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Reviews
Love Letters (1945)
Love followed to the letter
A lot can be said for romantic films of the 1940s, especially ones made at the end of the war. In this Paramount classic, the focus is on a soldier's ability to readjust to life on the home front. It features two of David Selznick's stars (and probably a lot of his input). Joseph Cotten plays the soldier who is thrust into an uncertain future when he goes back to England after international battles end. Of course he quickly discovers there are newer types of battles, and they rage inside his heart.
He is deeply connected to Victoria Morland (Jennifer Jones), a girl he wrote letters to while he was away. In a clever psychological reworking of Rostand's 'Cyrano de Bergerac' screenwriter Ayn Rand shows us Cotten has written the letters on behalf of another, less poetic, war buddy. When Cotten goes home, he learns the buddy died but not until after the guy had married Victoria. All did not go well in the marriage, because the other man was a phony, not the one she had fallen in love with while Cotten was pouring out his innermost feelings from somewhere in Italy.
Rand's script relies on more than one coincidence to bring it all together. After Cotten has been mustered out, he goes to a party and meets a girl named Singleton. She just so happens to be the widowed Victoria, but she became an amnesiac when her husband was fatally stabbed.
We learn in a very skillfully photographed flashback how she went on trial and was found guilty, though she had no recollection of the killing or about herself. At first Cotten doesn't know Singleton is the girl who received his letters, and then when he does find out, it becomes a matter of her realizing who she is and how her whole being is connected with his. But before we get to the resolution, she is prone to fits of hysteria.
Critics of the day were not too kind to the film, but audiences loved it. It became a huge hit for the studio and its stars. Jennifer Jones, on the heels of her Oscar triumph for SONG OF BERNADETTE, received another nomination. In particular Bosley Crowther found fault with her performance, calling it fatuous (silly or contrived). I would agree with Crowther to a point, but only when Jones is trying to show the girlish innocence of the character.
I think the dramatic scenes, where she has to summon more adult courage and a wiser perspective, are exemplary. Cotten for his part is fairly solid, though I don't think he totally invests himself in the material. And Cecil Kellaway does an outstanding job as the caretaker of the house; so does Ann Richards who plays a well-meaning friend of the couple.
While it is not a perfect film, it succeeds in combining the terrifying elements of post-war readjustment-- not only for the men who are returning, but also the women they return to. Both main characters in the story have a duality that puts them on a mutual path of healing. Like Rostand's Cyrano, the mask has to come off and love has to be followed to the letter.
Pendulum (1969)
How far can a policeman go?
Director George Schaefer was known primarily for his work in TV and this would be his first theatrical movie. PENDULUM has plenty of star power-- you couldn't ask for two more intriguing leads than George Peppard and Jean Seberg. They're assisted by some noteworthy supporting players including Richard Kiley, Madeleine Sherwood and Robert F. Lyons. Even the minor characters, such as a secretary in the form of Marj Dusay or a housekeeper in the form of Isabel Sanford, are competently played. There really are no missteps with any of the performances. And Schaefer's direction gets the job done.
But I think the story required something a bit more cinematic. The camera tends to remain static in most shots, as if filming a teleplay. There is no innovative use of lighting or sound effects. Even the climactic final sequence is done pretty much by the book. What we have is something with a lot of potential, that could have been quite powerful, in the hands of a master like Alfred Hitchcock. Instead we get something that is still good, but formulaic.
Seberg's character is killed off after the first half hour. She plays the wife of a cop (Peppard) who is too busy with work to pay much attention to her. So she fills those hours in the company of others. Soon he has started suspecting her of cheating. Sometimes when he takes a cigarette break he calls around to see if she's keeping hair appointments, or if she might be with a lover.
There is one very effective scene when he spies her in a hotel parking lot with an attractive man. Just when it seems as if she's going to kiss her hypothetical boyfriend another car drives in between obstructing Peppard's vision and ours. So we never know if it was a friendly peck on the cheek or a romantic kiss.
The story kicks into gear after she's been murdered and we learn Peppard had deliberately gone out of town with the idea of coming back to surprise her and a lover. But when he gets there, she and the lover have been slain and of course Peppard emerges as the number one suspect. Her affair and his jealous streak give him motive.
Tied into this is the fact that a confessed killer, played by Lyons, has had his conviction thrown out because he was not properly Mirandized. Because Lyons was not read his rights before his confession, he has been allowed back on the streets. And since Peppard is the one who originally arrested him, Lyons might might have been the one who offed Seberg if he's out for revenge.
There isn't much suspense, because we know one of the two men killed Seberg. Since Peppard seldom if ever played a murderer, and since Lyons is giving his best Norman Bates imitation, we can be fairly sure who the culprit is. The story at this point becomes more of a police procedural, where Peppard tries to catch Lyons, even though he's been instructed to let his boss (Kiley) and other cops handle the case.
This film has a very conservative political slant. It's part of a backlash in 1969 against the use of the Miranda warning. At the end when Lyons is finally nabbed and read his rights, we know he will go to jail and stay in jail this time. But Kiley and Peppard have some dialogue where Kiley tells Peppard that even cops benefit by having their rights protected, but the rights of a killer basically do not mean anything since they're guilty anyway. Given the chance to roam the streets freely they will kill again.
The Divorce of Lady X (1938)
Romantic intrigue taken to farcical extremes
THE DIVORCE OF LADY X was released in North America by United Artists and was made by Alexander Korda's London Films company. It boasts impressive Technicolor as well as elegant costuming and sets. It's safe to say many films in 1938 were not this technically advanced. It had an American director (Tim Whelan), so its humor seems to translate well. Plus the cast was already becoming known in Hollywood productions- a group which includes Laurence Olivier, Merle Oberon and Binnie Barnes.
Olivier and Oberon would soon pair up again for a completely different type of film- Samuel Goldwyn's adaptation of WUTHERING HEIGHTS. But in this picture, they are playing characters and a scenario that is about as far from Bronte as you can possibly imagine.
It's a shame Oberon wasn't photographed more often in color during the 1930s and 1940s, when she was at her peak. Her complexion is absolutely flawless. And despite excessive dialogue, the scenes do move quick enough, thanks to the actress's spirited line deliveries and her obvious chemistry with Olivier.
Originally, third-billed Binnie Barnes played Oberon's role in the first screen version of this story. It was called COUNSEL'S OPINION and hit screens five years earlier. Barnes proves how versatile a performer she is, relinquishing the lead and taking a supporting character part in this remake. In addition to Barnes' presence in the two films, Korda makes sure both versions were given big budgets.
As for Olivier, he's quite charming in THE DIVORCE OF LADY X. He plays a divorce attorney who meets a lovely costume ball attendee (Oberon). They innocently share a room for one evening; but the next morning, things do not seem so innocent when he is led to believe she's married to his client (Ralph Richardson). The client has a supposedly unfaithful wife (in reality, the woman played by Barnes). So what develops is a romantic intrigue taken to farcical extremes. It's all played to a tee by the film's delightful stars.
Girls of the Road (1940)
Ann Dvorak hits the road
We are told after a brief montage at the beginning that there are 1146 homeless girls serving vagrancy sentences in an unnamed state. The matter is being brought to the attention of a concerned governor. Some female hobos haven't yet been picked up by police; they are killed in accidents or become victims of random acts of violence perpetrated against them by sleazy opportunists and abusers. These are harrowing statistics, which the governor's secretary (Ann Dvorak) writes down. She learns most of the girls on the road are ones who ran away from broken homes, and she's compelled to do something about it.
The movie is part social message drama, and part exploitation tale. While details are not exactly lurid, what we hear about and view on screen is not quite wholesome either. In some ways, Ann Dvorak, known for her early precode work at Warner Brothers, is perfect for this type of film. It does seem to mirror plot points that were presented in WB's WILD BOYS OF THE ROAD (1933). Only here the focus is on transient females.
