. (Supposedly with an explanatory “Sherlock Holmes is timeless” or something along those lines; I haven’t seen that first Universal effort. Secret Weapon here was the second.) It’s pretty unexpected, and really, to be frank, pretty awesome. I mean, it’s Sherlock Holmes, fightin’ Nazis! Unless you’re a purist’s purist, you can’t not love that! I haven’t seen every entry in the Rathbone Holmes series, but I sure hope there’s a scene where he decks Hitler at some point, not unlike that crowd pleasing moment in Zone Troopers. “Did I just engage Adolph in fisticuffs?” “You sure did, my good chap!”

Not gonna lie: this is some good stuff right here. You’ve got Basil Rathbone as Sherlock Holmes, which automatically makes things worthwhile, but then you add a WWII setting and a breezy, b-movie sheen over top of all of it, no jivin’, it’s just irresistible. The movie is more spy-ish than I was first anticipating, with Holmes’ disguising himself and going undercover more than once. And while I’m not sure I’d consider it a full-fledged whodunit (probably the only real sleuthing sleuthing is deciphering the code), it’s got some noirish elements, terrific acting (Basil Rathbone as Sherlock Holmes and Lionel Atwill as Moriarty? Plus Nigel Bruce’s ever-reliable Watson? Yes, please!), and even some gruesome elements (besides the obvious implications of the Nazis gaining the bombsight, at one point Moriarty attempts to slowly kill Holmes by draining his blood, drop by drop). I ain’t joshin’ you, this is a lot of fun. If you’re a sucker for wartime b-movie action like I am, Sherlock Holmes and the Secret Weapon is a must.

So, what kind of print did Vintage Video/Amvest/whoever utilize for this release? Their tapes could feature prints ranging from “okay” to “dragged around the parking lot multiple times.” Secret Weapon falls more towards the latter end of that spectrum. While the duplication itself was decent enough I guess, the print they got was, well, it was pretty wasted. It’s probably darker than it was intended to be, and there are a lot of film scratches, dust, dirt, debris, splices, what have you. There are some moments of really heavy wear, and while things seem to calm down somewhat as the film progresses, this probably isn’t the, uh, best the movie has ever looked.

Furthermore, the run time: the back of the box sez 70 minutes, the official run time I’m seeing online is supposedly 68 minutes, but the actual running time here is really about 56 minutes. So unless the missing part of those opening credits ran 11+ minutes (something tells me they didn’t/don’t), it’s a safe assumption this is an edited print. Cut for TV at some point? Really egregious splices? Something else? No idea.

But you know, none of that really bothers me. Okay, sure, if I’m paying for a big deluxe Blu-ray or something, I’d want the movie to look like Rathbone et al. are performing live right in front of me, inexplicably in grayscale, at that very moment. But this tape as it is, it presents the movie in a way that recalls countless trips through the projector, multiple runs on late night television over the decades, an old timey cinematic feeling, something along those lines. It’s part of the fun (at least in retrospect; it probably wasn’t a blast back then) of collecting these old school budget tapes: you never quite know what you’re going to get. Unlike today, where it seems like the same prints just keep getting shared over and over, copies could really vary from manufacturer to manufacturer back then.

Still, the complete opening credits would have been nice. And speaking of the credits, the final cast credits card is there, but cuts off really quickly, as if whoever couldn’t wait to be done with the whole thing. Of course the meat of the movie (i.e., the important stuff) is all there – such as it is I mean – but yeah, this really exemplifies the mid/late-1980s budget home video release ideal. (Ideal?)

So there you have it: Sherlock Holmes and the Secret Weapon, as presented by Vintage Video slash Amvest back in the 1980s. If you just want to see the movie (and seriously, it has my recommendation), that’s something that can be easily accomplished. Home video releases are numerous, but since it’s public domain, you can watch it free an’ legal online right now if you so desired! Would that be as much fun as taking an unnecessary trip back to the 1980s as I’ve done here? I’ll let you decide that aspect for yourself.

By the way, this wasn’t the only Rathbone Holmes VV put out: The Woman in Green and Terror by Night also saw releases on the label. (I couldn’t find Dressed to Kill, the last PD Rathbone Holmes as well as the last Rathbone Holmes period, via VV, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there was one of those out there, too.)

