Dr. Frankensteinia Creates A Blogathon

That great site Frankensteinia, celebrating its namesake since 2007, is this week on a Peter Cushing centennial Bloga-roll, where writing and links have recognized one hundred years since the actor's birth. By all means, go there and enjoy myriad thoughts/pix/videos shared by fans, among whose ranks Greenbriar proudly belongs. What follows is appreciation for many a Liberty afternoon livened by Cushing, with pause to consider samples from his Frankenstein group ...

Peter Cushing seemed like a star exclusive to us Hammer-goers. Unlike Karloff or Vincent Price, he didn't do American TV, which accorded dignity/specialness for the pair or so features he graced each year. To put it brief, you had to pay to watch Cushing. All his were from Britain and reflected style that had our AIP chillers beat. No wonder Jim and Sam set up shop in the UK later on ... and hired Peter Cushing.  There was no culture barrier between this actor and US fans, crisp diction and carriage something we might come by given better habits. His characters were ringing endorsement for higher education, a full alphabet of degrees following names he portrayed, always deep in books even (especially) during moments of crisis. Intellect was always first line of defense for Cushing, though he could startle for flights of athleticism to assure us that this was no chair-bound effete combating Dracula or run-amok Gorgons. His was rare capacity to enact thoughtful men of action, and who among Cushing's audience didn't covet such robust identity for themselves?

Here was principal genius of the Hammer Frankenstein series: They always let Cushing survive endings. Even in Curse Of Frankenstein, where he's committed murder to further experiments and there is last-scene trudge toward the guillotine, we don't see the blade fall specifically on his neck, as confirmed by a year-later sequel where Baron F escapes to exact Revenge. From this point, he'd but need to shun further killings to avoid Code edict that death or confinement result, an easy fix for Hammer. Where was harm in further rifle of graves or continued cutting down of hanged men --- at least the good doctor let breathing ones live. It was a brilliant ploy on Hammer's part that kept their medico in practice whilst adhering to movie standard/practices still enforced during the 50's and much of the 60's. Toward consideration of a few specific among the Frankenstein lot (Curse being addressed here and here), there is:

REVENGE OF FRANKENSTEIN (1958) --- Some would call this less movie than autopsy, and I full understand critic revulsion over clinic eye-view of floating eyeballs with jarred brains for a chaser, but what novelty it was seeing these for a first time in color (well second ... Revenge followed Curse Of Frankenstein). Coming as encore, and within a year, did slow sales from Warners' Curse clean-up, that plus too many Frankensteins crowding marquees (a Teenage one + proposed 1970 model) along with Universal oldies all over TV. In short, Revenge deserved better than it got, but we were slow by decades appreciating how stylish Hammers were, fact they were watched mostly by youth making all easy to dismiss. There was a look to Hammer that made credits superfluous. You knew within first frames from whence these came. US majors sub-contracted from Hammer because nothing done stateside could look as rich for so little. Revenge Of Frankenstein currently streams on Apple in HD, a best by far way to view it, though I wonder what a full-out Blu-Ray restoration might look like. Are there enough Hammer-heads out there to make such effort pay?

Hammer was diligent to soften UK-ness that might off-put, Yank investor/distributors keeping close eye lest regional flavor become indigestible. The triumph of Hammer and lead dramatic spokesman Cushing was their being able to mount a series of thrillers aimed at a US audience that sustained for two decades, accomplishment unmatched by any British firm up to then. That my generation made point never to miss what were, after all, foreign films, was tribute to understanding Hammer/Cushing had of their worldwide viewership. Cushing being exclusive to us, that is, matinee and horror-goers, presupposes that adults saw less of him than youth patronage that grew up to celebrate his hundredth. This was, after all, an actor who did fewer features that were mainstream beyond small parts in a John Paul Jones here, The Naked Edge there, etc. Did grown-ups go to Hammer films in theatres? Crowds I recall were mostly young and rowdy. To view Peter Cushing in his heyday meant coping with a frequently wild bunch ...

