Dream Team of Lloyd, Sturges, and Hughes Commit The Sin of Harold Diddlebock
Stop me if you recognize plowed ground. Remember Moon Mullins having a
friend that worked at National Screen in Charlotte, the one who’d bring hundreds of stills, posters, at a time and hand them over to Moon? One day I
was there and what turns up but a thick file for The Sin of Harold Diddlebock (1946)
and Mad Wednesday (1950), two titles for obviously the same film. This was 1973
and a first-time seeing artifacts from Harold Lloyd’s last, known hitherto from vague mention in a few books and not seen elsewhere. Moon’s stills were half captioned for Diddlebock, the balance for Mad Wednesday. Of course, I wanted them and so traded him cowboy
stuff for the lot. Few years later, a UHF channel in Hickory, oddly up the
boulevard from where Moon lived, bought PD features including The Sin of Harold
Diddlebock, thus a first time seeing it, “seeing” an elastic term for quality, or
lack of, in fact dross served by a broadcaster barely afloat. The Sin of
Harold Diddlebock seemed a thing dredged from ocean’s bottom, but any
old port midst storm, so I watched, checking off against memory of stills Moon had
let me have. I'm past fifty years since, time enough for someone to fix Diddlebock/Wednesday, but so
far none of reclamations have surfaced, though there are viewing opportunities at You Tube
and elsewhere, quality better than I recall, still short
of threshold to make either version worthy of dream team that was Harold Lloyd and
Preston Sturges.
Question of what happens twenty years after you’ve won
the big game would be asked lots more in years to come, being tune so many contemporary
films have played, so Sturges was forward-thinking with Harold Diddlebock, but
how much of patronage cared to know how “Harold Lamb” (now
Diddlebock) from The Freshman turned out? Part of problem awakening memory was The Freshman being long gone from circulation, not for lack of effort on Lloyd’s part
--- he wanted to be seen again. I doubt any writer-director other than Preston Sturges could have enticed
Harold Lloyd back to screens, him doing The Sin of Harold
Diddlebock not for payment, at least in dollars, but to revive his old self in
depth not explored previous. Diddlebock’s drama lay in fact he has lost twenty
years to office drudgery with nothing but pittance saved to show for it. To
restore vim/vigor of past Harold was both men’s goal, difference in going about
this a source of mild tension, but not serious conflict, as Sturges and
Lloyd liked each other too much to fall out. Differing philosophy
might have been expected, the writer-director wanting his dialogue to dominate,
the comedian-star preferring sight humor as had worked over years of silent
popularity. They would compromise in principle, but what we have looks/sounds
more like Sturges than Lloyd. What was liked of old-style Harold would be
reprised, like ledge-hanging updated to frantic newness, Lloyd chained to a
lion and swinging too-fro and many stories up, this all déjà vu for some but as
it turned out, not enough. Difference was Harold having executed former thrills
for real and Diddlebock being faked on a stage and effects driven, good as
technique could manage in 1945-46 (John Fulton pulling strings), but audiences
had lately seen high wiring in The Horn Blows at Midnight,
so nothing truly new there, only further evidence that big studios could manage
trickery far better than independents.
A NEW COMIQUE HAS LANDED --- I’m a babe in comedic woods alongside talent
back of Comique, issue #3 just out and freely accessible online. Bylines represent
best and brightest of slapstick historians, each studying the art since before
men made lunar landing. I’m pleased to know some of them, am impressed by
contribution all have made to this latest number. Cover subject is Lloyd Hamilton,
definitively profiled by Richard M. Roberts. Aside from excellence of his text,
there are stills, ads, all to arrest and most seen, at least by me, for a first time.
Ed Watz continues his personal history of devil incarnate Raymond Rohauer, with
side trips to Buster Keaton, Harry Langdon, the Marx Brothers, each during life
or afterward intersecting with RR. Ed Watz knows whereof he writes for having been
employed by that baddest man. They say worst among us compel the most. Ed
proves it here. There is Louise Fazenda: Forgotten Queen of Slapstick, by Lea Stans. Am I alone for thinking Louise
was kind of attractive during her silent prime? Hal Wallis would apparently
have agreed, as he married Louise and stayed with her for the haul. Polly
Moran (Joanna E. Rapf) and Minta Durfee Arbuckle (Paul Gierucki) are covered
admirably. There’s also Vernon Dent, Buster Keaton in the USSR, Ed Watz
asserting how Bud could be funnier than Lou, plus cherry atop that is a lengthy
letter Stan Laurel wrote to a friend in 1962 where he names his favorite
comics. Comique this time out is 236 pages. I could wish it were a thousand.
