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Friday, June 15, 2018

Acapulco Holiday For Elvis Stand-Ins!

Fun In Acapulco (1963) A Presley Postcard From Wallis

What Better Combo Than Elvis and Lassie?
Elvis Presley must overcome fear of heights so that his double may dive off the highest cliff in Acapulco. That and all other exteriors had to do without Elvis, who was loathe to plane-travel and so scorned the trip south. His stand-in is stunningly evident on High-Def rendition of Fun In Acapulco. Old Technicolor prints, rich and saturated as they were, did not tip the hand of faux Elvis taking up position every time cameras ventured outdoors. Scenery was a plus in Presley pics, especially those Hal Wallis produced, his certainly the most handsome of Presley's lot. In this instance, a second unit flew down for the balmy stuff --- hotels, cliff sites, all we expect of Acapulco --- while the first team, with principal cast, shoots the rest at Paramount facilities. To simulate his presence in Acapulco, Elvis literally spends half the pic before process screens. By 1963, he'd been lacquered into submission, his hair not shifting a thread however winds blew. These sceneics saw their star doing songs and most acting by rote. I wonder if he even glanced at dialogue before walking on a set (might Elvis be more engaged had he traveled to exotic settings?). His southernisms make selves felt --- he refers to "Co' Cola" rather than scripted Coca-Cola at one point, a distinctly Dixie enunciation I've heard (in fact, used) all my life. Fun In Acapulco and others of the Wallis/Presley line look particularly nice in HD, reborn in the format, and a pleasure to close-inspect for means by which backgrounds were mated with players emoting thousands of miles distant.

Wednesday, June 13, 2018

The Yankee Doodle Man In Talkie Debut

The Phantom President Seeks 1932 Vote

Getting George M. Cohan for talkies was heady stuff. He had starred in, produced, or otherwise ram-rodded 140 plays, written 500 songs, "all hits," said breathless press, and made a million off Over There, America's anthem of the Great War. Cohan swept into Paramount with a multi-pic contract, was figured to do everything save perk the coffee and sweep off stages, a miracle-making jack of all talents. Cohan summit on Broadway was passed, but who knew but what he could recharge his battery with movies? Cohan didn't look the screen star type, but fast feet and quicker patter seemed a recipe for films arrived lately at sound. Jolson after all came of a same source, but 1932 wasn't 1927-28, and musicals had besides gone dim at turnstiles, as had Jolson. Would anyone remember Cohan minus Cagney's later immortalization of him? I admit to watching The Phantom President for compare of real and reel Cohan, thoughts fixed on how close Jim approximated George M. Turns out dance styling of Yankee Doodle Dandy took many leafs from Cohan book, or at least Cohan as he might have been at peak of athleticism on stage. Both Cohan and Cagney walk the stage walls, or bounce off them, one of Yankee Doodle's big takeaways. Age-wise there was difference --- about ten years when Cohan and Cagney did their respective turns, GMC at 53 for The Phantom President, JC a decade younger when he did Yankee Doodle Dandy.

Cohan enacts a dual role in The Phantom President, but still gets crowded off by Jimmy Durante, the "Schnozzle" riding a crest of freak popularity fed by Paramount here, also Metro in a series Durante stole from Buster Keaton. Most view him now as an irritant, at least to primacy we'd give Cohan/Keaton, but ads reveal Jimmy driving ticket sales thanks to freshness he brought to comedy drunk on non-stop talk. Did Durante exhaust 1932 patronage as he does us? Maybe not, for again, he was something brand new to farcing, like a joke or a song that catches fire and burns bright until listeners tire of it. Durante would last, without even having to vary his routine, but by time of reemergence as character or comic support, handlers and a public, if not Jimmy, realized he was best in small dosage. Cohan's double role has a disadvantage for one half being a stick in mud, while the other is live wire we expect (and prefer) of this entertainer. Their switching identities is put off beyond our expectation, and patience; since this is how all twin plots proceed, why not get on with it? Most filmgoers had never seen Cohan live, and so paid admissions on faith that he was B'way's brightest light that would lay them in aisles. The fact he doesn't can be laid on the double act where gentleman George saps energy off fun-lover Cohan of stage repute. If anything slows down The Phantom President, it is focus on his staid side --- audiences couldn't be blamed for wondering if this was the real Cohan.

