Spanish Is The Loving Tongue-Those Sparkling Eyes Of Hers-From The World War II Rationing Vaults- Armida’s “The Girl From Monterey” (1943)-A Film Review

Spanish Is The Loving Tongue-Those Sparkling Eyes Of Hers-From The World War II Rationing Vaults- Armida’s “The Girl From Monterey” (1943)-A Film Review   

By Lance Lawrence

The Girl From Monterrey, starring Armida, 1943

WTF. (This is a family-friendly publication for what it is worth although we have learned from recent experience that the demographic the new site manager Greg Green, more on him in  a minute as the source of “WTF,” was trying to reach with his silly experiment of, for example, having grown women and men review cinematic portrayals of Marvel/DC comic characters like Captain America to draw the young in a cohort that doesn’t give a, ah, fig for on-line blogger-induced publications. Try Instagram brother, try Instagram as my eight-year old granddaughter could have told Greg and avoided a near civil war among the writers, young and old, and a revolt by the real readership base-the remnants, the best part of the Generation of ’68 past its flower. So WTF it is although that same eight-year old granddaughter was hip to that expression about two years ago and so we are not protecting virgin ears.) I recently reviewed a boxing film from the 1930s starring a triad of classic stars from that period like Bette Davis, Edward G. Robinson and Humphrey Bogart who went through their paces in Kid Galahad (not to be confused with the later Elvis 1960s production under the same title) with Edward G. trying finally get a champ but who if he lived would have gotten a brother-in-law plus champ despite his being overly protective of his younger sister who was crazy for the big guy.

I made a big point there of detailing my own street-fighting episodes cut short by the realization that if anything I was more a lover than a fighter but in any case not a fighter, not even a street fighter much less getting in the ring with anybody. I made the even bigger point that despite that youthful folly I never was much of a fan of boxing, of the art of the fist, of pugilism. Yet our own illustrious site manager (the same one who made me go on and on with the “dirty language” disclaimer so you know what I was up against) forced me to do the honors.

That was then but on the basis of that review, the perverse basis if you ask me of that light-headed experience he decided that I was to be at least temporarily the in-house “boxing expert” and review the film of the headline-The Girl From Monterrey. The “how” of that particular choice bears some explanation. Apparently Greg was going through the archives or had remembered from his days as editor at American Film Gazette that during World War II Hollywood, then the sole world capital for film production spewed out as much patriotic war material as was possible without destroying every film produced in that period. Somehow he latched onto this short war-induce film which featured a couple of boxers who would before the end of the film wind up in uniform and so there you have it, why I am reviewing this essentially propaganda piece.

But hold on there is a back story to that as well. This year, 2018, commemorates on November 11^th the 100^th anniversary of Armistice Day, the day when the bloody slaughter, the bloody destruction of the flower of the European youth ended (the supposed “war to end all wars” was the tag to get guys to fight the freaking thing-another WTF). A couple of stringers here, a couple of Vietnam veterans, Sam Eaton and Ralph Morris have been spear-heading the efforts, via their memberships in the anti-war Veterans for Peace group to publicize the commemoration of that event in this space. Greg’s “find” dove-tails with that commemoration since this production was a “talkie” and because few World War I film productions still exist I am the messenger.                       

Well I have stalled enough I might as well get to this short sad tale of a film which at least had the mercy of being short probably due to the rationing of chemicals for the war effort. This one started out south of the border, started in Mexico when that was not a dirty word and immigrants were welcome- to harvest the fields. Started with a spitfire, sparking eyes, Spanish is the loving tongue dancer-singer in an up-scale cantina named Lita, played by never heard of before but well-known then Armida. This feisty and short, unbelievably short so that say Alan Ladd would feel tall next to her had made it clear to management that she was not available to sit with the customers after doing her stage chores- and got bounced, or quit depending on whose story you believe, once the manager made one too many demands on her in that department. What is a girl to do though when she is bounced.  Enter younger brother Baby, a good=looking middleweight, who had quit college to enter the ring, to become a pugilist and who was raring to go in that ill-sought profession. Lita decided against all good judgment to “manage” him after a few gringo boxing promoters sitting in that cantina watching Lita go through her paces saw Baby flatten the Mexican contender who made one too many advances on Lita.

Shift scenes to New York (presumably with all papers in order and not having creeped in via a borderless wall) where Baby got some early cream puff fights working his way up the food chain. But Lita is a singer and dancer, remember that spitfire and sparkling eyes in that profession and so she found work in a nightclub where she and Baby and those nefarious promoters went go for entertainment. Lita did a number and got hired. Baby got all hung up on a gringa torch singer who probably was too big for him-too cutthroat, too wise for this sap despite his pugilistic prowess. Lita in her turn gravitated toward another good-looking middleweight, the champ, a guy named Jerry does it really matter his last name since he was nothing but a “bicycle-rider anyway, a dancer in the ring tiring out his opponent before the knock-down on canvas.      

Baby was making time with this Flossie the floosy and Lita with the chump champ while Baby worked his way up. As you can guess two good-looking middleweights are bound to crash into each other and so it goes when an American promoter gives the high sign to Flossie to get Baby to sign the contact to fight Jerry. Lita is torn but things work out well since Baby knocked Jerry on his ass for the championship and then both men show up in the uniforms of their respective countries. Ho hum. What was not ho hum was Lita’s stage presence where she sang some songs I had never heard were in the American Songbook. Check these out on YouTube the jumping Jive, Brother, Jive,  Last Night’s All Over and the title The Girl From Monterey. Yeah check those sparkling eyes as Armida goes through her paces.