FRANKENSTEIN CREATED WOMAN (1967) --- The good doctor whipped up a Playmate for Hammer reborn as a pin-up factory following twin hits She and One Million Years BC. These were far and away biggest money pics of Bray's output so far, thus sleeker models coming off Frankenstein's assembly. Susan Denberg was the deformed duckling he turns into a swan, that coming late in the show after much cruelty heaped by aristo-youth that look to have been expelled from a local Hell-Fire club. There's a revenge theme, as in one by one killings done not by the Baron, but his girl monster. Experiments serve novelty by transferring souls rather than brain matter, so there's less hacking into skulls. Hammers were actually not so gory as some remember. Certainly today they play mild to extent of discreet cutaway from most carnage. Peter Cushing as always is the lure, his creations mattering less and less as the series wore on. Denberg would grace a Playboy fold-out which made her a lot more appealing than Kiwi Kingston off Dr. F's last operation table. Frankenstein Created Woman got $296K in domestic rentals, not a lot, though television would later inject black ink into this and others out of Hammer.

Peter Cushing became the rooting interest in all his movies almost despite himself. His Baron Frankenstein would not again be unsympathetic after Curse, except for a startling break from character where he assaults Veronica Carlson in Frankenstein Must Be Destroyed, a disrupt I put down to writer aberration in 1969 when the pic was new. Cushing came reliably back to the character, plus vampire hunting Van Helsing, well into the 70's. Of other horrors he did, less need be said. One that disturbed me much was Corruption in 1968, where Cushing kills and kills again to doubtful purpose of restoring a girlfriend's mutilated face, an ordeal sit I had within months of equally repellent The Conqueror Worm. Both I swore not to watch again, a promise so-far kept re Corruption. Does it continue to play as unpleasant forty-five years later?

FRANKENSTEIN AND THE MONSTER FROM HELL (1973) --- Here was a happy surprise: a Hammer horror done old-fashioned ways even in the face of a soon-to-come spoof, Young Frankenstein, and a same year's Andy Warhol dismemberment, two that would seem to have laid Frank to rest for all time, at least insofar as straightforward approach. I shouldn't have boycotted this in 1973 as was case with all Hammers by 70's juncture. Some of them were/are quite good and deserved my ticket buy (the still-boy in me wanted them to stay as they'd 50's/early 60's been). Hammer mined a franchise here not easily given up, it having served well since 1956. Happy ingredients of a Bray past are remixed: director Terence Fisher, a score by James Bernard, and best of all, Peter Cushing in perhaps a best of all his Baron interps.

Things I'd change: Cushing's coif, or wig, or whatever, co-star Shane Briant's 70's blow-dry styling, and a monster I'd not wish on PRC. The writing's good, though, and whoever suggested an insane asylum as Frankenstein's base of operation merits applause for ingenuity. Surgery goes gory as never before, skulls sawed, then detached on-camera ... well, it was a new day, but this Frankenstein was still a model of decorum beside stomach churn Warhol staged. Things don't go as you expect --- for all Monster From Hell's carnage, I didn't see a cheerful and upbeat finish coming, so it's welcome all the more (who wants Victor banished yet again?). Frankenstein and The Monster From Hell earned a tepid $249K in domestic rentals for a US-distributing Paramount, so maybe '73 was time to call it a day for this series; I'm just glad Hammer squeezed out one last for a happy Fisher/Bernard/Cushing send-off.