10 Comments:
Dan Mercer considers another Howard Hughes project:
Howard Hughes met a very young Faith Domergue at a Hollywood party, became infatuated with her, and made her the star of RKO's thriller, "Vendetta," which is said to have had a "long and troubled production," some four years before it was released in 1950, with an extraordinary cost of $4 million, that would be impossible to recover. The trouble was Hughes himself, who dismissed director after director--including Max Ophuls and Preston Sturges--and extensively reshot the movie, because they weren't bringing out what he saw in her. As ever with Hughes, this suggests obsession rather than anything having to do with objective reality. No camera could have captured what he perceived, unless somehow it could have photographed the images projected in the theater of his mind.
As a physical type, though, she was typical of those woman who gained his interest for a time: a brunette with large eyes and full lips, a voluptuous figure, and a generally exotic appearance. Jane Russell, Jane Greer, and Jean Peters might have been her sisters. "Vendetta" failed critically and at the box office, with Domergue emerging through her various incarnations during the long filming like the shimmering image of a nymph reflected in still water. Her other major RKO production, "Where Danger Lives," had Robert Mitchum possessed by her femme fatale, and was painful to watch for a plot based on his being concussed throughout its running. The rest of her career was given over to B-movies, television work, and inexpensive foreign productions, some which included such cult favorites as "This Island Earth," "Cult of the Cobra," and "It Came from Beneath the Sea." The term "cult favorite" might apply to her as well, suggesting a passionate enthusiasm among a small group for reasons elusive to the great majority of people. As it is, I find her an actress of interest both for her appearance--I well appreciate Hughes' taste in woman--and for the commitment and sincerity she brought even to roles that were not well conceived, in films that sought little beyond a running time. So, I would join with one of her fans from some years ago, who memorably proclaimed, "Keep the faith, baby!"
Faintly recall a newspaper interview where Lloyd said something like, "It was mine up to the barber shop." At the time I figured it was some kind of showbiz jargon, indicating his stake or control of the production. Finally seeing the film in college, there is a definite turn after Harold, suddenly successful and flamboyant, holds court while getting the works in a barber shop. It could almost end there, given a strong wrap-up gag. But that second half is a separate story, almost abandoning what we've seen so far. Harold, sobering up after a binge, finds himself stuck with a negative-worth circus and desperately tries to unload it with a PR gimmick. Subtle echos of "Safety Last", where Harold scores with a publicity stunt, and Sturges's "Christmas in July", where an ad jingle equals fame and fortune. Salesmanship is all.
My own musings would have newly rich and emboldened Harold pursuing the rest of the life he was expecting. Returning to college, perhaps, as a honored (and generous) alumnus whose moment of glory means nothing to young students. Seeking out his original girlfriend, ending happily or not. Or becoming a big business leader, only to realize that aside from the money it's the exact bean-counting drudgery he'd escaped, inspiring him to leap into another invigorating mess.
Perhaps the notion of an old Harold actively chasing his youthful glory was too close to home for Lloyd
First saw The Sin of Harold Diddlebock at the great and beloved Cinestudio on the campus of Trinity College in Hartford, Connecticut sometime in the 70's (and, yes, in 35mm). Can't remember what the second feature was (at the time they always programed a vaguely related second film, usually with a vintage short or cartoon too!) At the time I remember thinking the first third was kind of a wow. That early scene where Lloyd details his unrequited love for all of Frances Ramsden's sisters was a highlight. Not sure I ever saw the original again, although I caught Mad Wednesday a couple of times on AMC decades ago. Now I think I'll track 'er down for a revisit.
This Comique issue looks to be a goldmine!