Cohan by most accounts was a pill on the set, irked that he didn't write songs assigned to Rodgers and Hart, them representing progress way past tunes George M. long ago composed. President's director Norman Taurog told interviewing Leonard Maltin that he "liked" Cohan, but the star "felt hampered ... because he didn't know this (movie) business." Emphasis on Durante "just killed" Cohan, said Taurog, but the director kept a lid on the disparate personalities by not siding with either, and getting along with both. The Phantom President was an election year release, so traded on news related to real-life campaigns. Patronage could plug in candidates to either side of Cohan's dual act --- was stuffy George M. a take on Hoover, his buoyant half reflective of challenger Roosevelt? Cohan as faux "Theodore K. Blair" (he's really medicine show performer "Doc" Varney) says that presidential bids should be conducted like musical comedy, a quote many at the time would have seen as prophetic, especially with radio increasingly a device used to promote candidates.

The Phantom President broke the Paramount Theatre's attendance for an opener week in October 1932, but this was Broadway, where George M. Cohan's name still loomed large among legit-goers. For stix-dwellers, it was Durante who'd sell the show, ads weighted his way to such extent that I wonder if Cohan complained, assuming he noticed. Billing was small comfort: Sure, Cohan came first per contract, Claudette Colbert as lead lady second, then Durante, but art belonged to Jimmy, his face and "schnozzle" so dominant as to make him seem the sole star on view. Trouble then for The Phantom President was Cohan being much less known to middle-America, let alone the Southeast, and what he exhibited on screen didn't excite much interest. It was like repeat of what Paramount experienced with their "Famous Players In Famous Plays" policy back in the teens, stage names overpaid to work magic in films, only film customers didn't find them so magical. Also an anchor was most engagements of The Phantom President playing off after Election Day, excitement and suspense of the vote dissipated and folks back to normal routine. The Phantom President took $520K in domestic rentals, not a disaster, but also not enough to encourage more Para ventures for Cohan. Goes w/o saying, I suppose, that there is no authorized DVD or streaming, and probably won't be so long as we're on this side of the Veil, but bootlegs exist, a few OK given patient search and locate (HOLD EVERYTHING! Universal Vault has just released The Phantom President on DVD). A good movie and greater curiosity for those who'd like seeing what the real Yankee Doodle Dandy was like.

Monday, June 11, 2018

Ty Is Done For The Duration

Crash Dive and Technicolor Go Deep

There was a USC instructor I bonded with in summer 1975 over shared reminiscence of a scene in Crash Dive where Tyrone Power and Dana Andrews dig into fruits, vegetables, milk, and lots of butter after a sub mission in the North Atlantic. Where the prof and I parted was how/when we’d seen Crash Dive, me on UHF broadcasts in a dorm room, him at first-run shortly after Power donned Marine uniform and checked out of movies for an interminable (for fans) three years. I’d nominate Crash Dive among immortals for that dining scene alone. Ty and Dana are just back to New London (location shots abound) from “clean sweep” disposal of a German freighter. They repair to sun lamps for restore of a “Palm Springs” tan, then it’s straight to the Officer’s Club for bountiful produce they’ve missed for those weeks undersea. Never has a movie made dairy look so good. Power wraps a chunk of butter large as a billiard ball in white bread, and then down the hatch. Crash Dive is a celebration of fresh food to make us appreciate proximity to super markets where such stuff can be easily got. For 1943 patronage laboring under ration points, Crash Dive was a banquet the stuff of dreams. Anne Baxter as romantic partner never looks so good to Ty as that pitcher of cow, and butter-butter sandwich. It is this portion of Crash Dive that scores highest today (maybe then too), but add Technicolor, below-surface fx (Academy recognized), and Power coming off more as stalker than sweetheart, and you’ll have a 40’s vivid enough to touch, yet remote, for man-woman politics incorrect now to the nines.

