Another perennial "classic" of crime from the brain of Earl Derr Biggers, who gave birth to the aphoristic sleuth Charlie Chan, Seven Keys to Baldpate endures in multiple screen versions. The 1947 model was an odd programmer to come out of RKO at a time when it was busy churning out film noir, because Seven Keys to Baldpate harks back to an older style, a cozy, old-fashioned Mystery of no great originality or complexity.
One dark and stormy night mystery writer Phillip Terry arrives at a supposedly deserted-for-the-season lodge called Baldpate somewhere in the Catskills or Adirondacks. He's there to win a big bet that he can complete a story within 24 hours only to find that he's not, as expected, alone since he was assured he possesses the only key. There's a creepy `caretaker' (Eduardo Ciannelli) installed, and as the night passes a succession of other suspicious key-holders gain access to the lodge: Jacqueline White, Jason Robards Sr., Margaret Lindsay et al. Seems there's nasty business afoot concerning a jewel theft, a payoff, and Heaven knows what else.
Despite a promisingly spooky start (sliding panels to secret passages, a black cat, a howling storm), the movie can't sustain its thread of suspense and opts for an `antic' mood, always the Kiss of Death. Unfortunately Terry, barely acceptable playing it straight, fails abominably at the light comedy required of him. And so the strong beginning degenerates into the mechanical fire-drill typical of the Charlie Chan vehicles lights go out, shots ring out, a body hits the floor. Not having been privy to any of the earlier incarnations of this story (the first appeared in 1917), I can't account for its longevity. But if its last half lived up to its first, it wouldn't be a bad little movie.
One dark and stormy night mystery writer Phillip Terry arrives at a supposedly deserted-for-the-season lodge called Baldpate somewhere in the Catskills or Adirondacks. He's there to win a big bet that he can complete a story within 24 hours only to find that he's not, as expected, alone since he was assured he possesses the only key. There's a creepy `caretaker' (Eduardo Ciannelli) installed, and as the night passes a succession of other suspicious key-holders gain access to the lodge: Jacqueline White, Jason Robards Sr., Margaret Lindsay et al. Seems there's nasty business afoot concerning a jewel theft, a payoff, and Heaven knows what else.
Despite a promisingly spooky start (sliding panels to secret passages, a black cat, a howling storm), the movie can't sustain its thread of suspense and opts for an `antic' mood, always the Kiss of Death. Unfortunately Terry, barely acceptable playing it straight, fails abominably at the light comedy required of him. And so the strong beginning degenerates into the mechanical fire-drill typical of the Charlie Chan vehicles lights go out, shots ring out, a body hits the floor. Not having been privy to any of the earlier incarnations of this story (the first appeared in 1917), I can't account for its longevity. But if its last half lived up to its first, it wouldn't be a bad little movie.