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Friday, August 17, 2018

The Martin and Lewis History Is Now Complete


Side By Side by Michael Hayde Is The Last Word On Dean and Jerry

Suppose you had to come back in a next life and be half of a comedy team with Jerry Lewis. For ten years. I said Jerry Lewis. We've read about him and know all the more how heroic Dean Martin was to bear it. I don't dislike Lewis, never a fan it's true, was more so for Martin, and still am. My guess is that most anyone could have gotten along with Dean, provided they didn't try getting too close to him. Not so with Jerry. Imagine him ceding any part of the stage to anyone but Martin, whom he loved like a big brother who would never love him back. Theirs was the supreme tragic bromance of 20th century comedy. Martin and Lewis play more serious than funny for me. Maybe I should never have read previous books about their rancor, then split, then further rancor that dogged both to an end. Or maybe I should have waited until Michael Hayde came out with his new book, Side By Side, which tells the saga better than anyone before. Hayde zeroes in on the split, the aftermath, reunions beyond the headline-maker one in 1976, more lore on M&L than has ever been gathered. His coverage of Colgate comedy days and early TV, plus radio, put you square amidst (live) action, where anything could happen, rules were routinely broken, and Dean/Jerry made their legend. It wasn't film that would define these two, features but pink tea beside radical work they did in clubs, on tubes, and before microphones. Pity I wasn't around, or old enough, to see the two at highest gear, but Hayde put me near to them as I could get short of being there. 


Had Eugene O' Neill done a play about a comedy team, Martin and Lewis would have been ready-made subjects. I don't laugh at their late features for speculating how icy both were when directors (or take-over Jerry) yelled cut. Post-split years were a yo-yo of Jerry up, Dean down, then the reverse. Dean won the 60's race after Jerry dominated the late 50's, then Jerry lived twenty years longer and worked all the way to a checkered flag, but whose legacy will sustain best? Martin is the more appealing screen presence for many, music he performed the equal of anyone's. Also I would have liked to meet Dean, while loathe (or would have been afraid) to know Jerry. Is it fair to put personal bias above humor they left behind as a team? And yet, we can't help it. Drama of the whole is stronger than sum of the comedy parts. I saw a video of Dean where he's talking to young guys preparing an interview, and asks, "Have you ever seen any Martin and Lewis movies? They're terrible!" Dean was  ambivalent, it seems, about the whole M&L thing, and that must have driven Jerry nuts. One was intensely serious, the other didn't appear to care a hang. Jerry revered Dean, while Dean regarded Jerry as mere means to a paycheck, and said so to his partner's face. Whatever cruelties Lewis did (many), you'd not wish this on him. Off screen Martin and Lewis were the epic clash of inward and outward, never the twain to peacefully meet. I'm frankly surprised they lasted ten years together. Side By Side explains how, and compels, and how, from first page to last. It is a showbiz reading must.




Wednesday, August 15, 2018

Just Don't Tell How It Ends ...


And Then There Were None (1945) Is Murder As Parlor Frolic

Light soufflé of a murder mystery directed by Rene Clair, recognized early on as a devilishly clever conceit to baffle readers (Agatha Christie wrote it), playgoers (adapted for Broadway), and finally movies, desire to film the yarn being immediate. There had been mysteries, plenty if not an excess of routine ones, but Christie's was a puzzle sure to fascinate viewers who'd not be as patient with Charlie Chan or Boston Blackie's latest case. It was this specialness that lured top names to casting: Walter Huston, Barry Fitzgerald, Judith Anderson ... each to be offed until a last one standing would be revealed as the killer, that the expected pattern but for Christie having thrown her curve to separate And Then There Were None from whodunits that went before. Producing was Harry Popkin, one-time theatre man, who took over the project from Samuel Bronston --- this was a project many hands dipped in, possibly in recognition that a half-competent result would galvanize patronage as the property had in/on print/stage. Then as now, it all came down to story, and hopefully, a stinger that folks would remember and talk about ... a Please Don't Tell Your Friends The Ending sort of buzz.