We may presume that Tyrone Power offscreen was more chased than chasing. Crash Dive, however, has him in ardent and persistent pursuit of Anne Baxter, lately off The Magnificent Ambersons and draped to matronly affect in wartime fashion that in this instance does not wear well. They meet when train-traveling Ty mistakes her lower berth for his own. From there, Power does pretty much a stalk on Baxter, following her on the train, to her hotel suite, finally to her place of employment, a girl’s school where he ignores a ban on male consorts. Crash Dive challenges the notion of no means no. It was acknowledged that servicemen would need fast push to make acquaintance of females they met, access and opportunity fleeting things in wartime. Women probably made allowance for approaches on a street, soldiers far from home at times pathetic in their bids for attention. It seemed somehow unpatriotic to turn down a man in uniform. At least movies made it appear so. The Human Comedy, also 1943, had three girls welcoming attentions of combatants on leave, an OK pick-up in view of circumstance. What pushiness Tyrone Power applies in Crash Dive was norm at the time, at least by Hollywood reckoning. Was the same behavior as common in real life? Did Crash Dive encourage young men to be obnoxious at courtship? Tyrone Power was obviously an idol for women, a role model perhaps for men (they would in any case envy his success re romance). Crash Dive scores for exhibit of attitudes put in question since or altogether discredited. Conditions at the time were unique, wrong then-wrong now too hasty a brand to burn onto Crash Dive. Suffice to say it is rich in gender grenades lots more potent for present-day toss than would have been when Power got mass audience endorsement for his coyote chase after Baxter.

Was ever an allied submarine sunk in a war-made movie? We suffered depth charges but never succumbed to them. It would have been unthinkable for a US sub to go down with all hands. German craft did so, and often, personnel drowning aboard and screaming against onrush of water. Inherent danger of the undersea branch is never addressed in Crash Dive, nor is casualty rate of twenty percent which made this a most dangerous duty in the US military. The Germans had it worse, a 75% loss rate. Against this statistic, depth-men Power and commanding officer Dana Andrews could credibly whip the enemy without so much as a pinhole in their craft. Games of possum on the ocean floor outwit the Germans each time, and I had to wonder if real-life warriors used such tricks to advantage, or did U-Boats entertain and instruct crews with confiscated prints of Crash Dive on-board? Again there is U.S. personnel returned to serve from the last war, James Gleason aboard to expiate guilt for having chickened out on a WWI cruise where all his comrades died. Having played sick then, he will redeem the white feather twenty-five years later by helping blow up a German shore installation, making the expected supreme sacrifice. World War Two was, among other things, an opportunity for such unresolved issues to be ironed out. Were wars fought largely to put right what had been bungled before? Many recruits could engage two scraps if birth-dates qualified them for both (and later, Korea as encore after WWII, and even Vietnam for a triple in a few instances). The past century gave plentiful chance at courage testing and remove of yellow stains, at least as movies saw it. Crash Dive stood for all such men getting their second chance.

Crash Dive and Destination Tokyo were made a year apart and cut from same cloth. In both instance, our subs sneak into perfect spots to knock out bases from which seeming whole of German and Japanese navies operate. Set-pieces like these, wisely saved for a third act, gave crowds vicarious joy of wasting entire shores of opposition shipping, paybacks for Pearl Harbor and then some. We’d not cheer in front of our televisions as patronage did in 1943-44, but then we didn’t need the hypo like they did. One thing sure: Explosions would not be put to such promiscuous use again until numbing action cycles took hold in the 80’s (or was it sooner?). Wholesale annihilation of the enemy became not just desirable, but essential. Newsreels would not, could not, present death close-up, but fiction of a Tyrone Power and commandos raining fire on massive German installations gave distance the Production Code and Office Of War Information could permit. Shackles were off screen violence to at least some extent once we realized pretend combat had to keep pace with headlines and increased losses overseas. This could not be a sanitized war we were fighting.

