Parkland Picks with Popcorn #8

 

Pop Goes: Three Men in White, The Spider, and The Las Vegas Story

THREE MEN IN WHITE (1944) --- Three Men in White stood for what Metro meant to accomplish with all their product … “a solid guarantee of good entertainment for the whole family,” good in italics for assurance that yes, here “drama is keen, exciting … but this is not heavy nor serious drama.” Might such be credo for all Leo did, all of what Hollywood ideally did? “The lightest fastest, funniest, most bubbling story … Dr. Gillespie has ever become involved in.” I belabor these quotes from trade publication The Lion’s Share to show what amusement, particularly wartime amusement, was meant to accomplish. The Gillespies like all series, certainly those from MGM like Andy Hardy, Maisie, the Thin Man, Tarzan … were soft upholstery, predictable in ways radio “drama” was and television in a future would be. Gillespies revolved around medicine, all afflictions addressed and cured within ninety minutes, no suffering acute or unfixable. I don’t recall anyone perishing at Blair Hospital, would note tragic end for Laraine Day as Dr. Kildare’s wife-to-be, which surely was disorienting as would be Lew Ayres’ exit from the series soon after. Lionel Barrymore’s function was to console as well as amuse, a voice to assure that illness, indeed war, would pass. He will mentor the young, resolve their doubts, counsel their romances, Gillespie a guiding light through uncertain times. Here too was era of doctors driven by instinct rather than corporate and insurance carrier protocol. I don’t know when trusted and veteran faces were more vital to films. Barrymore broadcasted from firesides not unlike what Roosevelt spoke from, as would Charles Laughton, latter on marathon duty to sell bonds as were others a public knew and trusted in many instance since youth. A dose of Lionel Barrymore as Gillespie was tonic sure as what real medicos offered. At Blair Hospital, every malady had its cure.

Blair’s was revolving door for Metro stars in making. Much learning of craft went on here. Van Johnson had been in a dreadful car crash that nearly took the top of his head off but came back to studio applause and what sage Lionel called fresh-won skills as an actor, him knowing wisdom forged from hardship. Young players finding their wings, as here with Johnson and newcomer support Ava Gardner, was ongoing to the series, auditioning for us who would judge star potential. Fans could/did determine careers, no personality force-fed, at least not for long. Marilyn Maxwell for Three Men in White suggested another Lana Turner, that not to be, so Marilyn drifted eventually away, as must all whose dream goes unfulfilled. There were numerous of these in/out of MGM, post-career the fruit of whatever momentum they accumulated while there, Maxwell, James Craig, Tom Drake, all instance of this. 1957’s The Cyclops has latter two clinging to residue of polish applied at Metro. We could wonder why Van Johnson and not James Craig, but what was stardom other than an intangible, chance-driven process? Van courts Marilyn Maxwell by constantly ducking her advances, his “Aye, Yai, Yai” at her persistence itself too persistent. Was this calculated to increase Johnson’s femme following? It escapes me how, assuming that was intent. For the record, “Aye, Yai, Yai” was an expression akin to “oh boy” denoting excitement, frustration, or attraction. I don’t envision it coming back to vogue any time soon. Three Men in White after two Gillespie chapters to build suspense reveals who Barrymore’s new assistant will be, Van Johnson or Keye Luke, both youngsters having established following, Luke especial when he draws a chart to demonstrate a medical problem for Dr. Gillespie and we get glimpse of art background Keye Luke came from prior to acting. Three Men in White is available from Warner Archive in a set with other Gillespies.

THE SPIDER (1958) --- Misses greatness achieved by Tarantula, which sort of ruined us for giant spiders after 1955. Bert I. Gordon was brain behind this, him congenial with AIP worldview and a cut-rate master of special effects that really looked cut-rate, part after all of Bert’s charm. Here’s a secret of why sci-fi appealed to teens: So many used them for ID figures, sighting aliens or monsters and being doubted by grown-ups until threats become real and adults realize they were wrong not to take the word of their offspring. Note that at AIP at least it was often youth that routed other-worldlies, so maybe we should give them a better listen next time. The Spider at 73 minutes gets right on with scares, the monster attacking within moments of the title. AIP doubled this with The Brain Eaters, the two near point where Jim Nicholson realized black-and-white pairs were on ways out and said so to an exhibitor conclave. The Spider did AIP’s best B/W sci-fi business since The Day the World Ended, a surprising $374K in tills. There was speculation that AI’s Spider fed off sensation of Fox’s Fly, both infesting summer 1958 theatres. Some of The Spider was shot at Bronson Caves where monsters dwelt before. What a convenient filming site this proved to be. Atmosphere was supplied also by Carlsbad Caverns National Park in New Mexico, a special credit to that effect, but close inspection, in fact it needn't even be close, reveals still images of the caverns were used with actors superimposed in front of them, more instance of Bert Gordon movie magic. I like how the giant spider is parked in a high school gym where kids rehearse their rock and roll band before the creature awakens and frightens them out. The Spider stayed available to theatres for years past ‘58 release, even after TV got it in 1964-65, being a title I’d see listed often at drive-ins and kiddie shows in Winston-Salem, for which I was years later told by an exhibitor there that rental for AIP oldies hovered usually around fifteen to twenty dollars. Seems hardly enough to cover expense of delivery.