Oh hey, fun facts up in here: this post was first intended to be just as you’ve seen it now, but then I thought about three separate reviews over three days for the three VV releases, and then I thought about a single post spotlighting the triple bill, and then I considered four reviews over four consecutive days with Congress Video’s 1985 VHS release of Dressed to Kill filling out the fourth, and then as late as yesterday I considered a single post, double bill looking at just Secret Weapon and The Woman in Green, before simply going back to the original plan and giving Secret Weapon the sole spotlight. I enjoyed it so much, it deserves the space to itself.

Did I ultimately make the right decision? Well, we’re just going to have to live with the results, anyway.

Kid Pics – The Amazing Adventures of Alice in Wonderland VHS (1987)

Welcome to 2017! 2017? Yes, 2017! The four-year anniversary of this stupid blog is right around the corner! Four years! I can’t believe it!

What say we start 2017 off with something, well, something a little out there, eh? Found just a week or two before Christmas, today’s subject cost a whopping 60 cents at a thrift shop, and for sheer “say what?” value, it was worth every penny.

Behold! The Amazing Adventures of Alice in Wonderland, on VHS! (It’s below and to your right, obviously; eagle eyes will notice I’m experimenting a bit, but just a bit, with formats this time around. This is a little out-of-the-norm for this blog, and while I can’t promise it’ll continue in the future, right now I feel like a big-time legit newspaper guy or something.)

When I sauntered into this particular thrift shop, it quickly became evident that someone had dropped off their entire inventory of budget cartoon tapes. Now, I’ve got quite a few of these in my collection already, though I’m by no means on a regular hunt for more specimens. I’m interested in releases of the Fleischer Superman cartoons, and Popeye, but beyond those two, I come across cheapo cartoon releases far, far too often to go all nanners over ’em every single time. Thus, most of the tapes out for sale that night were passed over by yours truly.

And, Alice in Wonderland is even less likely to trip my trigger, because, uh, it’s Alice in Wonderland. We never owned a copy, but growing up I was vaguely familiar with the Disney film, and I of course know the basics of the famous Lewis Carroll story. But I mean, this sort of thing just isn’t really my scene, man.

And in the case of this particular VHS, even the cover art is too competent to raise my eyebrows. Lemme explain: part of the fun with cheap cartoon videos from the 1980s is the oftentimes wildly-amateurish cover art. There are quite a few renditions of Popeye and Superman out there that are too pitiful to not love. Heck, overtly terrible artwork can and sometimes is reason enough for me to drop some coin. But here, the artwork is entirely serviceable. Just look at it up there! It’s competently drawn and colored, and it projects a nice, Easter-ish vibe. No one will ever mistake it for a release of Disney’s version of the story, but for what it is, the artist did a good job.

So, just why did this tape end up coming home with me that fateful night? The answer is found on the back cover…

No, it wasn’t the featured line-up listing. Sure, you’ve got the “marquee” feature, along with what (I guess) I initially presumed was just another old, subsequently-public-domain-lapsed iteration of Carroll’s heroine, plus a couple of other seemingly-appropriate “wonder-ish” cartoons. It all “fits,” but none of those were why I grabbed this VHS, either.

Nope, the real reason I avidly purchased this tape has to do with the logo you’re seeing to the left: it was a Kid Pics release! What makes Kid Pics so special, you ask? Why, Kid Pics was part of the Amvest Video empire, that’s what! Though the back cover makes no mention of it, Kid Pics was indeed a division or subsidiary or connected-in-some-way-somehow to Amvest, and that’s what made this a must-buy for me. You don’t (or at least I don’t) come across these things in-person very often, and at only 60 cents, hey, I pretty much had to have at it!

Amvest has had no small presence on this blog, especially in regards to this their Al Lewis-hosted Grampa Present video series, which culminated in the ultimate recap this past Halloween. Indeed, I’ve become more and more enamored with the company, to the point where anything I come across by them whilst out and about is more than likely entering my collection. While still decidedly a budget outfit, many of their tapes had a quirky charm to them, and there are more than a few interesting stories regarding the company out there in internet-land, for those inclined to look. While I don’t go after every single Amvest release with the same fervor that I do their Grampa series, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t give the nod to Amvest whenever possible.