Friday, June 08, 2018

More Of Jekyll-Hyding

Dual Selling For Dual Personalities

Turns out the Jekyll-Hyde model for 1941 had twofold sales advantage, as, like J/H himself, it fell into dual categories as "one of the super-horror pictures of all time," or "an out-and-out romance," showmen advised to take a pick as to emphasis. Where chilling was aim, bally tricks were old as movies themselves, a mad lab for the lobby emulating Jekyll's own, cut-out monster heads, kid drawing contests, the lot. Posted jingles sucked out whatever dignity might have been inherent in literary origins: "Tracy is dashing; the ladies sinuous; popular prices --- performances continuous." For any exhibitor where money was concern (99% of them), a good display could be built from spit-glue always a handmaiden to promoting. Thomas D. Soriero of the United Artists Theatre in Los Angeles got a distortion mirror like ones at a fun house and hung it inside his checkroom, heavy black curtain and cloths lining the entrance and walls. Soriero wanted patrons to get a slant of themselves as Hyde, and figured a wacky mirror was surest way to give it to them.

Metro's Idea Of a Shock Combo in October 1954
To this he added the "magic potion" gag others had used to pump Jekyll-Hyde. That meant moving the house's water cooler to the entrance and replacing "the usual aqua pura" with water made green by vegetable coloring (harmless to the taste, but icky to look at). "The management dares you to tamper with the supernatural. Drink the Hyde solution. If you do ... what will happen?" The mirror hung amidst blackened trappings would answer that. "When you enter the scientific chamber, you will be transformed from human to devil. It will be revealed to you your secret longings. Eerie! Weird! Exciting!" Management took no responsibility for anyone that met his/her "death from a heart attack in the horror chamber," nor was there assurance that once transformed, a patron could "revert back to your natural self after drinking the fluid." The stunt, said Soriero, was "in the bag" as long lines formed outside the cloakroom-cum-horror chamber. Altogether cost was a well-worth-it $7.50, which was what Soriero paid for the mirror.

The 1941 Jekyll-Hyde went well into profit, likely thanks to hoopla like this, and maybe Metro remembered how the horror slant paid, because when Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde came back in October 1954, on a double with A Woman's Face, the fear factor was hammered without inhibition. You'd have thought these were cheapies out of Lippert, or something United Artists agreed, minus a better judgment, to distribute. Leo had a vigorous reissue program that year --- The Asphalt Jungle encoring with Battleground, and a couple Tarzans of theirs were revived as a pair. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde with A Woman's Face were tendered frankly as monster movies, which maybe Jekyll was, if you stretched a point, but all A Woman's Face had was Joan Crawford with face-scorch that in any case got removed by plastic surgery half way through. To call this one a horror film was plain misleading, and I wonder if admission-burnt youngsters didn't spread word that here was a cluck. Receipts varied from key site to key site. Memphis censors in 1954 wouldn't allow Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde into theatres because Ingrid Bergman was in it, her a harlot still radioactive to decent patronage. Oldies from MGM and elsewhere did OK generally, kept distribution staffs hopping at least, but amounted not to windfalling, unless they were of Gone With The Wind caliber. Still, Jekyll copped $185K in fresh receipts. Before television came to a high dollar rescue, this was about a best an average vaultie could do.