THE LAS VEGAS STORY (1952) --- Of quaint era when Vegas was still a small town easily managed by a sheriff like Jay C. Flippen and deputy Victor Mature, this being casinos case where “outside interests” maintained rigorous law/order all their own. Later treatments like Bugsy and Casino explained those truths and we can wonder if tourists, gamblers, civilians, were safer on streets in Las Vegas than in other busy burgs of the time. Was this unique instance of law enforcement by private, as in very private, enterprise? I need to read more about history of the town, and whether it is so transformed now as surface suggests. Does it remain “Disneyfied” now that the Disney model itself has collapsed? The Las Vegas Story is reshuffle off His Kind of Woman deck, Mature rather than Mitchum, Jane Russell back, Vincent Price her husband now rather than paramour. Howard Hughes liked familiars. He especially enjoyed Price in all of works, putting him again to menace Mature in two years' later Dangerous Mission! (not me but the title with an exclamation mark) I enjoy Hughes’ cracked mindset and each familiar aspect of The Las Vegas Story, at least here was break from Mexico as a location, question being what ownership interests did Hughes have in Vegas? I know later he lived there in secrecy at a hotel he owned. Did HH enter casinos in disguise and mingle among guests? Probably not as he was so paranoid about germs. There seems little evidence of Hughes tampering with The Las Vegas Story after director Robert Stevenson completed it, this not to be confirmed what with RKO records locked up and inaccessible. Victor Mature was, with Mitchum, a most reliable leading man the company had. What with casting of both, they could have, probably did, swap parts right up to moment of shooting on one or other of respective vehicles. It was types they played that merged, pleasingly so for my watching, as who’s around now of Mitchum-Mature stripe? Final inquiry: Would Terry Moore have dared claim previous marriage to Hughes had he still been alive? I get a feeling he could be a dangerous guy if seriously crossed, a sort of real-life Blofeld where circumstance called for Blofeld solution to problems.

Film Noir #32

 

Noir: Crime in the Streets, The Crimson Kimono, and Criss Cross

CRIME IN THE STREETS (1956) --- Again a thesis movie, amusement sacrificed on the altar of preachment. The Dead End Kids did these better, and had Bogart or Jim Cagney for grown-ups to ID with. Reginald Rose wrote Crime in the Streets for television. Maybe it got by easier there just for being shorter, and besides, big heads shouting at home jangled nerves less than bigger ones doing so from theatre screens. Director Don Siegel checked baggage Rose delivered and made necessary trims, Crime in the Streets a movie after all rather than lecture off a ten-inch lectern. Rose objected, but Siegel was boss, thus a film we may assume was improvement upon the tube version. All was built and executed at rented Goldwyn facilities but for a rumble opening shot outdoors, also at Goldwyn. Allied Artists would release during a youth problem cycle forged upon hit momentum of Rebel Without a Cause and Blackboard Jungle. Rock and roll could ease burden of less earnest treatment, but Crime in the Streets was earnest, and so used Franz Waxman to score rather than relying on disassociated platters. John Cassavetes had his debut here, magnetic from a screen start even though playing an utter crumb of a wayward kid “born to be hung” as they used to say of J.D.’s from eras back to Billy the Kid. Much of Cassavetes can’t help being funny now, Don’t touch me! Don’t ever touch me! repeated enough to qualify for anyone’s nightclub impression. Being set bound for whole of the show plays less well than what worked for Dead End in 1937, but Crime in the Streets was a trim craft and there probably wasn’t money to enable street shooting. Among support is Sal Mineo in early incarnation of tortured boy, named “Baby” here, his eyes twin pools of suffering. Mineo was plenty good but suffered himself for too brief a shelf life, suddenly not wanted anymore (so he would recall) even after critic acclaim and Academy nomination for work done in the early sixties. A first truth taught to virtually all actors was life never being fair. Should juvenile drama be labeled noir? Perhaps not, but Warners put Crime in the Streets into one of their DVD grab bags, so I’ll play along.