So anyway, there I was, an ostensibly-adult, 30-year-old male, carrying a cheap Alice in Wonderland VHS tape around a thrift store, and far more excited about it than any ostensibly-adult, 30-year-old male should have been. Was I a cause for concern to fellow patrons of the establishment? Maybe, maybe not. If I was though, what they didn’t realize was that I had found a rare, or at least wildly-obscure item, and more-importantly, fodder for my silly blog. Though truth be told, it wasn’t until after I checked out the tape and ruminated on it for a bit that I myself realized I could get a post out of this, either.

(Found at the same time as this was a Kid Pics tape featuring public domain Looney Tunes shorts, and months ago I had picked a Superman cartoon comp by them as well. For all I know, I unknowingly have more releases buried in my collection. Any any rate, my big hope with these three tapes was that The Happy Hamster, a bizarre host for some, but not all, Kids Pics releases would show up. Alas, it was not to be. Perhaps it was for the best though, since the sensory overload of The Happy Hamster hosting this tape would have, in all likelihood, caused my face to explode.)

And that brings us to Alice in Wonderland proper.

Before I actually played the thing, I figured this was just another release of an old cartoon that had been floating around the public domain for centuries decades, an Ub Iwerks or something. That’s not what I got, though. Nope, what I found instead, while not really “disturbing,” was still more than a bit odd, and just a little trippy: a 9-minute, black & white short that combined live-action and stop-motion animation to form a fast, condensed version of the famous story.

Upon my initial perusal, I pretty much just zipped through the tape to see what exactly I had. After discovering that this Alice in Wonderland was what it was, I went looking for it online; I wanted to see what year it was released, who was in it, and so on and so forth. My first thought was that it was an early television production, and when my Google searches and whatnot didn’t turn up the answers I was looking for, I quickly found my interest in the whole matter deepening ever more so, as it is wont to do.

Had I been paying closer attention the first time around, I’d have found my answer easily enough: The title-card’s mention of “Lou Bunin” tells all. Turns out, this is an extremely edited version of the 1949 French film of the same name! The original is 80+ minutes long, and in color, so given the nature of the print found on this tape, not to mention the Castle Films cards that were also included at the open and closing of the feature, it seems to me that this was a VHS re-release of something that was produced for the home market in the decades prior; originally a Sound Super 8 reel or something like that. I’ll go ahead and assume this condensed version has lapsed into the public domain in the US, though apparently the 1949 original has not. Either way, interesting stuff!

At only about 9 minutes, needless to say there wasn’t much time for exposition. So here, things kind of just “happen.” Now granted, Alice in Wonderland didn’t exactly feature the most lucid story in the first place; that was sort of the point of the whole thing, right? But even so, the quick cuts and fairly choppy nature of the proceedings here, it’s a pretty disconcerting. That may sound fitting for an adaption of Alice in Wonderland, but this turned out to be more of an honest-to-goodness sensory assault than it had any right to be.

The plot, such as it is, starts out with Alice following the famous White Rabbit to Wonderland; that’s seriously how this edit of the film starts. No questioning as to why a rabbit is wearing a coat and walking upright – “Seems legit,” as the hip kids say. Following the rabbit to his lair and drinking a potion to make herself small enough to follow him through the tiny entrance to Wonderland? Sure, why not! Alice in Wonderland was kind of an acid trip of a tale in the first place, and as for the 1949 adaption, since I haven’t seen the full version, I don’t know if there was any initial reluctance on Alice’s part or not, but she seems to go with the flow without hesitation here. Anthropomorphic rabbits? Drinking random potions that have appeared out of nowhere? None of that is cause for concern to Alice, I guess!

What follows is Alice being accused to stealing the Queen’s tarts, and being put on trial. The possibility of having her head chopped off, as the Queen readily insists time and time again? Alice seems only mildly apprehensive of the wacky-jack situation and possibly bad resolution – maybe she’s cognizant of the fact she’s trippin’ perhaps? This is weird stuff, and like I said, things just sort of randomly happen; I’d imagine that kids would have needed some prior knowledge of the story to make any sense (relatively speaking) of this particular iteration. And just like it began, it sort of just concludes; just as the trial is about to rule against her keeping her noggin, Alice suddenly finds herself safely back in “real time,” unsure if it was all a dream but with a, as the narrator states, “wonderful story to tell” nevertheless. I’d hardly say nearly being decapitated over tarts is a “wonderful story,” but I suppose it’s pointless to question any of this.

