Mr. Wong, Detective

Boris Karloff delivers a thoughtfully restrained performance in this first Mr. Wong film, though it sees him once again playing an East-Asian character.

According to Scott Allen Nollen in Boris Karloff: A Gentleman’s Life, in 1938, poverty row studio Monogram, inspired by the success of Fox’s Charlie Chan and Mr. Moto series, optioned Hugh Wiley’s popular “James Lee Wong” stories that had appeared in Collier’s magazine, and approached Karloff to star.

Karloff, enticed by the prospect of starring in a non-horror role, agreed, and signed a four-picture deal, with Mr. Wong, Detective being the first.

Set in San Francisco, the plot concerns the locked-room murder of a chemical company executive. Wong aids the inept police captain, played by Grant Withers, in the investigation. As more locked-room bodies pile up, Wong realizes the key lies in glass bulbs of poisonous gas, and hatches a plan to catch the culprits.

Aside from the makeup narrowing his eyelids, and the changpao he wears in his introduction, Karloff avoids any stereotypes. No accents, broken English, or esoteric customs. His East-Asian heritage is matter-of-fact. Karloff’s Wong is an erudite, Ivy League educated scientist who moonlights as a detective (or vice versa). Think Sherlock Holmes minus the arrogance.

It’s a strong performance from Karloff that deserved a better script. While I appreciated the glass blowing sequence, Karloff’s character meanders through the muddled plot and only reaches his solution after most of the suspects are dead. Worst of all, as mysteries go, it’s a letdown. In reaching for its final twist, the script proffers a resolution that falls apart at the slightest introspection.

Keeping the running time to just over an hour, director William Nigh does his best to plow through the lengthy setup and frequent exposition dumps, but offers nothing in the way of inspired visuals or dynamic camera work.

Thus, saddled with a tepid script and workmanlike direction, Karloff’s turn is wasted. A better sidekick might have helped. Withers doesn’t grate, but he’s no Eugene Pallette or Nigel Bruce.

All this relegates the film to Karloff completists, who should appreciate his restrained performance, even as they wish it was in service of better material.