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| You Can't Tell Me This Isn't Rudy Revived Through Early Realized Miracle That Was AI. |
Ad/Odds: They Revived Rudy in 1956!, Cosmic Carradine, Snooze and Lose
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| Was Rudy So Tall As This? Sources Indicate He was Between 5"8' and 5'9" |
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| First Billing Flipped Between Ads and Film Credits --- Did Bruce and John Flip a Coin or Arm Wrestle? |
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| Yes, He Did The Last Hurrah a Year Before This, But JC Was Never One to Keep Score |
THE COSMIC MAN (1959) --- Pondering John Carradine after a look at The
Cosmic Man, lately installed by Film Masters at You Tube in HD and though full
frame, readily converted to 1.85 by simple flick of the ratio button. Carradine
is top-billed, though oddly enough, not on posters, even though he comes first in onscreen credits. Behind (or in front of) him is Bruce Bennett. Don’t offhand know
whose company I’d first pick, Bennett to admire for shucking Tarzan cloth
to study the craft and come back as a reliable character man, or Carradine who, chances are, mastered Shakespeare in the cradle. He was by 1959 gnarled
as fiends he’d be pressed to play, crippling arthritis an always companion. There’s
nobility in whatever capacity, here an alien, the titular one, shading
the part where he can, reciting as though from the Bard or poets of yore. Carradine
took his money and ran, if nothing else from memory of doing quickies the sad
lot of classical actors amidst mumblers and Method boys consigning his sort to Museums
of Thesporial History (I know there aren’t such things, so …let’s build one). Seeing
him shot down so unceremoniously at the end of The Cosmic Man was for me akin
to Lear brought low, but Bennett murmers He’ll be back, a perhaps
improvised line Bruce came up with as tribute to his colleague as much as
service to a script he’d barely consult (like me if stuck in something like The
Cosmic Man). Black-and-white sci-fi was on slippery ground by 1959. This one
was independently produced, distributed by Allied Artists, claimed after years
missing by Wade Williams, gone again with him in possession, back now that
Wade has passed. Oh for bleak years we endured without The Cosmic Man, but here it finally is, and what with no expectation, there’s less disappointment for catching up. What is appeal of space yarns where we never step foot in
space or see aliens that truly are alien. Carradine could be anyone’s strange
uncle, or the neighbor you’d as soon not encounter, yet without him, I may not
have ventured to The Cosmic Man. |
| Mid-Fifties John Jungle Trekking Circa 1960, Still the Tower of Strength We Love |
Filmfax #14 paid tribute to John Carradine with a profile and interview.
In fact, there are a couple of interviews, Carradine’s attitude differing between one and the other. This was published in 1989, the year after Carradine
died. His chat with writer Dennis Fischer was among last he did. The other, more
candid, was with Jack Gourlay. Carradine’s response to questions, mostly about
his horror parts, go as follows: “Just a job” … “It’s the same old grind” … “Half
of that crap I don’t remember” … “I just take what’s given to me.” We could use
artists as forthcoming. Many were obliged to take lame parts.
Carradine knew crap better than anyone. He just wanted to work and so went
where crap work was. He’d go for instance to Africa in 1960 to oppose Gordon Scott
in Tarzan the Magnificent ... how promising could such prospect be? … yet look how strong a performance Carradine gave. Was he surprised by
the quality of the script so as to rise to it and give of his best? “Abel
Banton” to my thinking is the best part Carradine had since the fifties and to
come, that including the Ford pictures and all else. As criminal father to
worse sons, he is villainy personified and, along with Anthony Quayle in Tarzan’s Greatest Adventure, sternest threat of all to the jungle King. Should you want
to see great men rest Shakespearian robes to genre service, playing straight plus sinister, get these two Tarzans from Warner
Archive and be profoundly impressed. Maybe much of what Carradine got stuck in was rubbish, him still reassuring presence for me at pictures risible even for a ten-year-old. Two landed at the Liberty to bitterly recall: The Incredible
Petrified World and Curse of the Stone Hand. I entered knowing that with John
Carradine on hand, I would somehow sustain. This was true even as his
character in Stone Hand was identified as “the old drunk.” I hope Carradine realized
what he meant to ones of us satiated just for seeing him work in films
even hardest core fans might skip. |
| This Monster More Pathetic Than Paralyzing Was Complaint I Often Heard |
THE REVENGE OF FRANKENSTEIN (1958) --- Was movie pursuit more fun when there was urgency to it? We make no more effort now than starting a DVD or streaming whatever needs watching. Everything can be had, anytime and at anyplace. If you had a Dick Tracy wristwatch, you could look at Ben-Hur on it. There was a time, however, long and thankfully past, when seeing a show was opportunity you got just once. At least it seemed so. Be there or live in torment for having thrown away your one chance ever. I suffered for sake of such that came and went, my having muffed chance to be there. Such is why it took forty years to align with Black Zoo, She, Devil Doll, numerous others. The ad at left was 1958's invite to despair, Revenge of Frankenstein being bumped so The Key could play another week. Assurance is that Frankenstein will arrive July 17, but what if The Key stayed beyond even that? Theatres were known for promises not kept. My own experience paralleled the Hipp's in Cleveland, also with a Hammer film as prize being dangled. We got A Hard Day's Night in August 1964, a four day booking to be followed by Evil of Frankenstein, which for me was British invasion to be preferred even over the Fab Four. Unexpected were lines for the Beatles unknown since Elvis did Kissin' Cousins. The Liberty gave Frankenstein a heave-ho minus a rain check. I asked and was told "maybe later ... if we can get it," which to me was good as "never, so live with it." A following month was spent with conviction that I'd finish a lifetime without seeing Evil of Frankenstein. Of course, it drifted finally in with other backwash delayed by Beatlemania. I could sleep again, as sometimes I do when occasion arises to revisit Evil of Frankenstein.