Code strictures meant that grimmer elements, particularly as regards the final act, would have to be changed, and maybe that disappointed more in 1945, but today the piece plays well, our having forgot, or caring less, about Christie's original intent. Same gymnastics affected Billy Wilder's later go at Christie, Witness For The Prosecution; in that case, the director's own brilliant rewrite of the stage property made Witness a far better screen bet than if Christie had been adapted to the letter. And Then There Were None has a body count higher than norm, there being ten little Indians after all, so director Clair underplays the carnage and sidesteps gore. Enough comedy is sprinkled to offset menace, but not so much as to dilute danger afoot. The Blu-Ray from VCI gets by, elements a mite rough, the pic having been got from Popkin's estate, and who knows what was left to work with? 20th Fox distributed in '45, realizing $1.2 million in domestic rentals and $903K foreign, certainly better money than boilerplate mysteries could be expected to earn, but they had not the pedigree of And Then There Were None.




Monday, August 13, 2018

Hawks and Cast Camp Out


Universal Wants More Pillow Talk From Man's Favorite Sport (1963)


Downtown Winston-Salem Hardtop Gets Hawks' Newest
Man’s Favorite Sport? was guilty at most of seeming not so fresh and funny as comedies Rock Hudson had previously done with Doris Day. It’s been said that Howard Hawks copied his earlier work for highlights of Man’s Favorite Sport?, and that’s true to large extent, but he also drew from a successful blueprint that was the Day/Hudson pair, Pillow Talk and Lover Come Back, both recognized as a new direction for farce as the 50’s gave way to the 60’s. As John Ford was influenced by Anthony Mann westerns for The Searchers, so would Hawks by these. For viewers at the time and most critics, Man’s Favorite Sport? lacked a cutting edge of even Come September, a Rock Hudson vehicle with Gina Lollobrigida that had the advantage of writers from Pillow Talk plus co-starring pop pair that was Bobby Darin and Sandra Dee. Hawks at least kept up with times by again using Henry Mancini for music, their pairing an almost best thing about Hatari! the year before. Man’s Favorite Sport? would not fall short except by higher standards implied by Howard Hawks as director-producer.






Many expected him to demonstrate how a Pillow Talk could be done one better by application of a master’s touch, and truth to tell, Man’s Favorite Sport? did not fail but for being short of that expectation. Like A Countess From Hong Kong submitted by Charles Chaplin three years later, it was an old man’s comedy thrown to a marketplace wanting young ideas, and how was that environment any different from one that Hawks brought his young ideas to three decades before? Screen comedy was evermore in quest of novelty, and it seemed Man’s Favorite Sport? had none to give. Rock Hudson said in a later interview that Hawks had nothing other than reprise of humor that worked (or didn’t) long before, the actor realizing straightway that Man’s Favorite Sport? would be no enhance to either of their credits. This was 1963, however, when awning that was Pillow Talk hung over whatever comedy Hudson did, and he knew gags flashing back, let alone to the 30’s, was kiss of irrelevance to audiences wanting ripe fruit. Outside of fun aimed at kids, a commission filled by Jerry Lewis or Disney, this meant challenge to what was left of censorship, “adult” comedy to get round a Code on crutches. Man’s Favorite Sport? seemed too much like screwball from yore where slapstick took place of sex, the sort of stuff that old people might still laugh at on the Late, Late Show, repository of much Howard Hawks backlog.




I had seen Man’s Favorite Sport? before and liked it. This time I really embraced it among final six Hawks features revisit, from Rio Bravo to Rio Lobo. They are, for me, all terrific. Am I a cultist sheep then? Sport’s outstanding gift is Paula Prentiss. Had she been around in the 30’s, there would have been none to top her at comedy. If I could recast older Howard Hawks films, we'd have Paula Prentiss rather than Jean Arthur, Rosalind Russell, maybe even Carole Lombard. Prentiss was the ideal screwball heroine in a culture that no longer wanted screwball heroines. She is also dishy in ways J. Arthur and R. Russell were not and could never be. Paula Prentiss could be pushy and assertive and make men like it, or at least tolerate it in hopes of reward to come. Beyond comedy, this was what made Vivien Leigh work so well as Scarlett O’Hara. Selznick realized this and that is why he would never have cast Katharine Hepburn in Gone With The Wind. Indeed, Hepburn for me is a poison pill to Bringing Up Baby, being in no way desirable enough to mitigate the guff of dealing with her. When she rips her dress but won’t let Cary Grant get a word in to tell her about it, I just wonder why he doesn’t walk away and forget the whole thing. No tumble with Hepburn could be worth all this, but Paula Prentiss? Yes.