Showmen, Sell It Hot! Is Now Available

Back from Columbus and delivery of Showmen, Sell It Hot!, Greenbriar's first book. It sold a lot better at Cinevent than I expected. People that took time to flip through it generally bought a copy. That's tribute to fine design and layout work by Robert and Mary Matzen of GoodKnight Publishing. As far as I'm concerned, they are the masterminds behind this book. It's a heady experience to sign a title page under your name as author for someone actually willing to pay for a thing you've written. GoodKnight informs me that Showmen, Sell It Hot! is available NOW on more or less exclusive basis to Greenbriar readers through their website, where it sells for $32.95, plus $6.00 shipping, that well below a cover price of $44.95. Wider distribution of the book will follow in the summer and Amazon will list it sometime in August. What we have between now and then is "pre-release" availability of the book, sort of like what Paramount and DeMille did with The Ten Commandments, but on a slightly smaller scale. GoodKnight is shipping copies today to those who pre-ordered back in April, each signed by the author's gnarled hand (my arm afterward felt like the Great Sebastian's after his trapeze fall). There are plenty more in stock and shipment will be prompt, so be assured of quick turnaround should you purchase.

Roscoe Trods The Boards



 Back in the Arbuckle briar patch and still awaiting definitive bio's from better authorities than myself. Several are said to be in offing. Roscoe's Pierce-Arrow was auctioned recently, or attempt was made at same, I'm told. Someone had re-painted it a strange color, not unlike spray jobs done on RA's image since besmirch for all time by Frisco law way back in 1921. I'm for tracking Fatty movement from those dark days, his never-give-upping for work behind or in front of cameras. To that last, he'd been forbidden by edict of chief censor Will Hays, but a decade's exile came to clouds parting by 1932 and Warner approach to star in two-reelers shot at Brooklyn facilities. Here was the Roscoe rescue that would have sent him back up pic ladders, if not to height scaled before, at least to comfortable level of regained employment. But for death's intervention, a real comeback seemed likely. Until then was vaudeville, an art RA knew well as patrons thrilled to see such a big, if discredited, name trodding boards before them. Vaude boasted few who'd been so prominent in movies as Roscoe.

In the run-up to his Vitaphone comeback, Arbuckle filled live dates on both coasts, a number of these trade-reviewed with welcome, if spotty, detail of what his performances amounted to. Variety's coverage of a Hollywood Pantages appearance in March 1932 began by saying that Arbuckle was again hesitantly testing the duration of his ostracization, but that this stand, along with recent work with a Seattle stock company, had caused agitation against him to subside. The act was twenty minutes, Roscoe sparring with a gallery stooge plant, then doing a drum specialty with the house band. The stooge was Jack Shutta, who went back far as Fatty on stages, and worked with him besides on 1931's Windy Riley Goes Hollywood, a short Arbuckle directed. Variety advised the two to lay off on pungent humor, including a Moses and Pharaoh's daughter exchange that was feared to attract censure from forces otherwise disposed to aid Roscoe in his comeback.

The money was modest, certainly in comparison with what Arbuckle earned in halcyon Paramount days before the fall. The comedian got $450 for the week against a split over $15,000 in event that figure was reached, which according to Variety, it wasn't. Two months later, in May 1932, Roscoe was on a loaded bill at New York's Palace Theatre where his was one of ten acts stretching over three hours of show time. It wouldn't set fire to the red plush pastures at Seventh Avenue and Forty-seventh Street, said The New York Times, but would relieve sodden weight of a previous week's bill. Milton Berle was a so-called "unabashed" master of ceremonies who introduced the "twinkling feet" of Queenie Smith, a headliner who'd later be funny with W.C. Fields in his Paramount comedy, Mississippi. Corpulent clown Arbuckle, of an earlier cinematic day, did well enough with Shutta in repeat of his Pantages act, the stooge situated this time in an upstairs box.

Arbuckle's Series All Depends On 1st Short, said Variety's headline announcement (8/2/32) of a try-out RA comedy for WB-Vitaphone. It was called a "gamble" and product of an understanding reported to have been reached between the Warners and the Hays organization prior to the announcement of Arbuckle's return. Production was to begin August 24, Roscoe to direct himself (though he wouldn't be credited as such in completed Hey, Pop!). Turnover was reasonably quick, Hey, Pop! opening with The Match King on 12/7/32 at Warner's NY flagship, the Strand. Arbuckle was on hand to introduce his first onscreen appearance in a decade. Maybe the audience liked him, but the Times' Mordaunt Hall gave Hey, Pop! a cruel pan: It is a pathetic attempt at sympathetic farce, except possibly for those who like to laugh at Mr. Arbuckle juggling with wheat cakes and eggs or disguising himself in women's clothes, so that he may save a poor little boy from going to an orphanage (count me among "those," Mr. Hall).