For a Columbia Pictures programmer that clocks in at around 68 minutes, we're not going to get SULLIVAN'S TRAVELS or any sort of expansive travelogue. But we do get plenty of outdoor action filmed on location in southern California. Per the AFI database, studio publicity materials emphasized the fact that Dvorak was nearly arrested while certain scenes were filmed. Her character hits the road to fully understand the plight of the girls she aims to help, and while 'dressed down' as a hobo, a real-life police officer thought Dvorak was actually a vagrant!
Dvorak's costars include a group of starlets, some known to classic movie fans; some not so familiar. The supporting cast is not exactly the same caliber here as MGM's THE WOMEN, but these are are still decent enough actresses who can put the drama across- among them: Helen Mack, Marjorie Cooley and Lola Lane. Lane is particularly impressive as a masculine type wanderer, who's probably meant to represent homeless lesbians that had been forced out of their homes. Not every chick is in this situation due to financial reasons.
One thing that stayed with me after watching the film was the bonding that occurs between Dvorak and the other gals. During this process they learn things about themselves. They are not going to solve every single problem they encounter, as they commiserate in front of a campfire. But they know how to cooperate and work together to make an honest appraisal of their collective situation, and maybe just maybe they can find some answers.
Heroes for Sale (1933)
The sum and its parts
There are some great sequences in this memorable precode from Warner Brothers, but I am not sure if the sum of its parts ultimately makes a whole lot of sense. At times it's a story about postwar adjustment and morphine addiction. Then it's a story about economic prosperity and depression. Then it's a doomed love story, two doomed love stories in fact, since one woman (Loretta Young) is killed loving a man (Richard Barthelmess) in an impossible situation; while another woman (Aline MacMahon) pines for him and her efforts remain unrequited.
I suppose it's meant to be a chronicle of a fifteen year period from the first World War up to the height of the Great Depression. Interestingly, this timeline mirrors the motion picture career of the film's star, since Barthelmess first broke through in movies in 1916, during the war, and he achieved much success in the 1920s.
By the time this picture was in production, Barthelmess was aging out of the youthful roles that made him popular with audiences and his career would quickly go into decline. His last starring role was three years later. There was a short break, then he returned at the end of the decade to begin character parts, but retired in 1942. Ironically, Barthelmess went off to serve in WWII. Then he spent the rest of his life living off the savings of his Hollywood career, money he had invested in real estate.
In the film, Barthelmess's character is selfless. He takes the profits he earns from an invention and gives the money to the poor. There is considerable talk about his decision to devote his income to charity. The final stages of the film have him suspected of being a communist and forced on the road like a hobo. Personally, I felt the subplot involving the Reds a bit over-the-top, and I was never sure who to root for in the sequence where there is a labor riot which leads to the tragic death of our hero's wife (Young).
Her death scene is one that stays with the viewer long after the film ends, but what's the point of it all? To show that this man, like America had been beaten and lost everything, but would continue to move forward? We are told he has a young son who's proud of him. But proud of what?
Mixed into his economic philosophical mishmash are some anti-war sentiments about how medals and ribbons are not important if a man cannot feed himself after a war. At the same time, we see the corruption of banking institutions and large scale businesses, so are we ultimately supposed to be sympathetic towards communism? Despite the bravura performances of the two lead actresses, plus Barthelmess who liked to pick scripts with edgy socially conscious messages, I still wasn't sure if I was meant to like the story, and if I was even meant to like America.
Duel at Apache Wells (1957)
Durango gunfighter
The studio's original title for this western feature in Naturama was DURANGO GUNFIGHTER, but I suppose that gives away the ending. So the more generic title DUEL AT APACHE WELLS was used instead; but I think an astute viewer will catch on rather quickly that prodigal son Johnny Shattuck (Ben Cooper) is returning to the ranch owned by his pa (Harry Shannon) after four years in Mexico as the Durango Kid.
Part of what makes the story work so well is we are given hints that Cooper's character is fast with a gun- he shoots a rattlesnake at one point- but we never see Johnny draw on another person until the end. In fact, his gun is taken away from him in the beginning when he's hazed by some rowdy men and their boss (Jim Davis). Davis bullies the kid so badly during these initial scenes we may be fooled into thinking Johnny is a weakling and later a coward since he doesn't exactly stand up and defend his pa when a range war breaks out. Even after his pa's been shot by Davis and rushed to a doctor, Johnny is slow to take action.
It's a great way to tell a story in this genre, with all the western tropes in evidence but some of the audience's expectations not immediately rewarded. The audience is expecting a tale about what makes a hero, or at least what makes someone righteous. But Cooper's character appears to be unheroic and not righteous- certainly not vengeful- till an eventual showdown with Davis in the desert, where he finally reveals he is the Durango Kid. And then he's fast, super fast; Davis' character doesn't stand a chance. Davis does such a superb job playing the villain that his death is justice of the highest order.
If this film had been directed by Nicholas Ray, shots probably would have lingered on Cooper's physique and there would have been some not so subtle sexual elements. If this film had been directed by Anthony Mann, it would have been overloaded with shadowy psychological vibes. If this film had been directed by Sam Peckinpah, it would have contained a lot of violence.
But this film was directed by Republic's best in-house director, Joe Kane; and all he's interested in doing is telling a story about a young man who carries out justice. There is not a lot of shooting, no excessive killings. As a matter of fact, Davis is the only one who dies in the film. This is a simple, straightforward western with a powerful message about standing up to a bully.
The leading lady is played by Italian singer Anna Maria Alberghetti. Republic had cast her a year earlier in the western action drama THE LAST COMMAND opposite Sterling Hayden. These were the only western feature films she made, and she plays a Latina character in both. Alberghetti projects a lovely wholesome quality, and she works very nicely on screen with Cooper, especially during the marriage scene that concludes the picture. After the newlyweds ride off in a stagecoach, we are left with the feeling that all is right with the world.
Night Club Scandal (1937)
Nearly a perfect frame
John Barrymore's career was in decline at this point. He was relegated to supporting roles in 'A' films or the occasional lead role in a 'B' film. NIGHT CLUB SCANDAL, a 'B' remake of Paramount's earlier 'A' picture GUILTY AS HELL, gives Barrymore top billing. However, his character is off screen for portions of the narrative while all the heavy work is done by costars Lynne Overman and Charles Bickford.
In the original precode, the parts played by Overman (an annoying newspaper reporter in the Lee Tracy mode) and Bickford (a hard-nosed cop) were the central characters. Barrymore is cast as a respected doctor who kills his wife, and to get away with homicide, he pins the deed on the wife's lover (Harvey Stephens). It's nearly a perfect frame. When Stephens' alibi doesn't hold up, because he had gone to see the wife, only after she'd been murdered, he becomes the prime suspect.
Soon Stephens is headed to the electric chair, and Overman's character who's sweet on Stephens' sister (Louise Campbell) works to prove the man's innocence. There are some amusing scenes where Overman tries to demonstrate his theory about what really happened, though he is not yet aware Barrymore's the culprit, only that Stephens didn't do it.
A subplot involves a side scam that Barrymore is running with a racketeer (J. Carrol Naish) who owns the titular nightclub. Barrymore has used Naish's help to plant an incriminating piece of evidence at the scene that sews up Stephens' conviction. Yes, Barrymore has considered all the angles, except there is a loose end when Naish attempts to blackmail him. So Barrymore has to commit a second killing, getting rid of Naish during a tricky operating procedure.
Barrymore is not particularly great in this film; he seems to be going through the motions to collect a paycheck and keep his movie career from stalling. It's Bickford who gives the film's best performance, in a no-nonsense copper role that had been done in the original film by Victor McLaglen, and on the Broadway stage by Thomas Mitchell.
The Broadway play was called Riddle Me This, written by Daniel Rubin, and it had two successful runs-- in 1932 and again in 1933 after the release of the first film. This is a good programmer worth a look thanks to decent writing and what Bickford brings to the screen.
