The Affair Audiences Remembered

A 50's Romance That Still Floats

Leo McCarey had done for the 40's boxoffice what Frank Capra achieved in the 30's. As with latter, and historic hit that was Capra's It Happened One Night, McCarey touched patron reflex with two that showed grossing power of movies beyond all norm, Going My Way and The Bells Of St.Mary's. What made these remarkable was both coming fully of McCarey's showman brain, his a divining rod to lure millions that ordinarily had better things to do than sit in theatres. Pull them in and you had a blockbuster. McCarey magic was characters and situations that seemed like real life, letting scenes play for however long his people interacted like friends/neighbors we knew. Who else but McCarey would halt pace for a cute kid chorus in recital, twice in An Affair To Remember. For many then, and more so now, it's a slow-up, but The Bells Of St. Mary's took millions doing a same thing, so who at Fox could say no to an encore? Prestige McCarey earned saved his work from meddle by others, him a truer auteur than most who got, or claimed, the accolade. Trouble was erratic offscreen nature that made success, especially later on, isolated events. Safe harbor of remaking one of his own was insurance for An Affair To Remember in 1957. It would reunite McCarey with Cary Grant, add color/Cinemascope, and be another go at well recalled Love Affair from 1939.

McCarey developed the original story which had entered movie folklore, being of lovers who meet on shipboard, agree to rendezvous later atop the Empire State Building, and then ... Here was a most famous association the skyscraper had outside of King Kong. It would even be remade as recently as 1994. An Affair To Remember is best known of the so-far three versions, despite Love Affair being preferred by many, even as it vanished for decades other than PD dupes, a clean original only lately bowing at TCM. I assume Love Affair's negative reverted to McCarey after general release in 1939, and maybe his estate didn't renew. Anyway, it was a classic gone rogue where denuded picture/sound made status hard to uphold. An Affair To Remember, hobbled also by pan/scan on TV, got authority back via wide laserdisc, then DVD, later Blu-Ray, and now as roving theatrical ambassador for McCarey's legacy at Fathom/TCM events. Here's where new-won fans get benefit of his way with an audience, lines and gags, plus heart-wrench, nicely timed to reaction from a crowd. Wish now I had gone to see/hear how the 60-year old favorite plays, rather than solitary watch via HD Net (question to those who did attend: Were tears audible in the theatre?).

An Affair To Remember is among calcified Top Forty of old films, being one of limited group a general audience will sit willingly through. There are dated aspects, like later Breakfast At Tiffany's, Charade, others of romantic bent, but Affair, thanks to theme and Cary Grant as apex of old star appeal, is probably a most accessible of all 1957 Hollywood releases. I don't know another from that year revived so often, or to such crowd satisfaction. There was recent chat with a Shakespeare historian who complained of same plays done over and over, Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet, the usuals, while less noted of Bard backlog is never performed. It's that way with movies too, being finite list programmers use that seldom vary off Hit Parade agreed upon by most. Same way with music of course, songs I liked growing up are either in abundance, or nowhere to be heard. Is the Top Forty Film List indeed etched in stone? Fathom and TCM apparently work off it. We pretty much know the titles, as all are ubiquitous enough. Coming up for Fathom is Some Like It Hot. Yes, again. What other Marilyn Monroe is revived a tenth as much? Below summit of Top Forty is a Grand Canyon of obscurity where 99% of oldies dwell. Might the number swell to a Hot One Hundred? Probably not until they expand definition of "classics," though with Ferris Bueller's Day Off and ilk already there, it's unlikely more of older stuff will join the chosen.

If there's one film to sum up Cary Grant appeal, it may be An Affair To Remember. The Hitchcocks have more edge, most might prefer them, but Affair is the one to declaim, Yes, this is Grant as books and documentaries define him. He belongs more and more to a gone age. Women who dreamed of meeting someone like Grant know now that's beyond possibility. This was Mr. Ideal for a past century, better fit frankly to any century but our 21st. Query as to thought, if not expressed, by many watching An Affair To Remember today: Why aren't men like this anymore?, short answer being they never were, but at least in Grant's day, there seemed at least hope that one might turn up in real-life quest for love. His lending humor to the enterprise kept Grant clear of threat that a Clark Gable or others of he-men embodied. Grant indeed ages best of male leads from an era discredited for litany of social/political/cultural gaffes. You can show more of his with less concern of anyone calling Foul for insensitivity. Trouble was CG himself making so many wrong choices in prime, a disadvantage to being free-lance and relying always on your own judgment. For every Affair To Remember, there are three or four Houseboats, Kiss Them For Me ... and why he wouldn't do Sabrina will always baffle me (though I'm glad Bogart did).