17 Comments:
Once upon a time there were theater companies like San Jose Civic Light Opera, semi-pro operations that would stage Broadway musicals. Casts would be largely local, with pros in the major parts. Sometimes sets would be rented, traveling the same circuits as the Actors Equity folk.
The drill was that the locals and any less expensive pros would be cast and rehearsed for a month or two with understudies in the star parts. Then the stars would arrive maybe a week before opening to be plugged in. Evidently they all had portfolios of shows they knew well enough to prep with minimal rehearsal, perhaps tweaking the local staging to fit their polished performance.
SJCLO would often book at least one marketable name per show. Joanne Worley in "Mame", Ken Barry in "George M", Van Johnson in "Damn Yankees", Noel Harrison in "Camelot", etc.
And now the point: Top-billed in a 1980s staging of "Brigadoon" was John Carradine, in the small but important part of the schoolmaster who explains the miracle.
For his one big scene he rode a large piece of scenery onstage, remained seated throughout, and rode offstage afterwards. Later he spoke at a village fest, walking around but with another actor close by to steer him. And yes, he wore a kilt.
Wondering if productions of "Brigadoon" were a regular gig for Carradine, and whether he had other stage roles to fill gaps in his schedule.
Wonder how accessible Carradine would have been to fans that wanted to go backstage and meet him. I would surely have been among them.
As many of your readers will know, Anthony Dexter actually made his film debut playing Valentino in the 1951 Columbia biopic called (not too surprisingly) “Valentino”. Producer Edward Small gave the project a plush Technicolor production that included two beautiful and accomplished leading ladies (Eleanor Parker and Patricia Medina). Much was made of Dexter’s uncanny resemblance to the silent star. Plans were announced for him to star in a remake of Valentino’s “The Sheik”. But box-office results for “Valentino” were below expectations and the second project was quietly cancelled.
Though the film’s not widely remembered today, Dexter’s second Columbia release, “The Brigand” (1952) Is a great favorite of mine. It’s a swashbuckler that reworks themes from “The Prisoner of Zenda” (with Dexter playing both a monarch and his lookalike). Everything in this Saturday matinee adventure/romance just works for me. Dexter is much more relaxed and personable than he’d been in “Valentino” and strikes a nice balance carrying off the dual roles). The pace is zippy, color and costumes are eye filling. Jody Lawrance and Gale Robbins (whose careers are now just 50’s footnotes) deliver splendidly as both actresses and lookers. Dexter even performs an impressive dance with Robbins that’s better than any of the dancing he did in “Valentino”. And to top things off, Anthony Quinn supplies some dandy villainy. I’ve watched and enjoyed this movie many times over the years. And – for me – it just never wears out its welcome.
After his movie career petered out, Dexter did occasional stage work including, I believe, a California production of “The King and I” with Marsha Hunt.
And – again as some of your readers may know – Dexter eventually left show business and became (under the name, Walter Craig) a high school English teacher. Few of his students ever knew the man had a Hollywood past.
Wonder if teacher Walter Craig got testy where busted by kids for his filmic past, much as how Priscilla Call (nee Lyon) reacted where we'd ask about her once being a Little Rascal.
Coincidentally, Robert Carradine, the youngest son of John Carradine, passed away February 23 at age 71.
Dan Mercer ponders Anthony Dexter and AI (Part One):
The joke behind a purported AI "Fire Maidens from Outer Space" must be the resemblance of Anthony Dexter to Rudolph Valentino. Only AI could have duplicated the iconic image of the "Great Lover" so well, yet in 1955, when the movie was made, a warehouse full of analog computer equipment had less--much less--processing power than a smartphone today. So that resemblance, uncanny as it was, must have been the product of genetic chance, something that the parents of Walter Rheinhold Alfred Fleischman, in time to be rechristened Anthony John Dexter, could not have anticipated.