The special effects and stop-motion are technically pretty impressive for the time; they’re well-done and accurately present the dreamlike world of Wonderland. The scene of Alice shrinking near the start is pretty neat for 1949, and the animation of the Wonderland inhabits is acceptable, though the jerky nature of them, coupled with the black & white picture and already-weird nature of the source material, plus the chopped up quality of this print, it all ends up being a little creepy, honestly.

Look, I find this short impossible to satisfactorily describe. The Internet Archive has a copy (though interestingly, it lacks the title card and first several seconds that are present on this tape), and it’s notated as public domain, so here you go.

When I first found this tape and gave the contents listed on the back a fleeting-at-best glance, I saw what was on it, but I didn’t really comprehend what the included cartoons were, if that makes any sense. Not beyond the cover art at least, I mean. Look, this was a Kids Pics release; it was coming home with me no matter what. I guess what I’m saying is I didn’t pay all that much attention to the tape I was far too excited to find. If that sounds like an oxymoron of sorts, rest assured it happens a bit more often than I’d care to admit. Buy first, think later!

(In all seriousness, whenever I’m out thrifting, I generally do pay some attention to whatever I’ll be bringing up to the sales counter. Be it an electronic, tape, or what have you, I like to have as few negative surprises as possible when I get home. But in this case, and in instances like it, the content of the tape is basically secondary to the rarity of it. Is the tape moldy? Does it look like it will play? That’s all I really needed to know before the purchase. And in the end, it was only 60 cents.)

Anyway, when the sale was done and I got home with my loot, it wasn’t until I actually saw it that I realized there was a thematic-element going on here. This wasn’t just a short, budget-priced collection of public domain cartoons; Amvest/Kids Pics/whoever put together four shorts that kinda sorta go together (for the most part; read on, you’ll see), despite not being related in any real capacity.

So, Alice’s Tin Pony. On the surface, it sounds like another vintage trip to Wonderland, not unlike how there were multiple theatrical shorts detailing the land of Oz back in the day. One would and could be forgiven for making that Wonderland connection upon first glance, given the title (especially if they weren’t familiar with the various renditions of Alice in Wonderland, as I was/am). Maybe that’s the main reason it was included in the first place, I don’t know.

But, that’s not what this is. Rather, it’s a part of an old, old series of silent Disney shorts from the 1920s that have all lapsed into the public domain. Look up above if you don’t believe me. Alice, Disney. See?!

Besides the whole “her name is Alice too!” thing, this cartoon makes a fitting pairing with the bizarre Alice in Wonderland edit that precedes it for one very good reason: it’s a combination of live and action and animation.

The gimmick for these “Alice Comedies” was that the titular character was a real human kid, superimposed (?) over the cartoon world in which she lives and takes part in. Truth be told, it’s an effect that works far better than I ever would have expected it to prior. This short is from 1925, and while this isn’t news that will surprise anyone familiar with the series, I found it technologically impressive.

Alice’s partner in these shorts was an animated cat named Julius. There they are up above, and if you think Julius bears more than a passing resemblance to Felix the Cat, that’s because he, uh, does – big time. Not only does Julius appear to be a dead-ringer for Felix, but he acts pretty much the same, too. Dude can even detach his tail and do things with it. In fact, this short is pretty surreal overall, not unlike a typical Felix the Cat cartoon – which of course makes it an even better pairing with Alice in Wonderland.

In this Alice installment, she and Julius run a railroad line, and that day, it’s carrying a payroll shipment of some sort. Felix’s Julius’ surrealistic powers and a sentient train help stop a bandit and his gang from stealing said payroll.

Listen, this thing is impossibly weird, it’s public domain, and it’s only a bit over seven minutes long, so just watch it for yourself here.

Now is as good a time as any to mention that this tape would not stay tracked. My screenshots don’t look so bad, but man, while in action I had to keep screwing around with the tracking controls. By the end, even the patience of your Northeast Ohio Video Hunter was being tried, and believe me, I’m no stranger to wonky trackin.’ This was a pretty cheap tape, recorded in EP, and that coupled with one of my lower-end VCRs, well, the results are never gonna be Criterion-quality when I go that route.