Among gone specimen might be the "international playboy," Cary Grant's role in An Affair To Remember. They were media figures then, and aroused interest, especially where one would pluck a Rita Hayworth off vines, as did Prince Aly Khan. I doubt such roustabouts were so genteel as Cary Grant. Most were slippery as to ethics and not a few dealt contraband in addition to women they grazed on (see: friends of Errol Flynn). A still-enforced Code wouldn't let Grant's "Nicky Ferrari" be an outright seducer, which takes much of play out of his playboy, but Grant's image and appeal was always more about the run-up than consummation, so money's worth was had even for his "affair" bridled by censorship. Director McCarey was more invested in the humor plus tip to spiritual concern, as where Grant and Deborah Kerr break from romancing to pray in a chapel built by his grandmother, a scene from which I was distracted by wonder at any man Cary's age having a grandmother still above ground. Who knows but what the faith break was best received aspect of An Affair To Remember in 1957, or now. Later rom-coms would have single gal characters mooning over Affair clips and dreaming of perfect love for their own. Sleepless In Seattle in 1993 was built entirely around recall of An Affair To Remember. This may be the most venerable title Fox has in its 50's kit. Beyond expected DVD and Blu-Ray, there is the Fathom sit (some of theirs have widened out to 700 venues), and TCM current-plays An Affair To Remember in true HD, a long-awaited advantage for fans.

Fourth Quarter For Rah-Rah Comedy

Was Rise and Shine (1941) Game Over For Collegiate Capers?

The joke of Jack Oakie playing a football hero was twofold: the unlikelihood of his doing a same in real-life, plus absurdity of his continued casting in such part over a ten year period. Jack couldn't hear and would watch colleague lips for cues. Now that's greatness got at a disadvantage. Interesting how major talent would hook onto collegiate subjects: here it's Mark Hellinger producing and James Thurber/Herman J. Mankiewicz (same years as Kane for HJM) on story and screenplay. Were they high on nostalgia for rah-rah they'd once known? You'd think with such talent involved that Rise and Shine would be better, which is not to say it's bad ... overlong by fifteen minutes maybe ... and there are echoes of 20th's Hold That Co-Ed, which as they may have recalled, lost money.

Ever notice how often comic gangsters poke into froth like this? Here it's Sheldon Leonard with assist from George Murphy (some good Astaire-like tapping) and Milton Berle, then starring in B's, supporting in A's. The "nutty family" conceit seems borrowed from You Can't Take It With You; in fact, all of what's here is patched in from elsewhere. Allan Dwan directs, a pioneer who was working before many of these people were born. To call Rise and Shine "a Dwan" and watch for that reason is more/less a snipe hunt, as he brings nothing beyond bare competence to the job, and well ... why strain? Linda Darnell does another of ingénues, or more specifically, a dreamiest cheerleader on any campus. How long could Darnell have lasted had edgier parts not come to eventual rescue? With Thurber, Mankiewicz, and Hellinger, you'd expect more bite to the satire, but not so. Rise and Shine is workmanlike and mere updating on foolishness Paramount did by pallets with their 30's collegiate cycle. Still, not bad, and certainly too seldom shown.

Don't Tell What Mildred Did!