The series, thank goodness, went forward, despite the critic's jibe. Roscoe knew best of anyone how tough a comeback could be, but at least he was well-glued to Gotham, where work on sound and live stages could easier be managed. Added to five further two-reelers was continuing vaudeville within a drive's distance. One such noteworthy was Brooklyn trouping at the Metropolitan Theatre, where Arbuckle supported Lee Tracy's latest, The Night Mayor. This was a first week of January in 1933, not a peak period for show houses, being just after holidays when crowds were more inclined to picturegoing, thus a "mild" $20,000 banked for the 3,500 seat house. What close-by did better? Well, there was Russ Columbo and Monte Blue appearing with If I Had A Million at the Brooklyn Paramount, good for $35,000, and The Mummy plus vaudeville got a "satisfactory" $22,000 at the Albee.

Company Roscoe kept on stages fascinates as well. He'd help a youngster in career need, to wit a beginning Bob Hope, who, according to the New York Times in a 10/9/32 profile, was spotted by Arbuckle during a night club dance act and invited to join the latter's tour, where several subsequent months were spent in a succession of vaudeville acts and the "tab" shows peculiar to the outlands, said the Times. I've heard that Hope credited Arbuckle for an early boost, but don't recall specific interviews to that effect. Does anyone know where Roscoe got a latter-day mention from Bob? Reportage after Arbuckle's death indicated three of the six Vitaphone comedies yet to be released, these being Close Relations, In The Dough, and Tomalio, a last completed only a few hours before his death (the Times also set Roscoe's estate at not more than $2,000). The Vitaphone Comedy Collection: Volume One from Warner Archive is culmination of long-held hope for the half-dozen Arbuckle shorts on DVD, and contrary to Mordaunt Hall's contrariness, they do not disappoint.

Arliss Clocks Laughs As Voltaire

Here's where I (again) sing George Arliss praises. I don't know another before-camera artist so meticulous, so knowing of just what registered best to moviegoers he never saw. Ringing applause over years on stage taught Arliss what effects worked best, so imagining on-set how a thousand-strong would later react came easy to him. A laugh line had no greater master. Who knew Voltaire was funnier than most that worked at comedy? I recently watched on TCM for a third or so time, and still had forgot how effective this played. Arliss for me occupies a small clutch of players whose stuff is evergreen-watchable, his well of tricks' bottom so far (by me) unreached.

What producer would today back a theatrical release about Voltaire? Past no one knowing who he was, there's anchorage of powdered wigs, poufy sleeves, etc. Arliss makes grand sport with these. Few wore costumes with such aplomb. Bits he does with props is joy unbound for watching. Quill pens, coffee service, a snuff box --- all put before GA to grand comic effect. Arliss was live action's Popeye for a throwaway line, an under-spoke aside (maybe the animated sailor, arriving in 1933, learned from George). Those unacquainted with Arliss err in assuming he was a serious ac-tor, with pitfalls that entailed. Not so. He was light and deft and readier with a quip than most clowns who tried harder. Seeing Voltaire in a crowded house would be some kind of blast. Talk about laughter as contagion --- I didn't measure Arliss pauses for crowd reaction, but I'll bet he factored them in more precisely than even Hope and Crosby later would.

Negative cost of Voltaire was $310K. That was top-end expense for Warners in 1933. Only Busby Berkeley musicals and one or two others cost more. But George Arliss was a money star. I found none of his entered in red ink save Alexander Hamilton (and that barely below break even). Voltaire returned $765K in world rentals. Euro revenue was always stout for Arliss. In fact, he was Warner's #1 man for overseas income. So how is it Arliss clicked as well with gum-poppers over here? Maybe it was common touch he applied despite uber-Brit-ness and high flown diction. They knew GA wasn't taking any of it too seriously and was there after all to show humblest of us a good time, which he surely did, in spades.

