Word: palooka
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With a cast including Jimmy Durante, Marjorie Rambeau, Lupe Velez and Mary Carlisle, one would expect "Palooka" to be a good picture, unfortunately, these experienced players are incapable of dragging it above the drippy level to which one of the most stupid stories on record reduces it. Just why on earth such an array of talent must be so thoroughly wasted certainly passes understanding...
...picture and he fortunately appears with a welcome frequency. Mr. Durante, in fact, is the only member of a potentially able cast who refuses to be bogged down by the story. All the rest-simply act as if they knew it was lousy, and so why bother trying; "Palooka," accordingly, possesses just enough merit due to Durante's heroic efforts to make it worth seeing...
...Palooka (Reliance) derives its name from ringside slang for a low-grade prizefighter. Its story hangs around a pudgy young oaf (Stuart Erwin) who takes up with a fretful, excitable boxing manager (Jimmy Durante) and demonstrates that he cannot fight. Though he manages to knock down a champion (William Cagney, brother of James) who is in his cups, though he importantly squires a night club artist (Lupe Velez). Joe Falooka eventually takes a thorough mauling in the ring. This sends him back to a chicken farm where his mother (Marjorie Rambeau) has wanted...
...expected at last week's convention of the American Newspaper Publishers Association in Manhattan. But no sharper attack on radio was forthcoming than the suggestion by Col. Frank Knox, publisher of the Chicago Daily News, that features whose goodwill has been built up through the Press (Joe Palooka, Walter Winchell, Orphan Annie, Emily Post et al.) should not be allowed to capitalize their popularity before the microphone. Newspapers' attitude toward radio is softening, changing from antagonism to alliance. Much advertising money spent in radio now finds its way to publishers' purses. The Columbia system estimates that...
Today's game is really what I am here to tell you about, and believe me it is no easy job. As a matter of fact I might say that after my national success of last week on a bunch of games which almost any palooka who wasn't a sports writer could have predicted, I stand in a rather precarious position: It's not that I don't know what will happen; it's simply that I hate to dish old friends like Arnie Horween and Mal Stevens. Now these--two boys seem to think that if I would...