Interiors (1978)
Two very different mothers
INTERIORS marked a turning point in the career of its director, Woody Allen. Until he made this film, he primarily focused his efforts on comical situations. But INTERIORS and its subject matter are no laughing matter; and Allen's work, inspired by Swedish filmmaker Ingmar Bergman, pushes him into a new realm. He does not act in this picture; and he has hired some of Broadway's best for the main roles. These include E. G. Marshall and Geraldine Page as a divorcing couple; Maureen Stapleton as the new woman Marshall meets and marries; and three grown daughters with their own problems, played by Diane Keaton; Mary Beth Hurt; and Kristin Griffith.
In many respects, it's Page who drives the narrative-- sending the material into a deep emotional abyss. Only a very skilled actress can go into such a despairing pit with the full confidence that someone else will lift it up at the end. Ultimately, Stapleton is the one who does that, since she portrays the antithesis of Page's character. Throughout the film, Page and Stapleton both work at cross-purposes.
Allen spends a fair amount of time setting up the basic situation, and it isn't until a third of the way into the film when we experience our first real jolt. It comes when Page learns her husband is bailing on the marriage, and she is forced to accept a life alone. One evening she turns the gas oven on, and puts masking tape around the windows. She intends to kill herself, but somehow she doesn't quite succeed and survives. The scenes that follow show how the daughters deal with their mother's instability which can no longer be hidden or denied.
Despite such a tragic turn of events there will be no reconciliation between Page and Marshall. He is moving ahead with plans to marry Stapleton. Page goes missing for the next part of the story, as the daughters adjust to their father's remarriage and the need to get to know his new wife. But at the family's beach house, another jolt is about to occur when Page shows up.
The last sequence is particularly powerful. Page again attempts suicide and this time she succeeds. The youngest daughter (Hurt)-- the one who was the most disapproving of the stepmother-- goes down to the beach to try and prevent Page from drowning. She's too late and almost drowns herself. In the next scene, we see Stapleton rushing down to the water to help. She performs mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. We're left with the realization that one mother took every last bit of energy out of the family; and the other one gave it new life.
Top Gun (1955)
Engaging independent western
This independent western released by United Artists has an intense plot and engaging performances from the lead players. At this point in his career Sterling Hayden had begun to drift into modestly budgeted oaters and crime flicks; this film combines both those genres, as it is basically a western with noir elements. Hayden is cast as a notorious gunfighter who returns to his hometown of Casper, Wyoming, to visit his ma's grave, but finds out she was murdered.
At the same time he tries to rekindle a romance with an old flame (Karin Booth) who is now engaged to someone else (William Bishop). The other man is one of the town's leading denizens, but has a ruthless streak and was behind the killing of Hayden's mother, since he coveted her ranch. Hayden suspects this is what happened, but of course, cannot prove it. While this is going on, there's a young man in town (Rod Taylor in his first Hollywood picture) eager to make his mark and challenge Hayden to a duel.
Because violence occurs wherever he happens to be, Hayden is not wanted around by the respectable townsfolk, and the council gives him till midnight to scram. As if all this were not enough- trying to get justice for his mother's murder, trying to get Booth to give him another chance, dealing with Taylor, and trying to prove to the town he's reformed- we have a marauding gang, led by baddie John Dehner, on their way to Casper to take over the town and pillage it.
At this rate there will be more than one showdown. Hayden easily succeeds in squaring off against Taylor. In the next part, the sheriff (James Millican) is shot and unable to stop Dehner, so Hayden must help defeat the gang. Also, Bishop's character tries to get rid of Hayden who has become too heroic, but in a surprise twist, he is killed by Booth who does so, to save Hayden from being killed by Bishop. Yes, there's a lot going on; a lot to unpack here.
Ultimately we wind up with Hayden and Booth reunited, planning a future. The death of Hayden's mother has been resolved, and the townspeople now respect the former gunman. Despite all the intricate aspects of the plot, the film does have a laid back feel thanks to Sterling Hayden's charming and rather subdued performance.
They All Kissed the Bride (1942)
Not every woman will surrender
This wartime comedy was produced by Columbia Pictures in mid-1942. Lead actress Joan Crawford was a replacement for Carole Lombard who died in January while the script was being readied for production. Lombard had been freelancing, though she had made several hit comedies for Columbia in the 1930s.
Her most recent picture, TO BE OR NOT TO BE, was a success at United Artists; and this was to be her follow-up. Lombard was also being lined up for a comedy at her old stomping grounds, Paramount, which would have teamed her with former costar John Barrymore. But Barrymore also died, so that story was sold to Republic Pictures and became THE CHEATERS (1945) with Ona Munson taking Lombard's part.
THEY ALL KISSED THE BRIDE had initially been titled HE KISSED THE BRIDE. Columbia borrowed Crawford from her home studio MGM. This was the first time in ten years that Crawford's services had been loaned out- the last time had been RAIN (1932) for UA, which was a flop. In the intervening period, Crawford had made 19 features at Metro...some of them huge successes like THE WOMEN and others dismal failures like THE GORGEOUS HUSSY and THE ICE FOLLIES OF 1939. But she was still an important star, and she could handle the paces of a romcom, despite being assigned to the role on such short notice.
Crawford would only make two more films at MGM after this, before she left and moved over to Warner Brothers. This project probably gave her a nice break from the politics back at MGM. She donated her salary to the Red Cross in Lombard's memory; and with her casting approval, Melvyn Douglas was chosen as her costar. Douglas' contract was split between Columbia and MGM, and he had previously collaborated with Crawford on two earlier pictures, THE SHINING HOUR (1938) and A WOMAN'S FACE (1941), both melodramas.
In this particular story, Crawford is portraying a shrewd lady executive who runs a trucking company. For every success she enjoys in the business world, she seems to experience setbacks in love. The idea for the screenplay is that a woman cannot really be happy unless she gives up a career outside the home and settles down. Of course, today, most consider that a lot of nonsense.
Incidentally, feminist film scholar Molly Haskell presented a double feature on TCM about ten years ago that included this picture. The other title was FEMALE (1933) starring Ruth Chatterton, a Warner Brothers precode with a similar theme. At the end of both movies, the lady exec gives up her lucrative business career and is inexplicably content to become a stay-at-home wife.
In real life, Joan Crawford would continue to star in movies and on television for many years. In 1955 she married PepsiCo executive Alfred Steele. When Al Steele died in 1959, he bequeathed his stock in Pepsi to his widow; and until the early 1970s, Crawford served on the company's board of directors. She was a woman who could have it all.
Lazy River (1934)
In old Louisiana
In some ways this MGM production is not really trying to adapt Lea David Freeman's play, the original source material; but rather, the studio is just using the setting and a vague facsimile of the story to place stereotypes about working class folk in the old south. It contains the usual down-on-their-luck tropes that had already been explored in several Marie Dressler vehicles like MIN AND BILL and TUGBOAT ANNIE.
Dressler was nearing the end of her life and unable to handle the workload required, so the part of a tough Louisiana matriarch was assigned to May Robson. However, Robson balked at the decreased importance of the role, since the love story involving the young couple (Robert Young & Jean Parker) would ultimately receive more prominence; so, she bailed. After Robson's departure, the producers hired Maude Eburne to take over. Eburne has an earthier persona than Robson, but despite her wearing a bonnet like Dressler had worn on screen, she lacks the gravitas required.
The story's main drama revolves around Young, just recently paroled from prison, who goes down to bayou country to look up the relatives of a pal who died in prison. He quickly learns that the pal had exaggerated tales of the clan's wealth. In fact they are barely getting by, about to lose their dock platform, facing the foreclosure of their business and home. Young is not exactly a reformed con, and he's gone there to bilk the family out of its money.