Hawks was lauded, more so later than at a peak, for his modern appreciation toward women, their being strong, “feisty” (that irritating word), independent, under his guidance. HH liked a look that would continue looking good. Attractiveness of a Hawks woman does not date, this as much so among smaller parts as the leads. He sometimes was obliged to use stars that did little for him, but excited the boxoffice and those underwriting the film. Talent Hawks discovered come off  better for me than a Jean Arthur or Ginger Rogers that were more imposed upon him. I’m thinking along line of Prentiss, Charlene Holt, Michele Carey, even one or two of Redline 7000’s cast. He could work magic off Dorothy Malone in The Big Sleep (who else did as much for her in so brief a scene?), or even the taxi driver and hat checkers in the same show. I’ll assume that Hawks selected all of opening credit photos with women in athletic action that open Man’s Favorite Sport?, a seeming nod to similar exhibit that led us into Girls! Girls! Girls! the previous year. What makes it all benign is that Rock Hudson’s “Roger Willoughby” does not prey on women. In fact, they prey on him. Hawks always realized that comedy came best from females giving chase after hapless men. It was a device that Peter Bogdanovich would co-opt to enormous success with his Hawks homage, What’s Up Doc!, in 1972.






Some have said, and Hawks admitted, that Man’s Favorite Sport? would have been better with Cary Grant, but I’m not so sure. Grant was getting on by 1963, and I’d guess his starring would have disqualified Paula Prentiss as a romantic partner. Grant too would have made Man’s Favorite Sport? seem an even older movie. Did CG look back on a last with Hawks, Monkey Business, and beg off? If the director’s funny days were behind him by 1952, what promise laid in reviving them for 1963? Man’s Favorite Sport? was shot largely on Universal’s backlot, where Hawks was daily aggravated by tour trams, a means toward profit more reliable than movies the company put out. He’d submit a three-hour cut of Man’s Favorite Sport?, claiming preview audiences preferred it to the two-hour release version. I’d not submit Man’s Favorite Sport? to a modern crowd except those few who’d use it for backdrop to meditation on Howard Hawks. Toward that purpose, Man’s Favorite Sport? plays splendidly. A fan can blend it with others of his final six and really get into the head of a great helmsman delivering twilight goods. There’s a very nice DVD of Man’s Favorite Sport? from Universal, and Amazon streams it in HD.




Friday, August 10, 2018

DeMille Does His First


The Squaw Man (1914) Makes Century-Ago History

This was more a duty watch than a pleasure, as is case with many a slice of history we read about for years, but are otherwise reluctant  submitting to. Its litany of firsts: DeMille's as director,  if in co-helm capacity (with Oscar Apfel),  the inaugural feature based in Hollywood, along with locations nearby, and an all-or-nothing gamble by the Jesse L. Lasky Co. to establish itself in long-form filmmaking. My curiosity was satisfied early on, leaving forty or so minutes to doze through, fast-forward, or think on other topics as Dustin Farnum and assorted ghosts played their drama out. To latter and its awkward progress, Farnum has disgrace hung on him by a rotter among English aristocracy, and so forfeits home and title to head U.S. west where life proceeds in the raw. There he meets bad hombres and an Indian princess who bears his papoose and makes the expected sacrifice so Dustin can reclaim back-home birthright and fiancé. DeMille thought enough of the property to remake it several times, The Squaw Man frontier-set equivalent of Uncle Tom's Cabin for 19th Century road-touring. Aspects of the yarn do compel; you'd not be remiss adapting it today, though obviously with changes. We can thank a miracle that The Squaw Man survives, as how many other features from that relic period remain? (certainly there are few others extant that Lasky produced) If nothing else, The Squaw Man left us the barn-site of filming, where silent clubs gather and old movies frequently unspool. The Squaw Man is one of those that's been famous a hundred years for being famous, even if not necessarily good, and deserves anyone's hour and fifteen minutes in respectful observance.