Voltaire sets were designed by Anton Grot. He should be credited as much as any director for the look of Warner output. Grot made program pictures look like specials. Voltaire used furniture and period knick-knack from 1927's When A Man Loves, according to Robert Fell's fine book, George Arliss: The Man Who Played God. Did Warner brothers collect antiquities during Euro trips like MGM execs? The latter was said to have gathered much across ponds for use in studio historicals. WB wouldn't attach undue importance to Voltaire and kin --- it runs only 72 minutes --- other Arlisses came in even under that (The King's Vacation an hour long). Notable too is how briefly these stayed in Depression theatres, two days an average with bills shared by news of the day, a cartoon, whatever extras could make a dime seem money's worth.

There was confidence enough not to mislead patrons beyond adding The Affairs Of ... before the title. His public surely knew that whatever affairs an Arliss as Voltaire engaged would be political ones, romance confined as often was case to his being Dan Cupid for younger players. A WB pressbook made suggestions for selling, these not necessarily heeded, though I'd like to think at least a few showmen tied-in with book merchants to promote The Best Known Works Of Voltaire in its bargain-priced eight volume edition. Arliss was a modern Voltaire after all, his dialogue mightier than swords wielded by other leading men. You'd not accuse 30's patronage of narrow tastes so long as Arliss clicked. I'm only surprised Voltaire was his last at Warners. Did GA, like George Bancroft at Paramount, price himself out of contract renewal? WB would blanch at terrific receipts rival Twentieth-Century Pictures took with The House Of Rothschild and two further Arliss hits the newly-formed and Zanuck-run company produced (according to Fells' book, Warners lodged complaint before the Academy Board for 20th having conducted a "talent raid").

Publicity positioned Arliss as a stickler for dignity and decency, and indeed, his vehicles could as easily have fallen to either side of Code enforcement without notice. Said Voltaire's press release: He allows nothing suggestive or vulgar to appear in any production with which his name is to be associated. He never swears on the screen. Acknowledging GA as being human however, he has been known to do so in real life. Interesting here was WB having forgotten Arliss' "She would probably have been a damn nuisance" curtain line from 1930's The Green Goddess, a finish that surely would have been modified had Code edicts been observed that year as resolutely as they would be after mid-1934.

The Watch List For 5/21/13

THE BLACK BIRD (1926) --- My standing rule re Chaney reads thus: All footage with him is of interest, even scraps off the floor. Does any personality other than senior Lon command rapt attention for mere fragments when they're discovered? I'm reminded of bits that Kevin Brownlow put into his LC documentary to which there was keen reaction --- a reel from otherwise missing Thunder, a snippet of Chaney on a dance floor --- whatever exists of him is precious. Talk all we please about weakness of his MGM features, not exempting ones directed by legend Tod Browning, it's still Chaney, and he compels whatever aridness of surroundings. The Black Bird is actually one of the better ones. Lon performs again in dual capacity, so there's two flavors of bizarre, one face a familiar crook guise, the other a twisted twin with deformity to take breath away from even Chaney-goers who'd seen his 999 other faces.

Turns out both are the same Chaney of course, his transforms back and forth a chance to observe Jekyll-Hyding on LC's part that make us regret he never played that role. Merciful heavens --- did Lon throw an arm and leg out of joint to enact his cripple here? Audiences might have thought so for body gymnastic done head-to-toe before us --- show me animal or vegetable that could enact this so chillingly. The story is pulpy and flat ludicrous at times, but who complains when it's genuine oddity of Browning in author plus director mode? He must have lived at least partial of this stuff in medicine show days when god knows what routinely went on. We imagine guys like Tod and Lon knew life at least somewhat as folks now, though I'd say from reading bios --- not. It's peculiarity of backstage beginnings that make what they do on and behind cameras so utterly compelling. Chaney and Browning represent a silent other-world not to be approached by movies, or moviegoers, again.