Wednesday, June 06, 2018

Wiring In To Jekyll and Hyde

Lie Detector Reveals Allure of Brute Man Hyde

A class horror picture where Loew's East Coast sales stripped class aside and sold it like hoariest stuff off Poverty Row, proof again that any film's best friend was whoever took charge of exploitation. Jekyll-Hyde reeked of possibilities, being of man's fall from civility into pits of lust and violence. MGM could take more than usual liberties thanks to literary antecedent that was Robert Louis Stevenson's 1886 novel. They taught that in schools after all, so where did censors come off suppressing content every student, plus parents, knew? Goods were there to trumpet --- Spencer Tracy juggling good girl, but kittenish, Lana Turner (one end of then-recent TNT combination w/ Gable in Honky Tonk), plus Ingrid Bergman, robust enough to overpower Spence if she took mind to, both GF's terrorized by Hyde/Tracy who is less ape-like as in F. March, but unforgivably rude at his worst. Loew's at first figured Jekyll-Hyde on two-a-day terms and at advanced prices for pre-release open at Broadway's Astor Theatre, but wisely went with grind policy and tix starting at thirty-five cents for early matinees. That turned out to be the click, for Jekyll-Hyde, which followed Sergeant York into the Astor on August 12, 1941, set a new record for the house (Film Daily: "More than 10,000 persons, representing absolute capacity plus numerous standees at every performance, attended the first day's showings"). How the show was sold was genius itself, lurid getting new definition from marketers who'd chuck dignity ordinarily accorded to MGM specials.

Idea was to target women, wire them in, as it were, to lover-brute that was Jekyll-Hyde. Call for volunteers went out through personal columns, and 100 plus subjects between age sixteen and twenty-five lent selves to Astor-experiment conducted by William Moulton Marston, inventor of the prototype for lie detectors who would now apply his science to sacred and profane love's effect upon the fair sex. Toward this research came blondes, brunettes, redheads, to be strapped into theatre seating and hooked onto "Hyde Detectors," object to "measure reaction to emotional stimulus" aroused by twenty or so minutes of the film's most intense passion. Process involved "blood pressure cuffs" and "pneumographs" tied to ankles and chests, respectively, after which "female emotions" would be allowed to "take their course." A trail of red ink on a long stretch of graph paper measured results. A bit of mad science this, and not unlike notions tried by the film's Jekyll, then Hyde. Outcome, "all in fun" said Loew's, told how women of each stripe (or hair color) might respond to male impulse turned loose. Was there at least scintilla of truth to such screwball data?

"Blondes are most submissive to male aggressiveness," they concluded, "and redheads the least so." Brunettes, it seemed, had the most resistance to a caveman (or Hyde) approach, the redheads most likely to be combative where male hands got heavy. "Girls who are athletically inclined blunt their sensitivity --- not that they are less attractive themselves, but become less attractive to men." Participants were asked "what percentage of Hyde was contained in every man," theory being that "every man was a potential Hyde." The women agreed, indeed it was only a matter of degree so far as they figured it, range of percentages between low of 15% to high of 95%. Average came to 34%, which made Hydes of over a third of male population, so step gingerly, gentlemen, said researchers, even as the term "gentleman" seemed itself a misnomer in view of results here. "Dr. Marston, via MGM, lists a couple of rules for the weaker sex," each figured to protect them should their dates regress to Hyde-like misbehavior: "If a man gets out of control, laugh at him. Tell him it bores you, leaves you cold --- that's he's making a fool of himself." Then was this pearl: "Never let yourself be caught in an unprotected situation with a man you know to be strongly attracted to you." Stating the obvious perhaps, but Metro was pleased, "The experiment was a grand success. Science was promoted and so was "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde."