Had he merely posed before the camera, Dexter would have seemingly been a duplicate of Valentino. Unfortunately, he also had to move and speak--he had to be--and for those familiar with Valentino--or at any rate, his legend--it was apparent that Dexter was no Valentino. He had a good voice, low and well modulated, and was a graceful dancer in his own right. That right was forfeited, however, the moment he appeared as Valentino, for thereafter he would always be someone who so looked like the great star, remarkably so, but had not the same grace or charisma. He could not attract the eyes of the audience, then, without at the same time disappointing them. It would haunt his career and eventually bring it to an end.
AI, however, is becoming less and less of a joke. YouTube and Instagram are beginning to fill with examples of animated work created with that process. Many are movies and some are deliberately crafted to look like horror movies made during the 1950s, the images black and white, the plot and dialog garish or weird. The actors look very real, though like no one in particular. Instead, there is a generic quality to them, as though there was a chart of qualities for the typical fifties leading man--square jaw, wavy hair, good build--or leading lady--blonde of brunette, upturned nose, full lips, good figure, nice legs--and the technician behind the board need only assemble them into a character, like the identikits police used to use in creating the composite sketch of a suspect.
Part Two from Dan Mercer:
It requires no reach of the imagination to consider reincarnating genuine movie stars through AI. I was introduced to an astonishing AI version of John Gilbert, the image and voice based on how he appeared in films, and what he said on a series of articles he'd written for "Photoplay" concerning his career in Hollywood. At the time they were written, Gilbert was still riding high in tinsel city, so he was in what might be called a "manic" phase, though not without a more than casual reflection on how he'd gotten to where he was. He did not actually write them himself, in the sense of putting pen or pencil to paper, but rather spoke aloud so that a stenographer could transcribe his remarks, which would later be edited. As such, they were perfectly suited to this AI exercise, in that there was already a conversational quality to them. This was heightened in the actual production, with the Gilbert simulacrum pausing from time to time and looking away, as though collecting his thoughts. His voice rose and fell, sometimes whispered, sometimes sang, all the while creating a convincing illusion that this was no mere mechanical contrivance but the man himself. And why should that not be? The words were his and perhaps, in what he remembered or hoped for, there was some echo of his soul.
A Gilbert recreation is one thing, but that of a Gable or Cooper...or even Bela Lugosi, something else. Star images have a continuing commercial value which may be held by those with an interest in preserving the benefits accruing to them from that value. Exploiting them through AI would require negotiation leading to permission, and yet I believe that we're already seeing is the first manifestations of this process in commercials for certain products. It wouldn't be out of the ordinary if old stars began appear in new AI movies. Indeed, I imagine that within our own lifetimes, this will become a commonplace. What then? No doubt there will be a blend of old Hollywood and new, with a rising young star finding himself in a production with an old pro like Spencer Tracy or James Cagney, and later recounting on the talk show circuit promoting the film how useful it was for him to take lessons from his betters and modulate his performance to fit in with theirs.
There will have to be a certain artistic verisimilitude, however, for it will not be enough for the AI recreation of the star merely to look or sound like him. There will have to be something else--something that was elusive even in the star's own lifetime, as in the efforts of studios to find, for example, another Gable--that made him unique. Otherwise, we should only repeat past experience, in trying to recreate Valentino but ending up with Anthony Dexter.
Even before AI, CGI supercharged Hollywood's existing knack for replacing faces, voices, and body parts. Vintage examples: Herbert Marshall's artificial leg and Harold Lloyd's damaged hand were concealed by old school trickery, while Leslie Banks would artfully emphasize different sides of his face -- one side handsome, one side disfigured in WWI -- depending on what kind of character he was playing. Dubbing, doubling, editing, and optical work made nearly all things possible. Recalling the film "Cocoon", in which elderly stars were given Olympic endurance by fitting together numerous less-taxing takes.
Now actors can be completely transformed into creatures, musclebound superheroes in impossible costumes or armor, impressively younger / older versions of themselves, or totally digital avatars to do stunts, dancing, or God help us, actual acting. Also, quaint but highly effective matte paintings and miniatures largely gave way to photorealistic imagery. Ironically, CGI effects become boring in their realism, and unconvincing when outrageous scale declares we're looking at digital artifice rather than anything existent -- even as a false front -- in reality.
Ray Harryhausen's creations were never entirely literal. They were heightened reality -- magical, if you will -- and they convinced without denying what they were. Likewise stagecraft, animation, puppetry, or an impressionist doing voices live. It would be a shame if film and other arts lost that magic because AI made fake reality so cheap and easy.