Seeing they have no funds, Young decides to leave but then gets drawn into helping Eburne and her daughter (Parker) hold on to their livelihood. He becomes an unlikely hero, and soon he has given up his old ways. Two other ex-con friends (Nat Pendleton and Ted Healy) show up who have a tougher time reforming. They're around mainly for comic relief.
Complicating matters is the fact that Young has been married before, and his estranged wife (Ruth Channing) suddenly appears on the scene, intending to get her grubby paws on Young's new fortune as a shrimper. This upsets Young's blossoming romance with Parker, but these problems are neatly resolved at the end, when it is learned Young's marriage to Channing is no longer valid.
There's a strange subplot involving some Chinese immigrants (played by white actors in yellow face) who are being brought up to the docks by way of Mexico. Young and his buddies thwart a smuggling ring, which allows for some cliched action scenes on a boat, as well as a few moments submerged underwater when Young gets tossed overboard. The Chinese subplot seems borrowed from United Artists' I COVER THE WATERFRONT (1933) which did a better and more coherent job of dramatizing a crooked ring.
All in all, this isn't a terrible motion picture. Parker's role had been intended for Joan Crawford, but Crawford wisely passed on it. The character might have had a bit more pizzazz if Maureen O'Sullivan, Young's romantic interest in TUGBOAT ANNIE, had been cast. But Parker does a decent enough job, and she does enjoy some nice chemistry with Young.
D-Day the Sixth of June (1956)
A day they'll always remember
Robert Taylor was a longtime contract player at MGM who was loaned to 20th Century Fox for this CinemaScope production in Technicolor. It had been twenty years since his last loan out to Fox, since his home studio usually kept him busy in westerns, romance dramas and the occasional war flick like this one. There are some images on screen that are meant to remind fans of Taylor's work in WATERLOO BRIDGE and BATAAN.
Taylor's leading lady, not quite the same caliber as Vivien Leigh in WATERLOO BRIDGE, is British actress Dana Wynter. Her part had been intended for Jean Simmons, who probably would have brought considerably more anguish and neurosis to the role. Wynter wisely keeps the emotions dialed down and offers us a charming British gal who helps the American Red Cross in the period just before the invasion at Normandy.
There is a romantic triangle that plays out, since Wynter is engaged to the military friend (Richard Todd) of her father (John Williams), but then becomes smitten with American officer Taylor who is stationed in London. Taylor will eventually be part of the D-Day invasion under Todd's command. The scenarists keep Taylor and Todd from meeting up until the last half hour of the movie, which builds some suspense and keeps Wynter boomeranging between the two men, not fully knowing which one she loves most.
Since Taylor is top-billed, we do expect her to ultimately end up with him. But there's a fly in the proverbial ointment: Taylor has an American wife stateside, so whatever relationship he develops with Wynter is adulterous. We are meant to feel for them as a couple, but per the production code, Taylor will have to return to the U. S. to reunite with his faithful wife, if he survives the fighting, which he does.
Meanwhile Wynter is engaged to Todd, and though there is much less screen time for them as a couple, we know she has a strong attachment to him. She never breaks off the engagement, even after her father dies. But to some extent, she is dishonest with Todd, since she would probably dump him and marry Taylor if she could. As a result, we cannot actually sympathize with her, particularly since she willingly persists in seeing Taylor while knowing he is a married man and is unobtainable.
A lot of the picture's story is a series of detailed flashbacks chronicling the love lives of these three characters. There is also a subplot with a commanding officer (played with flair by Edmond O'Brien, in Orson Welles mode) who is supposed to lead the men to the beaches of Normandy but cracks up and has to be replaced. Still, despite some of the more dramatic elements, the film does remain simply focused on the battle sequence and what happens to the three main characters afterward.
Interestingly, Wynter does not end up with either Taylor or Todd. I won't spoil the ending, but it's certainly a thoughtful one. Perhaps the message is that life is full of unexpected surprises. But you have to make the most of the important moments when you have them.
I've Always Loved You (1946)
"Music goes on forever."
At one point Madame Goronoff (Maria Ouspenskaya) tells her concert maestro grandson (Philip Dorn) that men and women come and go, that young beauty grows old, but music goes on forever. Indeed, music is the greatest love in the maestro's life. Until one day when he meets the pretty daughter (Catherine McLeod) of a former associate (Felix Bressart). Then, his life goes in a decidedly new direction.
It's also a new direction for the young woman, since she will become tutored by Dorn and turned into a great concert pianist. It won't be easy for either of them, especially McLeod, or the ones who love them most. In Dorn's case, his grandmother and his followers fret about his every move. In McLeod's case, there is a handsome farm hand back home (Bill Carter) who is concerned about her just as much as her father. After Bressart's character dies, Carter and his mother (Elizabeth Patterson) take over the farm, since McLeod is off on a world tour with Dorn and Ouspenskaya.
The globe trotting episodes, showing the young pygmalion and her Svengali mentor in Europe and South America, are interesting to watch. The set design is truly fantastic; so are the clothes and furnishings- all presented in luscious Technicolor. It's obvious Republic spent a lot of money on this particular prestige production, directed by A-list director Frank Borzage. This is a far cry from the B westerns the studio churned out with Gene Autry and Roy Rogers.
McLeod is perfectly cast as a hardworking musician and practical farm girl who becomes a bit too worldly for her own good, then has to make a decision about the rest of her life. Dorn's character is nearly impossible at every turn- he's supposed to be demanding, but his annoying sexist behaviors don't do him any favors- and it's easy to see why McLeod ultimately leaves him after a successful performance at Carnegie Hall.
She goes back to the farm, marries Carter and has a daughter (Vanessa Brown). But we know she still hasn't really gotten Dorn out of her system. In some ways Carter's wholesome rural character becomes a bit of a villain. After their marriage, he forbids his wife from playing the piano in their home. Then, when their daughter is old enough to start playing, he expects his wife to take the girl off to New York to get the professional opinion of her old maestro (Dorn). But he also wants to see if his wife still has unresolved feelings for his upper class rival.
One thing I particularly like about this film is that we aren't ever sure which man McLeod's heart truly belongs to...and we have to wait until the final scene to find out which one she's always loved more. Mixed into all this melodrama are some excellent musical scenes (with Arthur Rubenstein playing on the soundtrack). Borzage doesn't ever rush us through the numbers, so musical performance is just as key to the film's overall identity as the characterizations and romantic plot.
As I finished watching this motion picture, I realized that people in the mid-1940s had a clearer understanding of who they were, or who they should be, even when momentary confusion or conflicts set in. There is something to be said about the relationships we forge in life, and the people we learn great lessons from, in how they conform with our individual values.
The Half-Breed (1952)
Multi-layered western
I haven't decided if this RKO western in Technicolor is unfairly overlooked or unfairly maligned. Maybe both. It's certainly a unique western and as a production overseen by Howard Hughes, it has its share of interesting scenes. What I really like about the film, which others might deride, is that it is several western films rolled into one. This is not because Hughes and his directors (there were more than one) couldn't decide what story to tell, but because there were quite a few stops and starts behind the scenes.
Each time they resumed production on THE HALF-BREED, there was a new person in charge, taking the reigns under Hughes' watchful eye. So in a way they keep remaking the story, with continuous retakes, something Hughes was famous for doing. And by the time they finally reached the end of a long production schedule, the editors had multiple versions to choose from for individual scenes. This actually works in the film's favor. The result is a multi-layered western drama about a group of white people in town (those scenes mostly shot at RKO's ranch in Encino) and a group of indigenous people outside of town (with those scenes mostly shot on location in beautiful Arizona).
Part of the narrative focuses on a traveling gambler (Robert Young) who's just come into a dusty western town, but before doing so, he was nearly killed and had his life saved by a half-breed, the title character (played by Jack Buetel). Young is slightly miscast but still renders an excellent performance. Buetel had a splashy motion picture debut in Hughes' THE OUTLAW, overshadowed by Jane Russell, but he remained under personal contract to Hughes for about a decade, though he didn't make too many films. Here Buetel provides us with a very sensitive performance as a man who is half civilized and half savage, trying to decide which culture is best for him.