Strange coincidence you should cover Lloyd in the same week that, out of curiosity, I finally caught up with one of his sound performances in Leo McCarey's screwball boxing comedy The Milky Way. Maybe I've been spoilt by seeing Bringing Up Baby too many times, but I have to say I was decidedly underwhelmed by the awkward, ultimately boring mix of minor slapstick and verbal sparring, although I did enjoy Verree Teasdale's way with a sarcastic jibe. Graham Greene said of Lloyd in his review that he was "amazed at the good fortune of the youngish young man whose only talent is...to serve as a blank wall for other people to scrawl their ideas on".
I agree with DBenson on "Diddlebock" splitting into two unequal, almost separate stories. The film's first half is definitely superior and graced, as Dave K. notes, by Lloyd's lovely monologue on Frances' sisters, one of the best, most poignant things Sturges ever wrote. But for all his merits, Sturges wasn't a master of visual comedy (he tended to bring the camera in too close) and really should have deferred to Lloyd more often during the second half.
Regarding "The Great Moment," the original script can be read in "Four More Screenplays by Preston Sturges," and shows that Sturges had envisioned a more bitterly ironic film, though without the solemnity of the usual great man biopic, and with a more complex structure than the re-edited version. Part of Sturges' break-up with Paramount was because of a change in executives. William Le Baron, the studio's greatest patron of comedy, was replaced by Buddy De Sylva, who did not get along with Sturges. Diane Jacobs' "Christmas in July: The Life and Art of Preston Sturges," by far the best biography of the man, goes into further detail.
I should also note that last year three of Sturges' unfilmed screenplays---"Song of Joy" (a satire of Hollywood), "Nothing Doing" (almost filmed by MGM as a Clark Gable vehicle), and "The Millionairess" (an adaptation of Shaw's play for Katharine Hepburn) were collected and published under the title "O Brother, What Might Have Been." Sounds very appetizing...
Dan Mercer speaks to THE SIN OF HAROLD DIDDLEBOCK (Part One):
In a sense, “The Sin of Harold Dibblebock” is an homage to Harold Lloyd, since it is an extrapolation upon a story and character he created. Little wonder that it ended with a thrill sequence, given that he was known as the “King of Thrill Comedy.” Unlike the thrill sequences in his own films, however, it was obviously filmed on a sound stage before process screens. In films like "Safety Last" and "Feet First," he would have had facades erected on the roofs of tall buildings, with the camera looking past the roof of a building to the streets far below. The use of buildings of various heights would allow him to suggest that his character was climbing ever higher. To achieve the appropriate camera angles meant that he would sometimes be one or two stories above a roof, so there was a degree of risk, though nothing approaching what it would have been, were it not for this technique. With a scene filmed in bright sunlight, the illusion of great height was entirely convincing.
I’ve read that Lloyd and Preston Sturges were friends before “Diddlebock” and remained so afterwards, but during the filming, they had serious artistic differences. What they disagreed about, apart from matters of “business” or where physical comedy might be used, can probably be found in that “thrill sequence.” In Lloyd’s films, he might be playing an aggressive go-getter, a mama’s boy, or a shy naïf, but the circumstances of the story would at last coalesce in some great challenge to him, where the reward would be the love he’d always sought, but which could be gained only if he would rise to the occasion and become the man he should be. The essence of that man would be found in his heroism, allowing him to surmount the danger he faced and, in so doing, prove himself worthy of love.
This was very different from the screwball world Preston Sturges imagined, where his foolish characters controlled nothing, not even themselves, but were playthings for the winds of a fickle fate. It was this kind of world into which Harold Diddlebock emerged, twenty years after the big game. He had been put aside and neglected during those years, but it seemed that this was appropriate, since there was nothing about him that indicated ambition or intelligence. The desperate gallantry displayed in the game apparently found no source in the man himself. And by the end of the film, there was nothing to indicate that he was any different from how he appeared. All the circumstances which propelled the story were occasioned by chance—a drink taken and a stupor in which he did things of consequence—but he couldn’t recall what they were or why he did them.