THE CRIMSON KIMONO (1959) --- Samuel Fuller sometimes fired off a pistol rather than yell Cut on location. For young males intent on a career directing, from where came higher endorsement? Fuller lived the maverick life of making movies in all forward and back sense … writing, producing, megging, doing on-camera trailers as “Sam” of uncompromising breed that was largely gone even as he soldiered on. I don’t wonder he had devoted following among starter-outs in the 80’s, into 90’s, right till Fuller passed in 1997, his typewriter clacking to the finish. He was accessible and adored. Documentaries have been made on his life and career. His films are considered a best of their sort, which was mostly war, crime, bizarre topics, especially by the sixties when he went way off walls with things like The Naked Kiss and one that played our Liberty late show only, Shock Corridor, which I really wanted to go see for thinking it was a horror film, which it kind of was but not in the way I might enjoy in 1963. Just as well parents forbade my late attendance (single unspool at 9:30 PM, then back on the Charlotte Observer newspaper delivery truck where all prints went in/out of our town, more than appropriate mode of ingress/egress for Sam Fuller reels). The Crimson Kimono was sold on trashy terms, Columbia posters never attractive whatever content, but these made much of pairing between Victoria Shaw and James Shigeta, exploitative as in wait till you see them kiss, but Fuller didn’t mean his story to be received that way, had no say in any case, for what director could influence selling apart from Hitchcock, DeMille, precious few others? Forbidden love engages Fuller maybe more than the murder hunt Shigeta and detective partner Glenn Corbett engage.

Victim is a strip dancer called “Sugar Torch,” so merchandising could go all types of sleazy direction, The Crimson Kimono better bound for lower placement on bills and early forfeit to television. Its discovery by Fuller fanbase and noir listers amounts to rescue and assurance that what began as minor product should thrive forever on auteur and cult shelves. There was no denying such status for Fuller, as no word of his writing reflected other than a singular vision of life and people. Having been on newspapers from age 12 and experienced worst of the war, Fuller had nervous energy to write all night and direct all day, provided they'd let him, which too often was not the case, would-be projects fallen by the boards for not enough financial or moral support. Of course, that’s the story for most filmmakers, especially independents like Fuller, but there were periods when he was backed, notably in the fifties when Zanuck lent a continuing hand and enabled Fuller to make one fine film after another. Wish it could have lasted, but nothing does in an industry rocked by constant change. As Zanuck went from Fox, so went Fuller. The ninety-ten rule that applies to life goes especially here (as in ninety percent of what you want, you won’t get). What I noted about The Crimson Kimono this time was how sharply edited it was, plus dialogue eccentric as ever, terrific atmosphere shot around L.A.’s “Little Tokyo,” Fuller detailing Japanese culture as practiced stateside. There is emphasis on martial arts, so much so that I wish he could have revisited the theme in the seventies when a cycle of such pictures became popular. The fact Fuller films are unpredictable is what makes them easy to revisit. Even if you recall the essential story, details are what grab for repeat rides. There are You Tubes where Fuller’s daughter guides us through her father’s work room, still maintained and all his effects there. Families are what keep many great names alive, and it’s good Samantha Fuller is here to do that job. The Crimson Kimono can be had on Blu-Ray from Twilight Time with good extras.

CRISS CROSS (1949) --- Among grimmest of born loser noirs, Criss Cross is snappy but doesn't amuse, is actionful, but in disquieting ways. Noirs were about serious business but are more fun for increasing distance between our time and theirs. Criss Cross is an exception for pitiless reveal of hard lucks who come to messy finish, no mercy for the doomed nor us with one of the darkest fades ever in noir. Criss Cross had been set for Mark Hellinger's next after the producer's sensational triad for Universal release, The Killers, Naked City, and Brute Force, but Hellinger died suddenly, and properties in development, including Criss Cross, were sold by the estate. Packaging included the story plus services of Burt Lancaster, who had been pledged to Hellinger and did two for the producer. Direction was again with Robert Siodmak, he having come up Universal ranks earlier in the decade. Criss Cross status maintains mostly because he guided it, The Killers' pattern of a caper gone wrong more/less repeated, here an armored car robbery, it understood that these never succeed unless there's an inside man, which made me wonder if that's true for real life. If so, there was a lot of wasted effort on part of criminality in future noirs where armored stick-ups were tried and failed. Universal taking over the property and doing it in-house meant they could further develop Yvonne DeCarlo, an exotic second to faded Maria Montez, and till Criss Cross a saloon or desert wanderer with Rod Cameron or Tony Martin for consorts. She's the fatale here, but with shadings; we figure this girl wouldn't be altogether bad given plenty of cash and a less moody partner than Lancaster, who by 1949 had got monotonous as continual guy behind eight balls. He really needed rescue of The Flame and The Arrow that would come a following year.

