This one is interesting for several reason -- the last film of Lon Chaney (he died after this one), the only Talkie for Long Chaney. One really interesting note: of all the films made by Chaney, over 100 of them are lost completely. Sad. "Hector" is played by Elliot Nugent, who would go on to direct Bob Hope in a whole bunch of comedies. Hector's girlfriend "Rosie" (Lila Lee) is hooked up with a gang of thieves, who ostensibly run a pet shop. The midget, and the cross-dressing "Echo" (Cheney) get into peoples' homes and make off with the jewelry, but the cops may be onto them. But Hector has really fallen for Rosie. And the midget pretends to be a baby.... its all a little creepy, and for some reason, they have a gorilla from the circus. The midget is singing some weird song, and everyone is crying. It's all pretty wack. The last ten minutes are the court trial, and it really drags....so S L O W.... until it all hits the fan, right at the end. Directed by Jack Conway, who had been there right at the beginning of film --- was an actor in "Old Soldier's Story 1909, acc to wikipedia. Plot-wise, this one, "Unholy Three" is just okay, but historically, it's even more interesting. Shown now and then on Turner Classics. It IS available on amazon in several different formats... Interesting, if only to see Lon Chaney at the end.

Unholy Three, The (1930) ** 1/2 (out of 4) Pretty much a scene for scene remake of the 1925 film but this one here is in sound. Lon Chaney and Harry Earles return to repeat their roles from the original film. There really isn't anything better about this film but it does work fine on its own. The film moves at a faster pace but I see this as a negative thing because the film never really lets any tension build up. The poor recording equipment of the time makes it rather hard to understand some of the stuff Earles is saying. Chaney is very good in his final film role and his only sound film. The studio decided to turn the Man of a 1,000 Faces into the Man of 1,000 Voices for his sound films and Chaney does eleven different voices here. The added touch of some comedy works nicely as well.

THE UNHOLY THREE (MGM, 1930), directed by Jack Conway, offers a moment of truth for 1930 audiences and film enthusiasts today in witnessing what silent film legend Lon Chaney had never done before on screen - to be heard as well as seen. Between 1928 and 1929, movie goers were given the opportunity to hear their favorite silent stars speaking on screen for the first time. Some succeeded, others did not. Chaney and Greta Garbo were MGM's final holdouts, each making the transition to sound by 1930, while the great comic, Charlie Chaplin held out the longest, making his talking debut in  THE GREAT DICTATOR (1940). Of all the silent screen performers, Chaney was something of a curiosity. The question is, "How would the man who created such legendary characters as "The Hunchback of Notre Dame" (1923) or "The Phantom of the Opera," (1925)  sound on film?" For THE UNHOLY THREE, the wait wasn't very long. Minutes after the opening credits, the voice of Chaney is finally heard, with his first words being "Thank you, doctor. Thank you." For his role as a ventriloquist, Chaney offers his audience the opportunity to get to listen to his many voices as he did during the silent era with his many faces. Even for a talkie, Chaney continues to express himself with facial gestures as he did in the silent era, which comes off to best advantage.The story opens where Professor Echo (Chaney), a sideshow performer, entertains with his ventriloquist act. He is accompanied by Hercules, the strong man (Ivan Linow), Tweeledee (Harry Earles), the midget, and his girlfriend, Rosie O'Grady (Lila Lee), who roams around the crowd picking the pockets from observant patrons. Following a police raid that puts the Brandon's Old-Fashioned Museum out of business, the next scene reveals Echo planning a new racket with his associates, working as thieves in the night. As "The Unholy Three," Echo disguises himself as a kindly old lady who owns "Mrs. O'Grady's Bird Shop"; Rosie as "her granddaughter"; Tweeledee plays the baby in the cradle; and Hercules as Granny's son-in-law and baby's uncle. For security reasons, Echo takes his pet gorilla from the sideshow, keeping him in the back room in case any of his partners in crime, particularly Hercules, decides to betray them. Also among "The Unholy Three" is Hector MacDonald (Elliott Nugent), a young student studying to become an architect who's obtained a position in the bird shop in order to be near Rosie, unaware that her "relatives" are a gang of thieves. When Echo discovers Rosie's love for the young man, he decides to make Hector the fall guy by making him the prime suspect, causing his arrest for the series of crimes and murder while the gang seeks refuge in a cabin out in the country, with Rosie being held against her will.First filmed in 1925 that also featured Chaney and Harry Earles, with Mae Busch and Victor McLaglen as Rosie and Hercules, the same roles enacted here by the lesser known names of Lila Lee and Ivan Linow, who make fine, though not entirely great substitutes. While Chaney's voice(s) are articulate and clear, Earles is often hard to comprehend. Aside from this, Earles' character comes off both annoying and unlikable, which is probably the way he's supposed to be in the first place, being an instigator tempting Hercules to do things against his will. Hercules may be a strong man, but comes across as weak, considering his fear towards Echo's gorilla as well as failing to stand for himself against both Echo and Tweeledee. Twelve minutes shorter than the original, with certain scenes slightly altered or eliminated altogether, everything appears to occur very quickly, with detailed actions described in words than depicted with extended scenes. Director Jack Conway makes several attempts in duplicating Tod Browning's style as presented for the 1925 version. The use of silhouetted images of "The Unholy Three" as they gather together planning their latest caper is revised, along with elements of surprise and suspense where a police inspector (Clarence Burton) plays around with the baby's toy elephant where the stolen necklace is actually hidden, and another at the trial where Echo plants a note for Hector to read, only to watch him toying with it instead. Aside from these revised highlights, only the ending differs from the original, for reasons explained in the TV documentary "Lon Chaney, a Thousand Faces" (2000). Comparing these films, each presented on Turner Classic Movies, it's sometimes hard to determine which is the better of the two, yet, the ending used for the remake is more in a logical sense. See and judge for yourself. Although Chaney did became a success with his initial talkie, this was to be his one and only. Shortly after its completion, Chaney succumbed to cancer. Aside from Chaney's famous line, "That's all there is to life, folks, just a little laugh, a little tear," used in both movies, he finished his long and successful career with these final words, "I'll send you a postal card." The legend of Chaney ends here. The success and curiosity to THE UNHOLY THREE rests entirely on the man and the legend, even more so with this, his last hurrah. (***)