The second-half of the tape opens with this, 1936’s Somewhere in Dreamland. Wonderland, Dreamland, the (loose) theme continues! According to Wikipedia, the first few minutes of this cartoon are sometimes cut, though the complete (?) version is found here. Note the black bar obscuring the original copyright info above; was that even necessary? Near as I can tell, this one has been in the public domain for decades. Then again, the bar doesn’t appear then-recently implemented, and there’s a NTA title for the ending card, so maybe it was first used when this one hit television? That’s my best guess, anyway.

Somewhere in Dreamland is very much a depression-era cartoon. In it, two poor kids haul a wagon around collecting firewood for their home. They can’t afford sweets or any of the other things kids ostensibly desire. A sad moment early on has their mother feeding them stale bread, and crying when one of them says they’re still hungry. Given the then-current situation in pre-WWII US, it’s pretty powerful imagery, especially for a kids cartoon. One can’t help but feel that the early scenes of the short really hit home for more than a few viewers at the time.

No, chief, none of that’s the Dreamland of the title; it’s not an ironically-named cartoon! Rather, Dreamland is where the two kids visit when they go to sleep that night. (I guess they dream in tandem?) Dreamland is filled with all the things they don’t have access to in real life: Nice clothes, sweets, toys, general pleasantness. And it’s all accompanied by a dreamy (“you don’t say?!”) song playing throughout, which is probably exactly how you’re envisioning it to be, if you have any familiarity with cartoons from this era.

There’s a suitably happy resolution to the cartoon that, despite being obligatory, I can’t help but feel was a little disheartening to the real children of the depression that were originally watching this. But then, I’m probably reading too much into this.

Being a Max Fleischer work, there’s also some incredible 3D-rotating backgrounds on display, too. Being a Popeye veteran, I’m well-accustomed to these, but nevertheless, I’m always wowed by them. Go ahead and watch this cartoon for yourself here.

The tape finishes with Toonerville Picnic, the only cartoon that doesn’t really fit in with the loose dreamy, surrealistic theme of the tape. I mean, there’s wacky, unrealistic situations here, but really no more so than any other cartoon of the time – or now, for that matter. Indeed, Brentwood Video (who had some kind of partnership with Amvest, late in the life of the latter) released a VHS in the 1990s that was pretty much the exact thing content-wise as what we’re looking at today – except Toonerville Picnic, which was dropped from the line-up. At least that’s how I understand it, not personally owning that Brentwood release myself.

From 1936 and based on a long-running comic strip, this was one of Van Beuren Studios’ all-color Rainbow Parade series entries. Actually, it was not only the final Rainbow Parade entry, but from how I understand it, also the final cartoon Van Beuren put out, period. Maybe their final thing ever, for all I know.

This is my least-favorite short of the tape. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not really ga ga over any of these, but as I said, I like the weird, out-there vibes coming from the cassette. Toonerville Picnic kinda stops all that dead. What, Amvest/Kids Pics couldn’t find one more trippy public domain cartoon to finish off their blockbuster VHS release? Bah! Maybe I’d like it more if I had some actual experience with the comic strip it’s based on, but I don’t so I don’t.

Not that it’s really a bad cartoon, mind you. Just not my favorite. In it, Mr. Bang, who has a temper to match his last name (i.e., he’s in a constant bad mood) is ordered to get some rest, so he heads to the beach. What he gets is an annoying dog, an uncooperative chair, and a homicidal octopus. You’ll have that, after all.

Look, I’m tired of talking about this tape. Just watch this one for yourself here. (Link has a different opening card from what my copy features, but whatever.)

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My conclusions?

This is a neat tape. It’s a little out there, but it’s neat. On the surface, it looks like just another run-of-the-mill budget cartoon tape. Playing it though, that’s where things get interesting. Instead of being yet another presentation of the “usual suspects” of PD animation, this is instead an interesting collection, featuring four fairly obscure shorts. In fact, all four were new to me.

‘Course, Alice in Wonderland is the centerpiece, and boy, is it a trip. The extreme editing it suffered gives the short a real, I don’t know, stream-of-consciousness feeling, I guess you could say. Whether the complete 1949 original is like that, I do not know. But as to what’s seen here, it’s truly a wild, wacky trip back to budget VHS past, and it totally sets the tone for the rest of the video. Sure, the shorts get progressively less strange as they go along, but all in all, this isn’t a bad 30 minutes or so for lovers of “huh?!” cinema. I didn’t realize how fortuitous the tape would be when I discovered it at that thrift store several weeks back, but boy, good find.

And it was only 60 cents!