Illustrations courtesy the great LANTERN site. 




Wednesday, August 08, 2018

The Clue Club Wants YOU


Warners Has A New Mystery Slant

We'll never know how many mysteries there were back when people took time to read. Tycoons and presidents were known to curl up with a whodunit, and authors after a sure-thing knew that puzzlers were surest route to grocery counters. There were pulps, lurid mags, and above all radio to entrance a public as to who killed who. Detectives, be they suave, hardboiled, or bungling, entered folklore quickest of any fictional hero on a shelf, for here was product you could cycle and recycle to seeming infinity. How many Perry Mason stories would there be, or Ellery Queens? I can't count that high. Much of old radio is vanished, but we can listen yet to hundreds of thriller broadcasts that have survived. Movies, especially after Code enforce, would thrive on mysteries, for most were civilized, detection a keynote rather than violence (at least before noir got its upper hand), sex seldom entering into situations or solutions. Also they were fertile ground for charismatic stars to carve out franchise for themselves --- imagine William Powell, Warren William, Rathbone, Oland, without crimes to sort out. All studios wanted a detecting saddle they could ride, and ride again, keynote an ongoing sleuth or generic series pitching tent for variety of investigators. What Warners cooked up was a thing called the "Clue Club," their 1934-35 tie with Black Mask magazine to make loyal showgoers out of already loyal pulp consumers.




It took appetite for sex and gore to properly appreciate Black Mask, covers putting its public well enough on notice that no one could duplicate such bloodlust on screens. Bad enough was miscreant Dads or boys sneaking the stuff into houses, or as Prof. Harold Hill might suggest, corncribs. WB would scrub all that, their association with Black Mask mostly a matter of trading on the mag's product recognition. There would be Clue Club chapters at far-flung sites, a "Miniature Mystery Contest" where patrons would guess a solution to yarns put before them by cooperating dailies, plus cash prizes now and then for best analysis given at theatres during post-screening club meets. Everyone saw him of herself as equal at least to gumshoes on view, amateur detecting a hugely popular indoor sport through Depression years when entertainment was best got cheap, or at home. Radio in the parlor, a pulp now and then, or price of a movie ticket could stave off loneliness, or worse, the gnaw of knowing you couldn't afford livelier amusement. Popularity of mysteries got to where lots wouldn't read anything but. This was enormous reserve WB sought to tap with Clue Clubs.






Exhibitors were put to search of a magic promoting wand, reward a Bermuda trip for two for whoever found it. Warners meanwhile loaded Black Mask issues with ads and got busy toward twelve Clue Club features, one per month the goal. Special accessories were issued, authors noted in the field adapted, these to include Erle Stanley Gardner, Dashiell Hammet, S.S. Van Dine, and one less familiar to me, but known well then, Mignon Eberhardt (see ad at left). These were famous folk, each more a draw than second-string names cast in Club films. First from the box, for 1/23/35 release, was The White Cockatoo, where Ricardo Cortez ploddingly solves a hotel murder. I couldn't guess the killer for mind wandering to lights on or off upstairs, whether I'd rinsed out the oatmeal pan from breakfast, just anything to take me out of Ricardo's detecting universe. Fact to face: These Crime Clubs just weren't packing the gear, at least from eighty-years later perspective. Some were good, notably a few Perry Masons on which WB slapped the Crime Club label. Trades warned Warners at the time that patronage may weary of the series, especially at monthly rate. Exhaustion would set in, but only after strenuous effort to ignite interest with live lobby broadcasts, $100 cash prizes, Clue Club authors in attendance (these stunts to boost The Case Of The Curious Bride). Within a short year, the Club would fold, but not mysteries, a genre embedded in movies for what all would predict eternity (but wait --- does anyone make them for theatres anymore, or is Netflix and such streaming spots an only resource?).