Interesting that for all of progress AI and CGI represent, they cannot supersede, let alone cancel out, what Ray Harryhausen achieved with his table-top, stop motion fx.
Phil Smoot stops in with some observations:
John Carradine is at this best in "Tarzan the Magnificent" - - Perfect! - - And Jock Mahoney is top notch too.
The only thing missing in that film is Tarzan's yell - - It was spot-on perfect in the previous film, but omitted here.
Don't know why.
It would have made Magnificent as great as "Tarzan's Greatest Adventure".
(As they just had a 15% off deal, I ordered "Tarzan and His Mate" from Movies Unlimited - - Should be here in a few days packaged with "Narrow Margin" and "The Verdict" - -
Do you think George Feltenstein can conjure up any Vampire bats for "Tarzan Escapes" ?)
Oh, missing "The Revenge of Frankenstein" would sting! Glad it did come to my town - -
I'm wondering if the promised disc from Hammer this year can top the PowerHouse/Indicator Blu-ray . . .
I would be surprised, but would be beautiful if they can.
I recently broke down and purchased the Hammer Blu-ray of "Captain Kronos: Vampire Hunter", and it does make all previous releases useless. A spectacular presentation of that little film.
- Phil
I was away at college when John Carradine showed up in my hometown with a bunch of other once-weres and never-wases in a travelling vaudeville-type show put on by Roy Radin (later whacked by the mob, I believe). My mother saw it with the rest of the town's population, and loved it -- especially Carradine, who recited Shakespeare for a few minutes.
I share DBenson's pleasure in the kind of reality created by old Hollywood techniques now seemingly superseded by the CGI or AI effects. My guess is that the difference--as, for example, in the "magical" reality of Ray Harryhausen's stop motion animation he noted--is found in way light is captured by analog processes as opposed to the illusion of light in digital ones. I noticed it for the first time watching "Toy Story" with my young son. The scenes appeared brightly lit, yet I seemed starved for the light. It was as though the brightness invited me to take a deep breath when there was no air to breathe. Later, seeing a film like "Gladiator," which I rather enjoyed, I could not watch the vast CGI settings without being aware of how much more convincing the vast sets of "Fall of the Roman Empire" were, baking under the bright sun over Bronson City. The techniques of old Hollywood created images based on reflected light, whether of the sun or various kinds of lamps. Even when such films are digitally transcribed, the code captures that light. In CGI, AI, or other digital techniques, however, the light itself is a code, not something that exists apart from that code. Hence, our eyes, which were intended to see by light of day or night--that is, by the light of the sun or the moon or the stars--as such light is reflected from objects and gives them form and color, strain within this other visual medium for a something which does not exist. Thus, the appearance of reality in digital processes also betrays their essential unreality, in that they do not exist under the light of the reality we know.
Missing EVIL OF FRANKENSTEIN must have been a heart breaker. I did catch it first run with my buddy Dave Mueller on my 13th birthday. I loved EVIL with its Technicolored shoe box head monster but Dave greatly preferred the black and white second feature NIGHTMARE, one of those Jimmy Sangster scripted corkscrew-mystery-dressed-up-like-a-horror-movie things. Alas, time seems to have vindicated my childhood friend's critical preference.
Also caught HARD DAY'S NIGHT on a first run matinee, of which my most vivid memory is the audience being showered with hundreds of Beatle trading cards from suspended ceiling nets.
EVIL OF FRANKENSTEIN did show up a month or so after its initial scheduled date, playing two weekdays as a single. We unfortunately did not get NIGHTMARE at all, this a minor Hammer perhaps, but a Hammer all the same.
Ha, ha! Well I really do think many of those BW Hammer second features hold up now better than the top billed color sequels. Think SCREAM OF FEAR, THE SNORKEL, PARANOIAC and such. And, yeah, NIGHTMARE.
On Ken's recommendation ordered the DVD (a no-frills but nice official release, available on Amazon). Visibly thrifty but it IS fun, one of the better Columbia Bs and competitive with Universal's Montez / Hall / Sabu series. Amusing that it starts in the desert, introducing Dexter as a Valentino-like captain of the Sheik's guards before packing him off to Napoleonic intrigues in a Spanish-flavored kingdom. Also amusing that the main title card emphatically declares it was "Inspired by the Alexandre Dumas Story", when so much is blatantly "The Prisoner of Zenda" rather than Dumas (Was "Zenda" still under copyright?).
Thanks, Donald and Ken. I had planned to order the Columbia DVD after reading both your comments, then checked downstairs just in case ... sure enough, there it was, and unwatched despite being here for at least fifteen years. So now I have something to look forward to, possibly later today.
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