Where Bootlegs are Best #1

 

Boots: The Rider of Death Valley and The Trial of Vivienne Ware

Call them bootleg, black market (discreetly “grey”), stuff of illicit circulation but circulating widely nonetheless. This once was what film collecting was all about. Anyone not dealing contraband was not dealing movies, at least movies collectors wanted. Best brigands in the business are passed now. A number got busted when the FBI was handmaiden to studios. Feds that cleaned out one dealer’s house even took his Castle films, fact those were legit mattering not a whit. Few dealers were stopped by regulations, like Cagney and Robinson flipping Prohibition the bird. Film companies finally realized they could do better joining rather than beating collectors. My first 16mm print in 1972 was Mutiny on the Bounty, the 1935 version, which I got from a vendor who appropriately lived in Death Valley, apropos to today’s topic. Buying unsanctioned discs is Ebay commonplace, and look at what springs up on You Tube hourly. Pirates never had it better, nor viewers to relish their bounty. Such seems an only route to much of what fans long to see, devotees fated to dwell in moral twilight. Where Boots Are Best thus debuts as a series, today’s entry its inaugural.

Lost in a Desert Hell --- Could You Trust Tom To Get You Out?

THE RIDER OF DEATH VALLEY (1932) --- Let’s agree that Tom Mix line readings are … eccentric? Most don’t know Tom from talkies, or at all for that matter. I can think of no bigger star so forgot since his prime, except virtually all of western names once revered by young and old, none more so than Mix, who made enormous money when money was still real money. My back door disc of The Rider of Death Valley came from heaven knows what “liberated” print that for all I know was a same one William K. Everson used for his 2-11-80 NYU class. Everson knew how lucky he was to score that as I am for the DVD slipped my way at a cowboy show back when they still had cowboy shows (all gone, as in not a one left, and if I’m wrong, do brighten my day by telling me so). To whom will it matter that The Rider of Death Valley is lauded best of nine Mix talkies plus his 1935 serial, The Miracle Rider? I’ve written of Mix before, radical gestures considering how obscure he’s become. There are corners of the Internet, and Facebook, to celebrate him. Old-timers I knew, long gone now, waxed eloquent on him. Nobody rode like Mix … that we know … but something about his performing shifts to highest gear once Rider chips go down. He growls lines and acquits like a cobra, his voice dry dust raspy and authentic for one of his wives having shot Tom in the throat (had he left the cap off their toothpaste?). Threshold question then: Is The Rider of Death Valley a good western? I argue yes, and the more so would if only Kino came out with a Mix Blu box (all nine of the Universals --- imagine!). Rider begins in town then shifts to title valley for as stark an account of water deprivation and slow death in the sun as any movie made to then or since. Mix starts off like Randolph Scott in The Tall T, jolly and jokey, until landscape closes in, then he’s determined, intense, utter conviction pouring off him like desert sweat. Water runs out and villain ride-alongs will trade their gold for a sip, but no, Tom has the canteens plus knowing human nature, that is, humans being no d—n good.

He's Stern As Here, and Won't Buckle Under a Punishing Sun

Fun if overdue is seeing bully and badman Fred Kohler in tears chasing after a lake mirage and getting a mouthful of sand, vultures waiting their turn. Powerful image is Mix beating beloved Tony to make the horse go back to his ranch for help, for which Lois Wilson chides Tom till he tells her it’s the first time he ever struck Tony and it’s breaking his heart, but there’s no other way to save their lives. Here’s as intense a desert trek as I ever saw in a film. You wonder if they’ll get out of this. Location work looks miserable as convincingly cracked lips on the cast. Kids should have got purple hearts for getting through The Rider of Death Valley, being raw steak even for 1932 and for adults same as youngsters. Mix takes customary punishment for a man past fifty who’d had his body busted in a hundred ruining ways. Cue the Schine’s Palace in Lockport (but what state?) giving away a Beautiful Live Pony to some lucky kid, whoever he/she was, lucky that is till he/she gets home to Dad who’s just come off a twelve-hour shift at the railroad yard with barely enough poke to feed a wife and five others of brood. How do you suppose he’d react to Junior leading even a free nag up to the door? (nag probably accurate, it unlikely the Schine would be giving away Seabiscuit or his equivalent) Management doubtless took a cussing that day along with return of the animal. Then what? Long since spent milk, but I could wonder how many unwanted pets were handed out at matinees to cause no end of complication at home. You fret for the poor, unwanted beasts gone from pillar to post and no one to finally claim them. Hope this horse was finally a rescue for some person or entity other than glue works. There’s a two-and-a-half-minute segment from The Rider of Death Valley on You Tube that looks better than woebegone boot I have, so maybe there’s hope for improved quality to eventually show up. In the meantime, we make do like Tom with his drying canteen.