In addition to the culture clash and the ensuing friendship between these men, we have a love story. It involves Young falling for a saloon singer (Janis Carter in her last Hollywood movie), who is desperate to get on the next stage outta here so she can start a good clean life in a more respectable locale. Her exit is delayed more than once. First, her manager gambles away her money, which Young wins back for her. Then, there there is an uprising by the natives against several corrupt townsfolk trying to push them off their gold-rich land.
In my opinion, the film really hits its stride when the whites and the natives head into battle with each other; though, many of the whites and one native maiden are innocently caught in the crossfire. Young and Buetel try to broker a peace, with Buetel ultimately deciding to side with the natives. It's gripping entertainment. We also learn Young had been a confederate soldier in the war who drifted into gambling; so, he knows what it's like to be in a war where there are losers.
It's a shame this film is not better known. It contains some very competent performances. Because of the start-stop-restart nature of the production behind the scenes, we have a multi-layered western entertainment that can be read in a variety of ways.
Little Miss Broadway (1938)
Singing-dancing orphan girl
A child whose parents are dead. That's the definition for the word orphan. But at 20th Century Fox in the 1930s, the definition was: sympathetic role for Shirley Temple. In fact, there was no other role suited for her, as a girl with indelible moppet charm that the audience could root for, because goodness, she just needed some parents and a home of her own. The prospective parents were usually not an established couple. They were often two young single adults (never middle aged) who fell in love during the story, to facilitate a romantic subplot.
The film starts with Shirley predictably in an orphanage, singing with other girls about the virtue of remaining optimistic. Yes, they can't be too downtrodden, since a film with a sad vibe would not go over well with movie viewers. We are told up front that she's not staying here; she's going to live with an old friend of her deceased parents who's agreed to look after her.
She's happy, until she realizes the other girls are not being adopted. As if those emotions were not overpowering, we have the girls leaning out windows singing Auld Lang Syne as Shirley leaves the orphanage. Nothing is subtle!
In the next part Shirley settles in at a boarding house with the elderly gent (Edward Ellis) who's taken her in along with his pretty daughter (Phyllis Brooks). It's a place where various theatrical types reside, most of them currently jobless. One of the tenants is a bandleader (Jimmy Durante) who hasn't had a gig in twelve weeks. But he's so busy playing poker, he doesn't seem to care!
Meanwhile there is a crotchety old lady (Edna May Oliver in a role that normally would've been assigned to Helen Westley) that lives in the next building. She is upset by all the noise the performers are making. Oliver disagrees with her brother (Donald Meek) that the riffraff in the boarding house need to go; and since she owns that building, too; and Shirley's new friends owe Oliver back rent, she decides it's time to evict them all!
Into the mix we have the introduction of Oliver's handsome young nephew (George Murphy). He befriends Shirley and just so happens to be fond of Brooks, much to his auntie's dismay. The love story will complicate Oliver's plans to toss Ellis and the others out on their keisters.
Murphy shares the same opinion with Meek that Oliver shouldn't throw anyone out on the street. While he devises a plan to thwart his aunt's actions, we see him bond more with Shirley. There is a cute scene in which they do a few dance steps together. It leads to a number on top of a table. Only in the movies!
Shirley thinks Murphy is quite skilled and asks where he learned to dance. He explains he learned at Harvard as part of the Hasty Pudding Club. Shirley doesn't realize that's the name of a theatrical group and says 'boy, I bet that tasted good!'
One of the reasons these cinematic vehicles worked so well for Shirley Temple is because she's usually a wide-eyed innocent dealing with adult situations. Part of the fun is her overcoming a specific plight and teaching the adults a lesson or two. Her line deliveries are classic, such as a moment where she learns a butler lied about something and she brands him a fibber who should stand in the corner. Or when she tells Murphy that she would have been an old maid if she hadn't met him. Not sure if these scenes would work so well with any other young child actress.
Of course we know that Murphy and Brooks will end up together, and they will become Shirley's proper parents. Also, Oliver will have a change of heart and reverse her thinking about evicting the performers. Oh, and certainly, there will be a big show before all is said and done (in this case, staged inside a courtroom!) to indicate the theatrical types are now back to work. There won't be any problem that doesn't get solved with the help of a singing-dancing orphan girl.
Battle Hymn (1957)
To Korea and back
BATTLE HYMN, a Technicolor production directed by Douglas Sirk, is a look at the Korean War. By this point in his career, Sirk had become known for a series of lavish tearjerkers with producer Ross Hunter. Many of them featured Rock Hudson in the lead role. This time, the trio venture away from their usual formula to focus on a true life subject. The emphasis is on Colonel Dean Hess, an Air Force pilot and minister celebrated for his humanitarian efforts in Korea.
Hess was instrumental in the building of an orphanage in Korea, which occurred after he had already seen battle in WWII. In fact, he had been haunted by his earlier experiences, which caused him to return to the military and work in Korea. You see, Hess had accidentally bombed a German orphanage back in 1945, killing over thirty children, and he was unable to forget it. So when he re-enlisted and went to Korea, it became important to him to build a new orphanage there.
Hudson is believably cast in this real-life role. Certainly it's a chance to stretch himself as an actor, taking on the story of a well-known hero who had notable demons to confront. Sometimes on screen, Hess' personal life is messy. He has tried to atone for all he did wrong in WWII by turning to God; but that doesn't fully absolve him of his guilt. In Korea, he will try to do something purposeful, so he can maybe get over his anguish.
While Hess is in Korea, his wife (Martha Hyer) back home learns she is pregnant; so there is new life on the way. Hyer's role is quite marginal in this picture. She was one of Universal's dependable lead actresses, typically cast in melodramas and westerns. In this instance, her persona as a good spouse is used to good effect. However, she is absent from much of the action, especially the scenes that occur in Korea.
In Seoul, Hess is acquainted with a Korean woman (Anna Kashfi); and an intimate relationship is more than implied. At the same time he also befriends a black pilot (James Edwards). The military is at this point racially integrated.
There's an interesting scene where Edwards' character guns down a truck and learns that some children were victims. His situation reminds Hess of what had happened before in the last war. This was one of my favorite parts of the film. It was brilliant the way we had this extra character in a subplot that mirrored Hess' own pain. Then how they both share their grief, in a rather therapeutic way.
Interestingly, despite the military being racially integrated and the relationships that Hess forms with the black pilot and the Korean gal, there are still scenes that depict racist or xenophobic attitudes which existed among U. S. military personnel. Americans may have been defending democracy on foreign soil, but they were not without prejudices. I supposed it would have felt false if Sirk had not included any of it.
While Hess is atoning for past sins, there are battles that must be fought and won in South Korea. Fighting scenes in the film display good aerial footage. There are several key death scenes. One of these involves Kashfi's character. Of course, the production code necessitates her demise.
Mostly, I found Kashfi's character to be one of the more fictionalized elements of the film. Not sure if Hess really did have such a close relationship with a Korean woman, while he was away from his wife. But here, in this film, she is included to ramp up the drama. But of course she cannot be the one he chooses. He has to ultimately re-choose his wife and go back home for a happy ending. Thus, Kashfi's role is expendable in a narrative of this sort, and the character must die.
In terms of box office, Kashfi was probably thrown into the mix so there would be someone sexy or exotic for men in the audience to ogle. But of course Hyer's character represents the morally correct choice of a partner as sanctioned by the production code.
Of course the main point of this story is the work Hess did to build the orphanage in Chejudo, South Korea. But when a Hollywood studio produces a movie for mass entertainment, usually the more reasonable aspects of the plot become secondary to the more sensationalized elements.