Showmen Sell Fierce Their Mildred Pierce

Ad campaigns sometimes took on lives of their own, like when a picture had energy that wouldn't be contained by standard publicity. Such a nova was Mildred Pierce, keyed as it was to closure of the war and servicemen coming home. Among recreation for vets was relax in theatres not visited over a last three-four years. Tie that to courtship in renewed force and there was whopper success for even weak product from late 1945 into '46. Some of soldiers presumably saw Mildred Pierce at camp, or jungles lately seized, them being first in line for new releases and then writing home to recommend what they liked. This was strategy beyond mere generosity to troops for an industry realizing value in letters that spoke highly of new films. Had poll been taken in 1945 (was there?), I'd propose the year as peak, or near-that, of good will for Hollywood and its works. We laugh now at sailors dashing onto dry land crying "Oh Boy! Home and Mildred Pierce!," but there was basis for trade ad boast, for here was Moment for Mildred, with September 28 pre-release at New York's Strand to precede general spread of the show in October. Balance of 1945 would stamp and re-stamp Mildred Pierce onto consciousness of everyone reading magazines, listening to radio, or talking movies among friends.

WB knew they had a special one. This "Ears Burning" trade ad was probably as truthful a dispatch as came out of studios in 1945. Crawford comeback was reported as done deal before Mildred opened, being start for fresh run at tough melodramas. Plus there was sizzle to the steak spelled s-e-x, which ads from start would emphasize. Note packets of good will as expressed above. There aren't many pix of Jack Warner being kissed by contract talent, so let's savor this one. Must have been a jubilant day, possibly one when all realized Mildred Pierce was gold in the bank. Sometimes you could smell a smash on its way out the door. Note Harry Warner apart from the smooch-fest. Wonder if Joan kissed him too. Bet not. Harry comes across like a cold fish. Rather looks like one as well. Louse as he was, at least Jack took fun where he found it, as did onlooking Michael Curtiz, whose directorial triumph Mildred Pierce was. We still underestimate Curtiz, maybe for being a team player rather than rebel or iconoclast. Or was he just too versatile for his own good? There was nothing so convivial as studio-staff relations when everyone was in the chips. It was only when someone began to slip that ice formed.

Going-in misread by some showmen was Mildred Pierce as "Ladies Only" attraction (like above in New London, Ct.). Time, and gender mix among crowds, would dispel notion of that. Mildred Pierce took grosses bigger than any woman-centric or Bette Davis vehicle Warners had, or would. It was clearly reaching men in vast number, outdrawing the Bogarts (except Casablanca) and all the Errol Flynns save San Antonio. Mildred Pierce showed that both sexes could be lured by melodrama revolved around a woman. 20th Fox got a same lesson, to even greater reward, within following months with Leave Her To Heaven. From now on, female passion would have deadly consequence, this demanded by those back from a shooting war, as well as ones who had charted progress of same back home. Joan Crawford would harden sufficiently to kill a lover onscreen and make it seem an only recourse, if not a good idea all round. Here was rougher play that four years of headlines and newsreels had prepared us for. Crawford also had enough sex left by 1945 to be attractive where dealing death, or negotiating with those who do ("The Kind Of Woman Most Men Want" --- how much longer could they say that of JC?) . Ads gave impression that she'd commit murder as Mildred Pierce, not so in the film, but who'd care or remember on exiting such a satisfactory show?

The goal was for people to talk about Mildred Pierce. Who was she? --- or more to point, What Did Mildred Pierce Do? That was what we had to find out, as in pay admission to find out, then keep to ourselves. As with Psycho's ending fifteen years later, Please Don't Tell were key three words to marketing. Here was buzz ahead of the Strand's 9/28 pre-open, advance of which saw Joan Crawford canvass New York to stir press interest in her newest. People talk of Crawford as actress, personality, or offscreen control nut. What they miss is recognition of her as merchandising whirlwind for films she made. What you got for hiring Crawford was both performer and retailer. She had instinct for selling as keen as anyone on Warners' East Coast staff, these overseeing drumbeat for all company product. Crawford touching down in Gotham raised awareness of Mildred Pierce for all of press, broadcast, and ultimately, show-going public. Her clutch with WB staff as pictured above was no idle publicity. She was there to do a job and operate at their level of expertise. I think Crawford's grasp of salesmanship was as much reason as any for her forty plus years of major stardom.