Part Two from Dan Mercer:
One criticism Lloyd made of the “thrill sequence” was that it didn’t go anywhere. This provides a telling context. In his own films, there was a destination he was fighting to reach--in the thrill comedies, some higher place--and the struggle would be transformative. In “Diddlebock,” the “thrill sequence” was only a continuation of the process of chance. There was no higher place for him to reach, only the ledge of the building along which he and his acquaintances meandered, with the reward another window to go through. Even his survival could not be attributed to any virtue he possessed, but only the contrivance of that celestial being, the screenwriter; which is to say, Preston Sturges himself.
So, the “thrill sequence” was not especially thrilling, given the way it was filmed, and funny only if you find comics shouting before a process screen in mock fear amusing. Likewise, it is in truth less an homage to Lloyd than a satirical take on his films. Given that Sturges brought "Diddlebock" into being supposedly out of his love for Lloyd’s silent films, there is a question as to whether he simply misunderstood them or understood them too well, and decided to do them over again, his way.
Note on "The Freshman": Harold goes to college solely for the social life and his fantasy of being popular, to be achieved by imitating the movies. There are no scenes or even mentions of classrooms and academics; it might as well have been a country club or resort.
Sturges could be commenting on this, but if he is it's almost subliminal: Harold starts work (did he actually finish college?) with a batch of slogans and confidence it will play out the same way; no sign he had any interest in or aptitude for his job. One infers he was waiting for another improbable miracle, like winning the football game despite being an objectively lousy player. Through no real effort he DOES get a fresh miracle in the form of a helpful sidekick and Edgar Kennedy's magic cocktail. And after he squanders it he gets ANOTHER when his failing scheme to unload the circus makes the Ringling Brothers worry enough to buy him out.
The Sin of Harold Diddlebock is a little long, with some scenes dragging in spots. But overall I thought it was pretty funny, with the climax (the lion on the run in Midtown Manhattan) being literally the funniest thing I've ever seen. Literally rolling on the floor, tears in my eyes, absolutely wiped out with laughter. I seem to be the only one who's reacted this way. Can anyone tell me the differences between the original cut and Mad Wednesday?
Dan Mercer considers Diddlebock co-star Frances Ramsden:
It seems odd that more wasn’t made of Frances Ramsden in Hollywood, the disappointment of “The Sin of Harold Diddlebock” aside. She was a Conover model with an unusual look: a thin face with a long, pointed nose, a wide, full-lipped mouth, and piercing eyes beneath thick, expressive eyebrows. Perhaps such a description doesn’t convey it, but she was stunningly beautiful. Probably Poe was correct, at least in this instance, when he wrote that there is no beauty that has not some oddness of proportion. When she was signed by Twentieth Century-Fox, it was said that she was another Rosalind Russell. I find Margaret Sullavan a comparison more apt.
The voice she used in “Diddlebock” was soft and whispery, like a brook burbling over odd stones, the sort of voice that audiences would become more familiar with through Marilyn Monroe, though Ramsden’s suggested a fey intelligence. There was also a naturalness to her acting, flowing with lines and characters and situations like a kind of musical accompaniment. A scene might belong to another actor, but an audience, I think, would want to return it to her.
After "Diddlebock" failed, however, she disappeared from the screen. Possibly it was her approach to living that mitigated against taking a film career all that seriously. The intelligence was there—she studied French and English literature at Harvard’s extension school—but not the purpose. Her beauty, of course, attracted attention without her having to do much about it. During her modeling days, she had two marriages, one to a Swedish musician, the other a French aristocrat and would-be screen writer, each of which might have been amusing for a few days. For “Diddlebock,” she was discovered by Preston Sturges, and co-starred in his life for a few years afterwards. So, maybe the idea of her being in films was something he found more interesting than she did. After that, she married someone else, then was married again to a cousin of Egypt’s King Farouk and found a moveable feast in Europe after Farouk and his court were cast aside. After a while, she tired of it and returned to California, where her life’s trace vanished in social and political dalliances and other expressions of make believe for which the state is known.
The wonderful thing about film, however, is that it captures forever what would otherwise be a fleeting glimpse and reveals what lies not only in that moment, but the moment beyond. So, we have Frances Ramsden on film and can always return to her from our thoughts for confirmation that, indeed, such a one existed.
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