Violent Playground (1958)
All children come from heaven, except juvenile delinquents
Influenced by Hollywood films from the same period, such as MGM's BLACKBOARD JUNGLE, this British social message drama covers a lot of the same ground while putting its own spin on things. Set in and filmed in parts of Liverpool, the drama concerns a juvenile liaison officer (Stanley Baker) whose assignment is to patrol a busy neighborhood in plain clothes.
As part of his duties Baker associates with other members of the community determined to correct wayward youth. One of these folks is a priest, played by Peter Cushing who would soon make his mark in horror films. Here, Cushing is much less monstrous. Instead, the monster of the piece is a know-it-all teenager (David McCallum) who seems to have a weird power over the other boys his age. That is, until he starts to go too far and becomes an outright criminal.
Baker first meets McCallum when he apprehends McCallum's younger twin siblings stealing from a local store. Taking the youngsters home Baker learns there is no mother around- she's moved to London and remarried. There is a father, but he's away on an extended business trip. So the rearing of McCallum and the two younger kids becomes the responsibility of an older sister (Anne Heywood) who is an adult in her early 20s. She will become a romantic interest for Baker, naturally.
The set-up is clever, because not only is Baker patrolling the nearby streets where McCallum gets into trouble...but Baker becomes directly involved with the family through his relationship with Heywood. In a way, Baker takes on the role of the family's surrogate patriarch; which of course, puts a crimp into McCallum's plans to continue running wild.
Also, as part of the set-up for this story, there is a subplot involving an unknown arsonist. And that person turns out to be McCallum, which leads to a standoff later inside the twins' school. In one of the classrooms, we see McCallum hold a bunch of children hostage at gunpoint then make some unrealistic demands of the police. Of course, Heywood needs Baker to give her troubled brother a break, but Baker has to operate according to the law, not according to his heart.
I didn't think the writers did a decent job explaining McCallum's criminal behavior. He seems to be a monster for no good reason. Why did he start setting fires? What was the root cause of that behavior? We're never really told this information. Also, we're not told why the mother left and never came back, or why McCallum would even have a twinge of guilt when he accidentally runs over a Chinese worker with a stolen van. Too many holes in the plot make us guess too much.
Also, I had a slight problem with the editing. It seems like Dearden and his editor are consciously trying to make this a "European art film" by adding in various jump cuts, so scenes never really dissolve or logically lead into subsequent scenes. Instead, we're barely finished with a scene when suddenly we find ourselves plunged into the next scene almost in progress. I didn't see the purpose for this. Maybe later, during the siege at the school, where the action would undoubtedly be more chaotic and disjointed. But not earlier in the picture when Baker was on his rounds.
The Story of Temple Drake (1933)
So help her God
Based on William Faulkner's novel Sanctuary, this Paramount precode goes out of its way to play up the more sordid aspects of the plot. Almost everyone is unsavory, except for maybe the town's old judge (Guy Standing) and a young defense attorney (William Gargan) in love with the judge's granddaughter. She's known as Temple Drake (Miriam Hopkins).
Early scenes feature Temple as a spoiled southern girl who realizes she has a streak of evil in her, and that she's the subject of local gossip. But she is unable to free herself from the naughtier side of her nature. As a result she turns down more than one marriage proposal from Gargan; and she leaves a formal dance to go off with a college guy (William Collier Jr.) for a ride in the country.
During the ride they end up in an accident, get caught in a downpour, and then they're taken to a haunted looking house where bootleggers hang out. The place is owned by a man (Irving Pichel) with a wife (Florence Eldridge) and young child. These are hardly likable or sympathetic people, including the wife, but she does try to keep Temple from harm when the college dude passes out and the other men start fighting over Temple.
But Temple is unable to sleep in the barn. For the main gangster (Jack La Rue) finds his way down there and kills a kid (James Eagles) who's protecting her. Then in what is the film's most famous and trashiest scene, he climbs in through a window and corners her among the corncobs where he forces himself on her. Yes, scenes like this are what caused the Hollywood production code to be strongly enforced a short time later.
The next part of the film has Temple as a dazed prisoner of Trigger (LaRue), living in a city a hundred miles away as a 'couple.' The name Trigger turns out to be ironic, since he has a gun, and Temple uses it to kill him when she tries to get away from him. The story basically moves from one scandalous event to the next, culminating in a trial.
And it is there, in a courtroom back in her hometown, that Temple takes the stand and confesses everything. Hopkins does a superb job, delivering a powerful monologue that goes like this:
"I want to answer. I want to tell everything. I was there. A boy took me. Toddy Gowan. Our car got smashed. And it was raining. Then he went away and left me. Nobody would take me home. I got frightened. And that woman took me out to the barn. She said I'd be safe there. I couldn't sleep. It was getting light when a man came in. Trigger, they called him. He came at me. Tommy heard us and looked in. Trigger shot him. I didn't see Tommy anymore. And then, and then, he attacked me. Trigger did."
While the spectators inside the courtroom murmur, Temple continues to exorcise her demons: "I didn't go home. I went to the city with Trigger and stayed there until this week..." She is asked where Trigger is now, where the court might find him. This is when she completely breaks down: "Can't...never find him. I killed him." She suddenly collapses and is carried out. But she did it, she told the truth, nothing but the truth. So help her God, she did.
Double Jeopardy (1955)
Excellent Republic crime flick
Television was dominating the entertainment landscape in the mid-1950s, but the big studios were still turning out notable motion pictures. This excellent crime flick from Republic is an example. Rod Cameron, who was typically cast in westerns, is assigned a change of pace role as a lawyer who helps solve a killing that implicates his wealthy boss (John Litel). There's a romantic angle with Cameron in love with the man's daughter, played by Allison Hayes.
Though Cameron and Hayes are the main couple we're meant to root for, they are somewhat upstaged by another couple directly responsible for the death that occurs on screen. This second couple is portrayed by sultry Gale Robbins and dapper Jack Kelly. Right from the start, we know they are trouble, especially when we watch Robbins smooching Kelly in a fancy convertible while her drunken middle-aged husband (Robert Armstrong) watches from the upstairs window of their apartment.
Robbins traipses into the apartment and is quickly confronted by Armstrong about her extramarital activities. Their argument is overheard by a busybody landlady (Minerva Urecal). Robbins has had enough and packs a suitcase, planning to leave. But Armstrong convinces her to stay when he flashes some C notes in front of her greedy eyes. He's just received a monthly installment from a man he's blackmailing. That man? Litel.
Already, within the first few minutes we see how interconnected all these characters' lives are; with several of them heading straight for disaster. Kelly's character works at a car lot, but he's not earning as much as he'd like; so he convinces Robbins to pressure Armstrong into asking Litel for even more money. Then she drives off with a new set of wheels, unpaid!
In the next part Armstrong is using the "stolen" vehicle to head up Mulholland Drive to meet Litel for ten grand. Only Litel won't pay another dollar and leaves. Kelly has followed Armstrong to the top of the canyon; there's a quarrel and Armstrong plunges off the side to his death, smashing up the car.
The plot thickens when Litel is incriminated because the other set of tire tracks along the cliff belonged to his Rolls. Litel is arrested, and this sets Cameron in motion playing amateur detective, since Hayes does not feel the police are doing enough to find the real killer (Kelly) which will clear her dad.
The ending is routine, but exciting. The best part of DOUBLE JEOPARDY is the opportunity it gives Armstrong & Litel, two gifted character actors, to shine in their roles as former associates connected by a past they'd rather forget.
At the same time, we have Kelly and Robbins heating up the screen; while Cameron and Hayes give us a more subdued mature type of love story. All the elements gel, and without a doubt, these fine performances, with plenty of on-location filming in and around Los Angeles, make this one of Republic's best programmers from the mid-50s.