Some secrets were to be kept --- others not. WB asked viewers to stay mum about what Mildred did, but they'd not mind tipping Zachary Scott's fate in the film. One thing the war had done was make us less serious about movies. Melodramas would not be taken so straight as before. Ad copy with Scott's image as "Monte Beragon" ("He'd rather die than double-cross her --- so he did both!") revealed at least some exhibitors had tongues in cheek. As with any film that morphed with mass embrace, there was improvisation in the field. Suggested ads as provided in the Mildred Pierce pressbook were discarded for ones that spoke to snowball effect the film had. Creative enough circuits or lone showmen could zero in on crowd response as expressed from region to region. Changing ads over month or more holdovers was like ticker tape fed to potential viewers. Some might take longer to show up and buy a ticket, but they'd all get there eventually. As to what Mildred did, and keeping it a secret, there would come good natured mockery. Radio and nightclub comedians took up "Please Don't Tell" and made it a country-wide punchline, all this to Warner advantage. Ads warned that loving Mildred was "Like Shaking Hands With The Devil!," a line some might take serious in silent days, but not now. An audience that flattered themselves as more sophisticated, let alone those lately home from the Pacific, sought rise above silliness of movies done old-fashioned way. Advertising for Mildred Pierce let it be known that a new era had dawned.

Theatres from outset tendered Mildred Pierce as fun for all.  

From cartoony ads, you'd think it was the "Road" picture of melodramas. Crawford and her studio would sense direction and go with flow to her later cameo for 1949's It's A Great Feeling, with its spoof of Mildred Pierce and hothouses she occupied during four years since she made it. The gag of not seating anyone for a last seven minutes of Mildred Pierce was figured to preserve surprise of the ending, and get folks talking, especially those accustomed to showing up anytime, and not care where narrative was at. They'd seen these tropes play out a thousand times before, or so they thought. Policy on Mildred Pierce alerted them that, no, you have not. The above State's 2nd "Must-See" week was for "thousands who were turned away" in the first, so word was out, even if reveal of what Mildred did wasn't. Victory was ours, but urgency of war didn't end with that. There were still Bonds to be bought toward postwar clean-up, and Paramount short Hollywood Victory Caravan was reminder that the job wasn't finished.

Mildred Pierce also played off headlines. The above is Chicago's ad for a "4th Explosive Week." By now, what Mildred did was "Another Atomic Secret!" We were just learning background on the Bomb now that it was dropped. There had been no secret closer guarded than this. The United Nations was meanwhile established (10-24-45) and made daily copy. What were these current events but grist for selling Mildred Pierce? Everyone was presumed to know about Mildred by now. Even Joe Stalin with signature mustache and pipe agrees not to tell anyone what Mildred did. Trade ads through the autumn could pull back and let the title alone serve, as here with Mildred Pierce mere name above a doorbell. The film would be remembered thanks to TV and parody as late as Carol Burnett's "Mildred Fierce" in 1976, a year when much of viewership could still recall the initial Explosion. We still have first-hand witnessing thanks to Ann Blyth appearing from time to time with Mildred Pierce. Otherwise, it is viewership seventy years removed trying to imagine what impact was like. Criterion has a splendid Blu-ray of Mildred Pierce in recent release. Their clean-up has made it look better than even HD streaming off VUDU and Amazon.

Ramp Up That Sound!

Jolson and Fantasia: They're Both In Stereo Now!

The mid-50's was forefront to progress with sound. Home stereo was in development, an advance on Hi-Fi that was already the rage. Movies had music and voices bouncing off walls. Some old people stopped going due to the racket (history repeats itself: that's why I quit theatres). Oldies became obsolete not just for flat screens they played on, but flatness to the ear compared with magnetic stereo new stuff could boast. If the movie was special enough, as in revolved around timeless music, maybe something could be done, but what? Columbia, and later Disney, thought they had it licked. A revamped track, as in faux-stereo, was the ticket for reissues of The Jolson Story (1946) and Fantasia (1940). The latter was part-way there already, having been recorded in "Fantasound," a process involving multiple tracks made during production and then mixed to simulate full-range sonics. It wasn't true stereo, but the effect was electric for handful of 1940 dates that heard Fantasia that way. Now Disney would use those separations to come up with something to compete with magnetic marvels 20th Fox was getting out. Jolson, on the other hand, was plain mono, at least for 1946 engagements. Columbia doctored what they had and simulated wide sound, but was result so impressive as this ad that promises the moon? ("Hear Al's Whistling Actually Come From The Balcony!") I've no idea if Columbia still has these tracks from 1954. Surely a reissue print survives, as they would have been done on safety. Again, I look to greater expertise here. Whichever way, the ads are fun, hopefully for "Bopsters, Long Hairs, Hi-Fi Addicts, Juke-Box Fans," and everyone else under the Big listening tent.

