Blowing Out 1973 Candles ...

When Warners Turned Fifty

Warner Bros. threw an anniversary party for themselves in 1973. History went back to 1923 (or somewhere thereabouts) but owner of the pre-49 backlog was United Artists, which meant birthday showings of WB classics would have to be cleared through UA. It had been that way since the mid-fifties when Warners perhaps foolishly (no “perhaps” about it) sold their library outright for ludicrously low $21 million. As Greenbriar and others have said before, the cartoons alone were worth that. So long as viewer eyes still beheld the shield on openings of Warner work, they’d figure it all still belonged to the stripped-down company, which had more lately bartered themselves to a buyer top heavy with parking lots and garages, plus funeral homes and other unappetizing assets. Warners did a lookback to show at festivals, saluting the old but emphasizing the new, in this instance Mame, which was in production and sucking up money as only over-produced musicals could. Heritage was acknowledged by revivals where anyone wanted them. Late shows had used WB oldies long enough to be less enamored by them now, but nostalgia gained ground by the seventies and there was cult interest in some of inventory (Bogart, James Dean, individual titles here and there). The ABC network did honors with a late night (appropriate) celebration of the studio co-hosted by Bette Davis and Jack Benny plus then-WB chief Ted Ashley. I watched the show on that historic ninety-minute December 12 occasion, a Wednesday, getting a jolt when special guest Jack L. Warner (himself) strode out to bandy with Bette. Still not sure if maybe I dreamt it. Principal writer was Tony Thomas, an undoubted benefit, though I was less familiar with him at the time. There’s no trace of this “Wide World of Entertainment” at You Tube, pre-VCR 1973 early for home sitters to record stuff off TV. There is no indication of ABC having repeated it. Of all bizarre broadcasts, here is one I’d dearly want to watch again.

A Rich Book from 1976 and Easy to Find for Cheap from eBay

Can’t recall much detail apart from Bette saying how dreamy Errol Flynn looked. She and J.L. got along OK … it hadn’t been so many years since Dead Ringer. Further peal of anniversary bells came with the release of two record sets, boxes to contain music from past films and/or memorable dialogue exchanges. It all seemed too good to be true, but proof was in the listening, and we had every reason to think old films were indeed on cusp of coming truly back. The Warners library did resurface on TV stations recently hatched on UHF bands, oldies filling primetime hours to compete with major network programming. Our ABC affiliate in High Point surprised watchers by bumping the net’s schedule in favor of WB classics, Channel 8’s weatherman the on-air host and booster. Frank Deal had once tried acting, recalled for a broadcast of Sergeant York how he worked with a small part player in that film. It made a good story, and Channel 8 gave two and a half hours to at least most of Sergeant York. United Artists benefited by circulating the WB back library they owned, on 16 and 35mm. Our wretched College Park Cinema booked Casablanca and while yes, the 35mm looked great, it would also accentuate yards of footage gone with every splice, oodles of those it seemed. The Adventures of Robin Hood came back in 1976 with fresh promotional paper, a one-sheet (at right) more pleasing than the original from 1938 had been. Cherry atop was Little, Brown releasing a coffee table sitter called Here’s Looking at You, Kid: 50 Years of Fighting, Working, and Dreaming at Warner Bros. The writer was James R. Silke, him of dizzying past research plus popular culture pursuits of every sort. He was a graphic designer and drew comic books, lived to ninety-three. Silke had Warners cooperation on his book and interviewed a score of names not otherwise accessible. He used stills I don’t recall seeing elsewhere, presumably got before WB cabinets were rifled by collectors who by the nineties would cream most of studio inventory.

Really Hoping Someone Other Than Just Me Will Remember This Long-Ago Magazine for School-Agers

Producers like Robert Lord and Henry Blanke sat down with Silke. Show me where else these spoke or cooperated with anyone. Warners cleared roads for Silke otherwise shut. Here’s Looking at You, Kid is not a puff job. Bluntness like this you’ll not find in subsequent histories of WB or any studio, rabbits that much more scared since. Silke’s book goes 317 pages, a lot for its being oversized in the bargain. I read the whole thing again last week, a first revisit in decades. Memory suggests it cost twenty-two or twenty-three dollars when new. Our local newsstand unaccountably had it and I knew waiting would see the price knocked down, which sure enough it was (who else in my town would be interested?). That brings me to a paragraph from Silke’s preamble to sort of pour ice water going in: “The Audience remembers the Warner Bros. stars even if it only met them on the pale gray tube late at night in a lonely apartment.” A few years short of a lonely apartment in 1976, I still felt label of loser for caring about topics Silke embarked upon. Was old film exclusive province of the friendless and forlorn? The author implied so, a mainstream caring only where oldies held “camp” promise like Busby Berkeley chorines dancing with electric-lit violins. Those of us more committed stayed so on solitary terms. To watch an old film was to stay up too late, normies' sleep not to be sacrificed for piffle offered at owl hour. We got a monthly magazine in eighth grade called “Scholastic Scope” which actually wasn’t bad and free besides. The February 29, 1968 issue was devoted to “The Story of Movies,” sole reason for my saving it all these years. Ads included Kellogg’s cereal (Win a Guest Role of The Monkees TV Show!) and early Army recruitment (!!), latter relevant as there was still action happening in Viet Nam if any of us hoped to one day get in on it.

I Used to Wonder at Age Fourteen if Viet Nam Would Last Long Enough for Them to Scoop Me Up

Scope’s cine-history was eight pages and did a fair job summing up the so-far story of American film. Nibbling round edge was “Famous Lines from the Movies” kidding cliches gleaned from late nights sat before television in those lonely apartments Silke referenced. He’d not coddle us re past pictures. As Warners “ground out” approximately sixty features per year --- well, how could even half of them be good, and what of these, if any, achieved greatness? Permit detour to a Warner studio tour some of us took in 1989, perky guide showing off a backlot where immortality was daily captured and recorded. Me being know-it-all plus snide toward present days said yes, but look at televised rubbish occupying mock-up streets today. Our hostess who up to then was sunshine itself must have been ready for my remark, her quick to retort: “Bear in mind, sir, that half if not most of movies from the so-called “Golden” age were B at best, the classics always in a minority on a busy lot like Warners.” I shrank smaller than Grant Williams for realizing how right she was, the reproof richly deserved. Even “star” vehicles could be commonplace, good because we’re predisposed to figure any Warners of the era will be good. One seen of late was The Big Shot for middling example of a thing neither special nor especially bad. It was a starring part for Humphrey Bogart after doing High Sierra and The Maltese Falcon except instead of Raoul Walsh or John Huston directing, he got Lewis Seiler. The Big Shot is fun accompany to Here’s Looking at You, Kid. There is Bogart plus pace and tempo unique to WB, music too a decided asset (Adolph Deutsch) and link w/ previous successes, the score oft- salve to shows otherwise ordinary. The Big Shot is blessedly unburdened by expectation that all from Warners must score at Falcon level. Silke’s book understands this and credits output fine as it was under endless pressure that was limited budgets and nonstop stress to begin and finish always on schedule.