One Touch of Venus (1948)
Mischief maker
Venus, as played by Ava Gardner, is a real mischief maker in this delightful adaptation of a hit Broadway musical comedy. She plays a beautiful marble statue that experiences a transmutation of sorts. After coming to life, she causes trouble for a hapless window dresser (Robert Walker).
Though Mary Pickford's production company and Universal-International, which co-financed the project and exhibited the film, have removed much of the music from the stage hit, some of the key songs are retained. For whatever reason, Gardner's voice is dubbed in these renditions, though her costars, Dick Haymes, Olga San Juan and Eve Arden, are not dubbed.
Gardner was borrowed from home studio MGM along with top-billed Walker who plays the less-than-ideal romantic male lead. Walker is an expert at bumbling comedy routines, making his character so ultimately endearing, that we cannot help but cheer him on, even though in real life we know a figure like Gardner, whether she's a statue or a live flesh being, would probably never choose a guy like him!
The original production featured Mary Martin and Kenny Baker. Martin was a last-minute replacement for Marlene Dietrich, and Venus became a breakthrough role for Martin, turning her into a bonafide Broadway star. Martin had been offered the part in the film by Pickford, but pregnancy made her bow out. Personally, I think this was a good bit of luck for the film, as it forced Pickford and Universal execs to seek Gardner's services, and she is perfect for the part.
Eve Arden is her usual wisecracking self and steals every scene she is in. This becomes a cliche after writing countless reviews of films in which she appears, but she is that good. Ironically, I would argue Arden gives the most fleshed out performance. We sympathize with her Girl Friday routine as the ultra efficient eternally overlooked secretary of a department store owner (Tom Conway).
Conway's character becomes so enamored with statue Gardner coming to life that it causes Arden to take action. Faced with the idea that Arden will quit and dessert him, Conway comes to his senses and eventually agrees to marry Arden. Only in the movies! Of course this means Gardner will now end up with Walker.
Haymes and San Juan are on hand as Walker's pal and initial girlfriend, who eventually hook up themselves, or so it is implied, since their screen time wanes as the story goes on. I found Haymes quite believable in a second banana role, though when it comes to the musical numbers, Haymes is clearly lead material in his own right.
The Broadway version of the story takes place inside a museum, where the statue comes to life after the hapless joe slips a ring on her finger. Here, the story has been transplanted to a department store which has a model home inside it; thus, allowing the writers to comment more on postwar suburban housing patterns. The department store setting also allows us to examine business practices, when Conway blames Walker in the beginning for the disappearance of the statue.
For the most part it's a smooth adaptation, though it did not fare well with contemporary audiences. Some of the dialogue is a bit forced; not every scene plays perfectly because the characters are often saying things to be funny instead of saying things in a realistic way. But I do think this is a thoroughly enjoyable motion picture, and I did like how the occasional tunes bridged the various subplots and connected the scenes.
Rocky Mountain (1950)
The "failed" mission of a Confederate patrol
Though the patrol that Errol Flynn leads west during the Civil War fails to take a region in the southwest, along the border of California, we are meant to sympathize with them and even admire their valiant heroism. These types of films were popular with American movie audiences, especially audiences in the south who still wanted to believe that the Confederate cause was a valid one, eighty-five years after the end of the U. S. Civil War.
Some movies are not only about the men who fought and lost such a war, these movies are also about place. Specifically, the places where they come from; as well as the place where they are all now assembled- in this case, atop a Rocky Mountain, which Flynn affectionately calls The Rock.
We are not told much about Flynn's background except that he lost a woman he loved; but we do learn bits and pieces about the ragtag soldiers under his command. Some grew up on steamboats; some were ex-cons; some were tough plainsmen; some were heirs of powerful plantation families; some were from Louisiana where English was not their first language; etc.
One of the soldiers in this group is a young sixteen year old named Jimmy (Dick Jones). I suppose he is meant to remind us of the kid in Crane's The Red Badge of Courage, played on screen by Audie Murphy a year later.
Jimmy's already seen battle for over two years, having enlisted at age fourteen. Flynn comments that Jimmy quickly went from innocent boy to full-fledged man, implying there were many such Jimmys on both sides. Jimmy has a dog, Spot, who is probably the most endearing character in the story. Unlike these Confederate men who are killed by warring natives at the end, Spot manages to survive- a poignant touch in a grim western tale.
Another character who survives is a woman traveler played by Patrice Wymore. Wymore was a last-minute fill-in for Lauren Bacall who refused the role and soon broke ties with the studio. It's a shame that Bacall did not do the role, since one does feel that the part was written for her, and while Wymore in her first leading role is a pleasant enough figure, she is not quite as good an actress as Bacall. Some of her scenes do not convey the fortitude and strength required.
Wymore's character is nearly killed in the beginning when her stagecoach is ambushed by natives and she's left for dead. Flynn and his patrol rescue her, and she joins them on top of The Rock, while they wait for other men to arrive and form a larger army that will storm into California and supposedly claim that land for the South. At the same time, we learn Wymore is a Yankee and is engaged to a Union officer (Scott Forbes) who comes to find her, since her stagecoach did not make it to the fort where they were to have been reunited.
During the middle section of the film, Forbes and his men have been overtaken by Flynn and his men. So we have both sides at cross-purposes, co-existing, then confronted with a deadly attack by the Shoshone. How the men work together and overcome some, if not all their differences, is a key message of the film. There is a shocking scene near the conclusion where Flynn's character is brought down by arrows, and he experiences a most surprising on-screen death.
I was glad that Wymore, whose character had been developing feelings for Flynn, still ended up with Forbes (and the dog) in the last scene. Yet, Flynn was still regarded to be a man worth admiring on some level. In real life, Flynn who had recently been divorced and was engaged to someone else, fell for Wymore and married her a few months after the picture wrapped.
China (1943)
Defending freedom and saving children
Chinese-American relations changed considerably after 1945. But during WWII, the United States was politically allied with China against the Japanese. That alliance is in evidence in this Paramount classic from 1943. Supposedly the film was a project that Loretta Young was very passionate about doing. She had been following the news and was affected by reports of Chinese children that were orphaned during the war. It was part of her mission to bring their story to the screen.
Young had been under contract to 20th Century Fox until 1939, then began a multi-picture deal at Columbia Pictures. After the deal with Columbia ended in 1941, she became a freelancer. She was now in a position to choose scripts that mattered to her without facing studio suspension. Her costar, Alan Ladd, was a Paramount contractee who had just broken through with the hit LUCKY JORDAN, in which he played a gangster. Studio bosses wanted to put him into more heroic roles, and this project seemed ideal for him.
During production the two lead performers did not always get along. Both seemed concerned about who would be perceived as the real 'star' of CHINA. There were occasional disagreements behind the scenes between them and director John Farrow, but I think that spiritedness helps infuse this drama with a bit more intensity and energy than it might otherwise have had.
The bottom line is that neither Young nor Ladd intended a career misstep. They both wanted the film to be a hit, which is exactly what happened. In fact the box office success of CHINA led to the two stars reuniting for another picture the following year at Paramount called AND NOW TOMORROW, a much more melodramatic effort.
I think what makes CHINA work is the perfect balance between action and "romance." Yes, there is a bit of wartime jingoism involved, and modern eyes will no doubt see some of the race-related problems of the era, but it's a conscientious story containing a lot of character driven truths. The main message for viewers, then and now, is that we are in this thing together-- especially when we have a common enemy to defeat.
The film has an almost noir-like quality to it in the way that the scenes are lit and photographed, particularly the nighttime scenes. The violent episodes that occur-- a rape, multiple murders and a climactic series of explosions-- signify darker elements. It's a harrowing story and not one that we might typically associate with Loretta Young, who usually appeared in feel-good motion pictures.
Despite the moving performance rendered by Young and her Asian cast members, the film is defined by the atrocities depicted on screen. But it does "feel good" in the sense that these Americans are fighting against threats to democracy and are making noble sacrifices. I would imagine viewers in 1943 came away with the knowledge that something was being done to make the world a better place. It's a film about defending freedom and saving children from ruin.