A Chiller With Light Seasoning

The Cat and The Canary (1927) Where Old House Horror Began

Here's my idea of a thrill: The Cat and The Canary for the first time from 35mm nitrate and tinted beautifully throughout. This is one of the PHOTOPLAY restorations supervised by Kevin Brownlow, and what life it breathes it into a chill show till now viewed on compromised basis from 16mm. Actually, those latter seemed OK (for decades) before Brownlow and team did magic. The whole story of Cat/Canary reclaim is told by Christopher Bird, who worked on the project, in a Fall 2009 article for The Moving Image journal. What he reveals about alternate scenes, two-camera shooting, etc. during the silent era, amounts to education way beyond mere matter of The Cat and The Canary's rescue, and makes ideal dessert to viewing of the Kino DVD, which utilized PHOTOPLAY'S best-ever presentation.

Direct From Broadway to Ft. Worth

The Cat and The Canary is an old house thriller in the best sense of scares mixed with comedy, a format known well to patrons for whom further intensity would have been not only unwelcome, but distasteful. We tend to imagine true horrors as having been withheld from a public that wanted them, but I'm of opinion that folks got all of goosebumps needed to enjoy nights out and still sleep afterward. Old housing was popular real estate at theatres right from movies' beginning to late 60's juncture when rules of decorum got disrupted by likes of Night Of The Living Dead and later, Halloween, progenitors of horror that parents could no longer drop off kids to see. These were more disruptive than even we who lived through the upheaval can remember. Chillers now shockers became province of teenagers who'd insist such stuff nauseate them for a proper ticket's worth.

Despite its not-altogether serious approach, The Cat and The Canary was very much the inspiration for lights staying on or candles kept lit on return home. It's only by seeing quality like PHOTOPLAY's that you realize how effective this show was when nitrate-unspooled in 1927. Every shot is composed to creep maximum, with uneasy feeling maintained throughout. Moments relaxed are prelude to cymbal-crash when a clawed hand reaches forward or bodies tumble out of hidden passageway. I never enjoyed The Cat and The Canary so much as this time, all that thanks to PHOTOPLAY handiwork. If there is such thing as a classic reborn, here she is. Universal's horror franchise was a flag raised to full mast with Cat/Canary; it didn't need Dracula to herald arrival. Of course, there had been The Hunchback Of Notre Dame and Phantom Of The Opera to introduce famous monsters, but to my mind, it's The Cat and The Canary that sealed chiller mastery deal for Laemmle's Universal. To be without it is to miss a landmark that led to all the Shock Theatres that followed. I only wish we'd had The Cat and The Canary on late show display when initiated first to the Uni horror tradition.

Wringing Last Dimes Out Of Dean

First-Run Saturation In L.A. and Vicinity

More Of Keeping James Dean Alive

I've guessed before that Elvis was salve for the loss of James Dean. Love Me Tender had arrived just behind Giant in 1956, a year after Dean's passing. Now for summer 1957, there was Loving You and few month's later Jailhouse Rock to see out mourning for a youth idol of whom fresh footage was finally spent with The James Dean Story. Latter was a documentary done on spec by Midwest filmmaker Robert Altman, with partner George W. George. Warners fleshed out their work and used The James Dean Story as backstop to product that wouldn't sustain bills alone. I checked Variety and found for most part that it played as second feature to The Black Scorpion, latest of yearly monsters WB sold with help of TV saturation directed at kids with quarters and nothing better to do with them. Dean was a known adjunct to thrill bills, having been "materialized" at spook shows where his image was projected onscreen as conjurers on stage called for him to speak from beyond. Time for reverence had thus past, so what more fitting than to pair last theatrical glimpse of Jimmy with jumbo arachnids as advertised on TV?