36 HOURS TO KILL (1936) --- G-Man Brian Donlevy poses as newshound to get goods on public enemy Douglas Fowley. Gloria Stuart's along for the train ride, on which Stepin' Fetchit is a slow-wit porter. All aboard, then, for a competent hour long (give or take) Fox B, recently out from their On-Demand program (quality excellent). 36 Hours is half set on rails, this occurring to me as perfect alibi for cramped sets and budget reigned tight. Donlevy in (comparative) youth was a livelier wire than later heavies and Professor Quatermass he did, being an FBI man here, though not designated as such. Did the Bureau nix Fox's use of their ID? A kind of story writers must have dreamed up Thursday afternoon in order to collect paychecks on Friday, but tol'able because of good people that play it. Having such back in circulation is a kick, for when was the last time TV outlets showed 36 Hours To Kill?

BULLDOZING THE BULL (1938) --- What a high wire Popeye walked, and for such a run of first-quality cartoons from his intro in 1933 till Paramount 86'ed the Fleischers nine years later. It's subjective, I know, but my separation of duds from the lot came to less than a handful, this out of a prolific total of over 100. An "average" Popeye tends to be any other cartoon series' "outstanding." Heaven-sent was TV packaging of the lot to syndicated television in 1956. Stations that played them handily won time slots, whatever the competition. Black-and-white Popeyes were among last to fall before TV's scorched earth transition to all-color, littlest kids knowing that early ones were the best. I remember at five years recognizing the open-close ship doors as prelude to favorites. Bulldozing The Bull has Popeye verbal asides in abundance, a bombard of wit that I understand was oft ad-libbed. What genius it took to elevate, again and again, a formula that would calcify in hands less capable than the Fleischers (and indeed did once Para took over to make them in-house). Warners' three DVD volumes are one-and-all treasures.

THE WAGONS ROLL AT NIGHT (1941) --- Humphrey Bogart was by now a star, just not a romantic star, so still did loser leads where someone else got the girl and he'd die for a finish. Next-up The Maltese Falcon would begin rescue from all that, and no more would Bogart be shoehorned into pics his kind of persona had little/no business in, like westerns, cornpone musicals, even horror. Here he is at circus management, wrangling lions and tamers of same, Wagons a remake of Kid Galahad wherein E.G. Robinson was more believably the guy multiple women spurn. When a story was good, Warners kept it coming, with sometimes mere seasons between update. Sweet-sixteen Joan Leslie does intense emoting with Bogie, gets slapped by him ... I'll have to dig up interviews where she tells what that was like. Jungle cats take the place of Galahad's gangland menace, Eddie Albert assuming the naïf part done first by Wayne Morris. Mauling scenes we demand of such pics are lovingly rendered, Bogie's double getting a face-full of claw. Wagons was of a sort that made the star grouse loudest, but it's efficient by marginal-A ways and does neither he nor good support players discredit. Warner Archives' remastered DVD is fine.

UPDATE: BIRTH BACK TO NORTH CAROLINA --- Thanks to generous offices of Mike Cline, proprietor of the outstanding Then Playing site, we have another sampling of The Birth Of A Nation as an ongoing theatre attraction. In this instance, it was Salisbury, N.C.'s State Theatre, where BOAN began a two day encore on 5/19/40. Had 100 million people actually seen it by 1940? Not sure how the conclusion was arrived at, but it makes good ad copy, though Griffith's epic had more than achieved legend status among several generations. It seemed everyone would catch the wonder show eventually. Then Playing's Cline has researched the Birth rate in Salisbury and found repeated runs there, all the way to the 1960's and remarkable place among dusk to dawn drive-inning Ma and Pa Kettle At Waikiki, The Road To Denver, Son Of Sinbad, and Escape To Burma. Now there's outdoor viewing for the books ...