Radio A Dominant Purveyor Of Mystery During The 30's
Mysteries had been self-servingly referred to as "another type of show in which Warner Bros. admittedly excel," but admitted by whom? WB would continue doing Mason post-Clue Club, also Nurse Keats, where ministering angels solved murders in addition to taking pulse. Rival companies weren't napping, of course, and would develop their own series. Universal with their "Crime Club" went about clubbing audiences with whodunits for a most part listless. MGM had name brand of the Thin Man, but also Joel and Garda Sloane mysteries off the Thin Man blueprint. Fox with Charlie Chan and Mr. Moto seemed to dominate in both quantity and quality. Then came Universal again with the Inner Sanctums, which was price a lot of youth paid for staying up too late. It's a rich field, of which books have been written (a best? Perhaps Jon Tuska's In Manors and Alleys). Most of the Clue Clubs are available from Warner Archive on DVD, and show up at TCM from time to time. The concept is as meaningless now as it probably seemed then, being nothing other than a hook on which to hang advertising and exploitation, but for a brief while, the Clue Club satiated thirst for thrills, another arresting footnote in salesmanship of movies.




Monday, August 06, 2018

RKO Does Some Floor Shows


Variety Is Keynote To These Pastiches

Nifty triple serve from Warner Archive of RKO "vaudeville" fillers for late 40/early 50's theatre programming, a time when double-bills held same sway as in prewar. These are curiosities that few would have known existed, in a format none of majors other than RKO ventured near. Lippert did several along canned acts line, and yes, there was need for what vaude had given before screens crowded out once busy stages. What RKO did was bring back, if briefly, their own variant on Vitaphone shorts from years before, here strung together to an hour's entertainment for back-end of bills. Footlight Varieties (1951) and Make Mine Laughs (1949) were for folks who still recalled happy balance between live foolery and what followed on film, shows where substance gave way to shadows and everyone went home satisfied. These cobble-ups were cheaper to do than any story-driven feature, Footlight Varieties with negative cost of $75K, and Make Mine Laughs finished for $63K. Both were profitable. Interesting that these were made during the Howard Hughes regime at RKO. Was HH a fan of variety during formative years?




Ingredients for Footlight Varieties and Make Mine Laughs were simple. Blend performer segments from old features or shorts, include a Leon Errol comedy of whatever vintage, plus a Flicker Flashback off backlog of RKO's shorts program, these strung among acts shot new on a mock stage with a comedic m.c., Gil Lamb (Make Mine Laughs) or Jack Paar (Footlight Varieties). Trade reviewers gave the packages short shrift, at least one couldn't imagine how Paar's humor could be less humorous, all in agreement that RKO gave ragtag a new definition. Paar and Lamb commemorate the death of vaudeville via song and gags, Paar pointing out a TV set as the box variety was buried in. This was a famous quote attributed to Bob Hope, Milton Berle, any number of comics who heard, then appropriated, it. They were right to extent of vaudeville being gone as a core of programs (although New York's RKO Palace did revive all-variety bills during the 50's, these generally built around an outstanding personality, like Judy Garland). We could dismiss vaudeville the institution as dead, but not an ocean of artists still working in formats that looked and sounded mighty like busy stages of yore. Television may indeed have been the box to which vaudeville was consigned, but it was a massive crate into which millions of viewers peeked, a following larger than old time variety ever imagined.




Performers of course faced a greater struggle. There were no routes they could depend on to see a season through. Bookings had to be got one by one, unless television offered a series, which was how bigger stars than ever were born via TV takeover. Coming late as they did, Footlight Varieties and Make Mine Laughs were good as eulogies for acts done in theatres for theatre-goers, and yet many of these persisted through much of the 50's in what was left of presentation houses catering to stage/screen combos. Varied quartets, acrobats, what not, are presented as quaint reminder of gone times, Parr and Lamb incorporated into routines so as not to rely on shtick otherwise out of date. Now it is Paar and Lamb who come off most woeful, us admiring more the procession of troupers who will not lie down even as a passing parade marched over them. But hold on --- television being so voracious might have given these old pros better than a new lease on performing life, even if "the road" of past times was closed to them. RKO did not pay mere homage with Footlight Varieties and Make Mine Laughs. Both served as quilts to cover backend of increasingly few A's offered by the company. Make Mine Laughs, for instance, went out for 100 New York territory dates with Mighty Joe Young in August 1949. Many an urban site didn't need the potted vaudeville, as they were tendering the real thing on still busy stages. Lots must have wondered if obits for vaude were  premature.