Impressive L.A. Showcase, Including Stand At the Egyptian, For Revived Pair

James Dean is for me the most fascinating personality to come forth in the 50's, both for how he was sold and the impact he had. Alec Baldwin and his "Essentials" guest David Letterman hashed over Dean this past weekend on TCM, where East Of Eden was shown to maximum benefit of true HD. This was not how most people of their age group saw East Of Eden, or Rebel Without A Cause, for the first time. I'm surprised Dean gathered new admirers after these films were sold to television in 1960-61, so brutally compromised as they were. Neither played network, first-runs on local stations likelier as late shows than primetime (owl slots for first-run of both in our Charlotte viewing market). A couple of generations discovered James Dean in this reduced circumstance, making it hard to realize how dynamic and lovely East Of Eden and Rebel Without A Cause had once been on wide screens. Chances are Baldwin and Letterman caught them first, during youth, on the harsh, square box, as others of us did. That lingering impression could be why Letterman expressed some reservation about Dean's performance in East Of Eden. He wouldn't have had opportunity to optimum-see the film until years after it first appeared on television.

I watched some of Eden after Baldwin/Letterman's intro. There was an overture, which I assume played at key 1955 dates ahead of Eden credits. Listening made me realize that it was Leonard Rosenman's music that put much of sting in James Dean's tail. There had not been a score quite like it --- emotional, modern yet symphonic in a way to please those of an older school. Four-track stereo no doubt cut right to nerve of listeners. It still conditions us for something powerful. Rosenman was kept on to score Rebel Without A Cause. I'd say much of magic we call James Dean came of this man's music. East Of Eden and Rebel Without A Cause are like two movements of a Rosenman concert. I don't wonder that there was a record album issued in 1956, part of ongoing "tribute" to departed Dean. Eden and Rebel as a double feature filled seats that year as fully as new releases, one of handful of occasions when a revived pair went ideally together. Eden had gone out with Battle Cry in early '56 as first swing at the post-mortem Dean fence, but it was with Rebel later that year, and through 1957, where wickets lit up. They still play nicely in tandem.

DeMille Aloft At MGM

Madam Satan (1930) Tickles Lunatic Fringe

With such a title plus finish on a runaway zeppelin, there's little wondering why this lines them up at precode festivity, but there's a long wait getting to fun, and for all promise of her titular character, Kay Johnson is pretty glacial. Her tiltings with errant husband Reginald Denny makes you wonder how they got together to begin with; we're never vested in this couple's problem. Denny had amused in a series of domestic comedies for Universal, but they were silent with fleet of movement, while Madam Satan is caught for much of a first half between four walls with players stock still. Cecil B. DeMille directed on lavish Metro scale, being awkward guest there despite a multi-pic contract and all smiles upon signing. No way would Thalberg and Mayer let him be king of Culver hill, as he'd been (and would be again) at Paramount. Where Madam Satan takes off is aboard the doomed zep, where first is staged an art deco blowout with scant-clad chorines and Denny getting dithers over masked K. Johnson.

This latter third is how fan base would like all precode to play. It's bizarre, wildly uninhibited, and filled to cusp with special-fx peculiar to uncertain era of silent-to-talk transition. DeMille looked to be in something for everyone mode, Madam Satan conveying almost a desperation to please. Thalberg was unimpressed and proven right by losing numbers, ice beneath C.B.'s feet slickened from there. If not for red ink from Madam Satan and two others DeMille made for Leo, Dynamite and The Squaw Man, he might have thrived as contract helmsman, but how to reconcile C.B.'s iconoclast ways with bend-to-will-of-management policy at Metro? He simply could not last there. Madam Satan would go years in obscurity; when TV stations bothered, it was cut to tatters, though few cared for woeful dating of content. Like so much from the early 30's, Madam Satan needed a spike that only cultists could hammer, rebirth the by-product of MGM's library being played finally to nationwide viewership via TNT and later Turner Classic Movies. Were it not for these outlets, Madam Satan would surely have stayed obscure.