The 1930 version of The Unholy Three boasts a distinction that guarantees it permanent special status among film buffs: the great silent star Lon Chaney made his only talkie appearance here, shortly before his death from throat cancer at the age of 47. And it's worth noting that this a faithful remake of the 1925 silent version in which Chaney also starred, thus giving us a rare chance to compare two performances by the same actor in the same role but in two very different formats, and to compare the handling of the same material before and after the coming of sound. (When Hollywood remade hits from the silent era the lead roles were almost always recast; parts once played by Doug Fairbanks would go to Errol Flynn, Valentino's would go to Tyrone Power, etc.) This summer I was lucky enough to see restored prints of both versions of The Unholy Three back-to-back at the Museum of Modern Art in NYC, and the experience was fascinating.The plot has been outlined in detail elsewhere, but briefly it involves the criminal career of a trio from the "carny" world: a ventriloquist called Professor Echo (Chaney) who masquerades as an old lady, a strongman, and a midget who disguises himself as a baby. A pet shop is the front for their activities. The trio is accompanied by a thief named Rosie, and a patsy named Hector they've employed who is unaware of their identities and plans. When a heist goes awry the members of the gang turn against each other, and violence erupts.Based on my recent viewings I feel the silent version holds up best. This off-the-wall material plays better in the silent medium, though I found it surprising how similar the two films are when viewed consecutively. When Jack Conway took on directing chores for the remake he must have had a print of the 1925 version available for close study, because there are several sequences in which he follows Tod Browning's editing rhythms and scenic compositions almost exactly. (One example of the latter: the shadow images of the title characters' silhouettes, thrown onto a wall while they plot together.) Even the dialog in the talkie frequently quotes the silent version's title cards verbatim. The biggest change comes in the courtroom finale, where sound allowed the filmmakers to utilize Prof. Echo's vocal talents more creatively. The outcome of the trial is also different in the remake, and somewhat more believable; although the audience at MoMA was respectful toward both films the verdict in the silent version was greeted with a burst of laughter.Why is the silent version the stronger of the two? Certainly Chaney gives a charismatic performance in both films, somehow carrying the viewer past numerous credibility stretchers through sheer force of personality. In the talkie version he demonstrates a fine voice, deep and a little raspy (possibly a result of his medical condition), not unlike Wallace Beery's. Chaney is terrific in both films and is the main reason to see the remake. The 1930 version follows the original so closely we can't blame the writers for going astray, nor are the film's shortcomings entirely the fault of director Conway, at least where visual style is concerned, for he followed Browning's original almost shot-for-shot. No, I believe the difference has to do with the aesthetic gulf between silent and sound film. We're willing to suspend disbelief when watching a silent movie: we'll accept crazy events in silent cinema that would be unacceptable, absurd, or even horrifying (in the wrong sense of the word) in the world of sound. Case in point: one of the most outlandish elements can be found at the pet store, where the proprietors offer birds, hamsters, rabbits -- and a dangerous gorilla, confined in a big cage. No one seems to consider the gorilla's presence unusual. In the silent version, we note this oddity and roll right along. But in the talkie, the gorilla is laugh-provoking; and it doesn't help that instead of the actual simian used in the silent film, the 1930 version features a man in a highly unconvincing ape suit, the sort of tatty-looking costume you'd expect to find in a Bowery Boys comedy.Talkies aren't just silent movies with sound added, they're a new world with different rules, especially where pace is concerned. Early talkies tend to drag, and this one is no exception. Although the remake follows the original closely it feels slower because director Conway and his colleagues hadn't mastered the new medium; they hadn't yet developed that rat-a-tat editing tempo we find in the gangster movies and musicals produced just a year or two later. And although Chaney handled his dialog deftly some of his co-stars did not: both strongman Ivan Linow and "baby" Harry Earles speak with thick accents that are difficult to understand.It's fascinating to see (and hear) Chaney in a talkie, but the remake is fairly slow going. The second Unholy Three is a film that requires patience for the average viewer, though it's a must for anyone with an interest in early talkies, the silent era, and, of course, its star performer. I only wish Lon Chaney had recovered and lived to make more films, once Hollywood's directors had grasped the demands of the new technology and learned to make slicker, more stylish movies that would have displayed his talents to better advantage.