It was paste cans RKO mostly used for these compiles, old footage rifled to bring familiar names into the mix. Trouble was, RKO failed to get consent from all of them. Ray Bolger, and then Jack Haley, sued for unauthorized use, Hollywood as a whole sweating it for wider impact an unfavorable court decision might have, especially on television once the film companies gave up libraries to that medium (they all knew this was coming, but were in no hurry to get there). How much of the old stuff was recognized by 1949-1951 viewers? Probably not much, as all was innocuous, being song/dance numbers that were never distinguished to begin with. A couple of elements were common to Footlight Varieties and Make Mine Laughs: a "Flicker Flashback" that mocked silent movies, in Footlight's case, a reel directed by D.W. Griffith before 1910. Snide narration reminded us of how far movies progressed since then. Funnier were the Leon Errol comedies, him the target for wifely wrath a result of lies told, or "redheads" concealed in a closet or under the bed. I had never bothered much with Errol, but dogged if his stuff isn't funny, and now I'd like to see more, but who offers them today? (Alpha apparently, though quality may be an issue) Best intro to this comedian could well be Footlight Varieties and Make Mine Laughs. Warner's DVD is highly recommended, as it contains also Variety Time, which was the first of the RKO group.




Friday, August 03, 2018

Technicolor Among The Big Trees


God's Country and The Woman (1936) Celebrates All-Outdoors

An absolute must, as it was Warners' first feature in the three-color Technicolor process. TCM runs a good print ... no telling what a remaster job might look like. WB had dabbled with Tech two-reelers for a couple years before the plunge taken here. They were musical comedies with more emphasis on color than song or laughs, sold on novelty and little else. All the studios wanted firm grip on rainbow aesthetics before commitment that features entailed. God's Country and The Woman was strictly "B" in terms of cast and story, but otherwise "A" for extended time on location to capture nature's majesty amid forests green and waters blue. Results were surely breathtaking and indicative of what color could bring to appropriate subjects. God's Country and The Woman amounted to audition for Adventures Of Robin Hood, which got underway within weeks of the former's release. We remember Robin Hood for obvious merits, plus how it glimmers now on Blu-Ray, but God's Country and The Woman presented as lavishly would look every bit as good. Trouble is, who cares about God's Country and The Woman? Sabotage and gunplay among timber rivals is larger canvas against which George Brent and Beverly Roberts play out romance quarrel, the pic being deadly formula throughout, but oh that Technicolor, and so much of it captured outdoors (even Robin Hood confined much of action to sets). This was one of the jobs turned down by Bette Davis before she fled the WB pact to England. Too bad she didn't submit, just to have an earlier record of BD in multi-hues.




Wednesday, August 01, 2018

The Sea Be No Place For Sissies


The Code Of The Sea (1924) Turns Rod La Rocque From Mouse To Man

Top-most code of the sea in Paramount's 1924 silent is not to show yellow when gales blow or masts need climbing. Rod La Rocque chickens out on both, plus crisis of girlfriend Jacqueline Logan's crinoline catching fire to his helpless reaction. That moment's a chiller for our recalling how Para actress Martha Mansfield died horrifically from a same on-set incident only a year before Code Of The Sea came out. The real-life tragedy had to have inspired its recreation here, or were such deaths common among fashionable 20's women? Ms. Logan is rescued, but barely, and not by Rod, who for umpteenth time in Code Of The Sea buries face in hands to cry like a baby. When guys played coward in those days, they really played it. Redemption comes of a whopper storm and La Rocque finding nerve in wettest circumstance imaginable (Ann's remark on glancing up from her laptop: They must have been miserable making this). Thing that wins latter-day admiration: All of action done for real in adroit concert with ship miniatures, and looking realer than if they had access to our CGI (should modern fakes be better called animated features?). Code Of The Sea is strictly a programmer, but of interest because Victor Fleming directs along virile groove, and the DVD from Grapevine derives from lovely tinted Kodascope. An hour long, so doesn't overstay welcome. Film students of last several decades may recognize Code Of The Sea as example of 20's-era storytelling cited in detail by David Bordwell and Janet Staiger in their must-taught text, The Classical Hollywood Cinema (1985).
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