She Couldn't Take It (1935)
Could she take everything he had to offer?
Joan Bennett was still a blonde at this point in her Hollywood career. In fact, she wouldn't switch from brunette to light-shaded tresses until 1938. This was the second of four films she made with leading man George Raft. Their first outing was earlier in the decade when Bennett was under contract at Fox. Now, she was working for Walter Wanger, who had a production unit at Paramount. But for this project, Wanger made a deal with Columbia and brought his most important leading lady with him.
As for Raft, he was a Paramount contractee and had already made a name for himself playing tough guy hoods. Many of his characters had a soft spot, especially where the ladies were concerned. He'd play another gangster in their next picture together, THE HOUSE ACROSS THE BAY; then a more reformed type in NOB HILL. The two performers liked working alongside each other, and it's obvious they shared chemistry on screen.
In this story, Bennett is in screwball mode as the daughter of a wealthy businessman (Walter Connolly). The first sequence of the film sets up Bennett, her irresponsible brother (James Blakely) and their bubble-headed mother (Billie Burke) as major pains in the backside for Connolly. He's trying to steer Bennett away from a penniless count, he's getting Blakely out of jams with the law; and he's paying off bills Burke has run up purchasing pearls on a trip abroad.
We immediately feel sorry for Connolly, who has his work out for himself with this family. Of course, they are all exaggerated types for comedic effect. But there's a layer of truth, that a man who indulges his wife and children without teaching the value of taking responsibility for their own actions, is doing them no real favors. An ironic twist occurs when Connolly is arrested for income tax evasion. He agrees to plead guilty and takes a five year sentence, because it will get him away from his crazy clan!
In prison Connolly meets Raft one day in the library. Raft is also serving a term for tax law violations, plus Raft was a bootlegger whose criminal activities indirectly led to the deaths of several people. He has now reformed and is about to be released on parole. There are some nice scenes between the two men, and they get to know each other better when Raft becomes Connolly's cellmate. Raft has plenty of advice for how Connolly can tame his wild family after getting out, and Connolly likes Raft's ideas.
There's another twist when Connolly suffers a heart attack and is rushed to the infirmary. He dies a short time later, but not before he makes Raft the executor of his estate. This means that when Raft gets out, he now has a legitimate job as a trustee of Connolly's fortune, and will make financial decisions that affect Connolly's relatives.
This is where the film finds its mojo, because naturally, there will be plenty of humorous opposition to Raft by Bennett and the others. Particularly when he cuts them from thirty grand allowances on jewelry to just one hundred dollars a week-- divided among them! Not sure if we're meant to pity the poor rich in this scenario, but I am sure Depression era audiences got a huge kick out of it!
We can be sure Bennett and Raft will fall for each other, despite their best intentions not to...but before Raft went to prison, he made a lot of enemies. And some of those people come gunning for him now that he's out. This affects his blossoming relationship with Bennett, as well as the safety of her mother and brother. There's a very zany chase sequence at the end involving them and Raft's former cronies. The film deftly moves from one sequence to another with considerable flair. However, the real reason to watch is to see how well Raft and Bennett spar then smooch then spar and smooch again.
She's Got Everything (1937)
It takes money to have money
The title of this classic RKO romantic comedy tells us that the lead female character (played by Ann Sothern) has it all. But the truth is she had it all, past tense. No longer an heiress, she is saddled with unpaid bills left by her recently deceased father. A bunch of creditors are coming in and hauling away all the furniture. Her sympathetic aunt (Helen Broderick) knows they can get back on their feet again; they just need a bit of time.
This is when Victor Moore enters the picture. Moore plays a bookie who was owed the most by Sothern's late father, since dear old dad had a fondness for the horses. Moore has a plan to work with the creditors to temporarily refinance Sothern's ritzy lifestyle, while Broderick steers Sothern into marrying a rico hombre from South America.
But Sothern has no intention of marrying the guy, and naively thinks that if she found an office job, she can pay everyone off. She's never worked a day in her life, so this will be interesting! The job she lands, with Moore's help, happens to be as the secretary for a coffee king (Gene Raymond). Raymond is a workaholic who seems to have allergy trouble. He has no family and no romantic attachments and just needs some tender loving care. Naturally, he and Sothern hit it off and start falling for each other. But when Raymond learns Sothern is really broke and the matchmaking creditors have an ulterior motive, he gets upset and breaks things off.
There are some very funny scenes that take place at a vacation resort, where Sothern is said to be sick to garner sympathy from Raymond. Of course, she's perfectly fine and in splendid voice, singing a lovely Hawaiian ballad. The best part of this sequence involves the side story with the creditors and their nonsensical ploys, as well as a rather hilarious bit involving a hypnotist (Solly Ward) who is supposed to help convince Sothern she should marry Raymond.
But after Raymond abruptly breaks things off, he's the one who has to be persuaded to reconsider his relationship with Sothern. Eventually, Raymond asks Sothern to forgive him after his cruel behavior towards her. She seemingly patches things up with him, but now it's her turn to jilt him. Oh yes, the course of true love never ran smooth.
While their romance keeps hitting a snag, there is a deep layer to the story. Sothern knows that she doesn't need everything, she just needs her self respect. Then she has to decide if her goal is getting even or being happy. It all reaches a madcap climax on the back of a flatbed truck, where Sothern & Raymond and Broderick & Moore, along with the creditors, are speeding towards a ship. A minister on board marries the two couples. The creditors are pleased, and they give Raymond all of Sothern's bills.
This would be the last major pairing for the two stars. Ann Sothern soon left RKO for MGM; and Gene Raymond took two years off before signing a new contract with RKO. In 1964 they both appeared in the political drama THE BEST MAN in supporting roles.
Operator 13 (1934)
Would you trust this woman to save your country?
The first glimpse of Marion Davies in OPERATOR 13 shows her performing for a Civil War era audience. She hardly seems like secret agent material. The idea she would be chosen as a Union spy is comical to say the least. But we are led to believe she will have an impact on the battles waged between northern and southern armies. Those pages have somehow gone missing from our history texts.
Soon she is dressed as a maid and put to work on a plantation. We're told by a character that maids are gossipy, so she starts gossiping to fit those stereotypes and maintain her cover. Despite the ludicrous set-up, the film boasts MGM's usually great production values-- including exquisite costumes and sets to help authenticate the period. Davies is surrounded by some of the best character actors and actresses, but she's the star and nobody will outshine her.
The story is divided into two parts. In the first half, she's undercover as the maid while her "mistress" (another Union spy) is found out by the Confederates. And in the second half, Davies is much more glamorous, on a new mission as a well-to-do Southern sympathizer from the north. Both times she crosses paths with a soldier played by Gary Cooper. He is a Confederate officer who gradually falls in love with her. He doesn't quite recognize her from the earlier disguise, which might explain why his side will lose the war. One thing in his defense- he seems to have a sense of humor. In fact, Cooper demonstrates an obvious flair for comedy in this picture; though most of the action obscures it, ensuring he remain the romantic ideal, and not an oaf.
Their romance is accompanied by several musical numbers. Early in the film, the Mills brothers are seen as part of a traveling medicine show. They provide entertainment the night a cotillion ball is held; and during this interlude, the action nearly comes to a standstill. Later Davies has a big scene singing 'Once in a Lifetime' as Cooper pushes her on an outdoor swing. But these tender moments do not last long; because the action soon cuts to battle scenes which show the violence of war.
Nothing preachy comes across in OPERATOR 13. Betrayal runs deep on both sides of the war, but none of that is over-emphasized. We know the main characters' feelings may be sacrificed until the fighting is over. But we can be sure that once peace has returned to the land, they will be back in each other's arms. Until the U. S. government asks Marion Davies to help bring John Wilkes Booth to justice and negotiate a few peace treaties out west.