Monday, June 04, 2018

When Writer/Director Chaplin Came Back

Charlie Does 1967 His Way

Another from 60's-kept scrapbooks, this ad for Winston-Salem open of A Countess From Hong Kong caught my eye at the time for its F-R-E-E give of doughnuts and coffee to those attending a Tuesday morning "Sneak Preview." I didn't know at age 13 what a "Continental Breakfast" was, a meal you'd eat on another continent perhaps? Clearly I wasn't the right audience for A Countess From Hong Kong, being more congenially occupied with Rasputin, The Mad Monk around that time. As with Love Has Many Faces and others aimed at distaff market, Countess saw much of attendance derive from women stopping in singly or with friends to watch. Much word-of-mouth would travel over ambient noise of hair dryers or whatever cacophony beauty salons might generate. Do I belittle women moviegoers of the day? Not at all, at least intentionally. They were, next to youth, a most loyal audience and among few left as 60's theatres fell like wheat before the scythe. Matinees were a convenience thanks to kids secured at school and husbands presumably at toil. Homemakers, happy or otherwise, saw films as break from routine, assuming topic was one that intrigued them. Marlon Brando and Sophia Loren in a frothy and perhaps naughty shipboard romance might well have filled at least half of seats that June 27 morn, and who knows but what bulk of watchers, good will warmed by cups of Joe and sinkers, had plentiful good time.

Critics cursed (still do) A Countess From Hong Kong. Would that have mattered in slightest to a Winston-Salem lady attending with members of her bridge club? (P.P.S., says the ad, Invite a friend --- make it a party!) For this sort of showgoing, good company was the pleasure and mirth was contagious. What's your guess A Countess From Hong Kong got laughs in a crowded enough house? Yes, it laid dead as a dog for me when NBC had primetime premiere on 3-27-71, but how was that fair way to watch? I had known A Countess From Hong Kong since arrival of a LIFE magazine the week of April 1, 1966, months from when the film would be released in early 1967. The cover had writer-director Charlie Chaplin gazing upon Sophia Loren from behind, and above, her. Chaplin was above every other aspect of A Countess From Hong Kong. The project was all about him so far as advance publicity went, and there was ocean of that over seasons' run-up. I looked at old photos of the Little Tramp inside and couldn't believe that someone who made movies in 1914 was making another one now. Chaplin for me was a creature of mostly still images and a clip or so on TV. His early shorts were tentative-used in a few of Robert Youngson fun-fests (CC still a political controversy in late 50/early 60's), while features were withheld by the comic legend and certainly not shown where I was.

A Countess From Hong Kong accomplished a lot by making Chaplin a name again, hopefully a relevant and even commercial one, assuming the movie clicked. Novelty of his turning 77 as Countess was made got ink for itself, credit due such a venerable artist seeing any major project through. Chaplin had enough bounce in his step and coals in fire to make age an irrelevance. There had been an autobiography a few years before, well-received and popular. Chaplin even dribbled out a few of his treasures to urban situations, and they made a hit (especially Monsieur Verdoux in New York). So what then, if A Countess From Hong Kong flopped? It would, if nothing else, enhance awareness of, and value to, Chaplin's backlog, and that would ripen to a million $ deal when he later leased his past lot to an independent promoter. Taking most of lumps for A Countess From Hong Kong was, I suspect, Universal, and we could wonder what executive walked the plank for having given this a go.

There is a DVD of A Countess From Hong Kong from Universal, and it is lovely, disappointment to then- supporters  tempered by fifty years accepting Countess as flawed result it was. Searching out the good is a high hill to climb, but better casting for a start might have helped. Marlon Brando and Sophia Loren fascinate for their utter wrongness here, it well known that Chaplin directed both by playing their parts and having them ape him close as possible. Tension was observed and spread thanks to so much press on the set. Lots said that Charlie was funnier than his stars could hope to be. A Countess From Hong Kong would certainly have been a better comedy if they had simply photographed Chaplin directing it. He'd not permit a production short (too bad), but a seeming thousand stills were taken. Universal issued many of these to US media. I doubt any director in the company's history had so much promotion focused on him. Brando and Loren were allegedly the biggest names going when Chaplin got them, but hardly at a peak of respective careers. Changing times being what they were, A Countess From Hong Kong might still have failed even if it had been a better picture.
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