Neither a Glowing Prospect, So What's Precode Pin-Up Lillian Bond To Do?

THE TRIAL OF VIVIENNE WARE (1932) --- Long been a hound for You Tube, it being all the television I care to watch anymore. Others seem in accord if statistics are any guide. Celebration of sensation and tabloid style media is timeless theme at YT, it evoking The Trial of Vivienne Ware, humdinger of a precode dug from Fox catacombs years back (late 60’s) by archivist Alex Gordon and put barely into circulation, ignored thanks to barely part. William K. Everson had a 16mm print, ran it at his NYU class, where many a classic was born then regrettably forgot because studios cared too little to share with a wider public. Word of Vivienne worth spread via collector tom-toms and renegade discs spread at shows at which I scored one off a dealer since gathered to reward. The Trial of Vivienne Ware thrills … no … exhilarates, as few of 30’s kin can. What I said about YT and tabloids --- and cue hackneyed the more things change, the more they stay, etc. You Tube videos on any/all topics routinely grab us via clickbait “preview” clips and visual cues outlandish as any front page of the New York Mirror in heady days, The Trial of Vivienne Ware reminding me more of now than then that was 1932. Vivienne Ware is about Joan Bennett put on a fry pan for murder, sharkish radio broadcasters on the scene, mere sheet of glass separating them from courtroom proceedings. Did this go on during the early thirties? I seem to remember Bruno Hauptmann tried publicly. Anyway, there’s footage of him on the witness stand, and at You Tube appropriately. The Trial of Vivienne Ware conducts hearings we’d much enjoy if reality served them so raw, knives thrown at testifiers, witnesses on a verge of exposing a killer shot dead in open court, all stuff of anarchic dreams and reported breathlessly by wireless press. What a circus radio must have been if Vivienne is any guide.

Watch Zasu Here and Realize What a Consummate Actress She Could Be

Skeets Gallagher is the on-air shouter, what we wish modern hosts could more be, while Zazu Pitts is in/out doing sob-sister duty. Her jail cell interview with J. Bennett is about the best scene I ever saw Zazu play, her perfectly capturing what evil media-folk do, but how pleasingly she does it. Zazu surely got her cues from listening lots to everyday radio and giving interpretation the gas. So were her arrows accurate aimed? Don’t fully know cause so little of radio survives from the early thirties, let alone radio capturing other than biggest news of the day, darn little even of that. Listening by 1932 was way of everybody’s life, more so frankly than movies thanks to it being free and baleful preview of strip-mine TV to come. Studios wisely joined this enemy they could not overcome, tie-ins plus investment in the format a result, as look at RKO doing The Phantom of Crestwood after radio set the table, broadcasts essential to the film making sense. Then there was Paramount putting large money into CBS, using personalities from there to garland music and patter comedy revues, International House sterling sample of same. Should I ever get to go back in time, first priority will be to switch on home crystal and hear what wide, wild world of radio was daily about. Till then, there is The Trial of Vivienne Ware to at least suggest power the devil’s box had. Maybe I should be glad to have been reared on television despite numbing overall effect of a lifetime exposed to that. And now it’s scanning, streaming, Artificial Intelligence --- is it misnomer to call any intelligence artificial? What there is of human intellect we’d like to think is real, but if we’re all so subject to being fooled by AI, well … the future looks uncertain indeed. And here I am wondering when someone will rescue Vivienne Ware and put her before a wider viewership. Might as well stay vested in trivialities and let an alarming world go by. I sing praise for The Trial of Vivienne Ware because hang it all, this should be seen and is, in event you know the right outlaws or shadier avenues online. Not that owners care to protect such piddling asset, and besides, in a couple years it will be Public Domain.

Role Models for Males Apply Here ...

 

I'm All Walled Up Inside, But Thanks for the Coffee, Ma'am

Line Up Stoics, Sigmas, and Self-Reliers

Watch You Tube enough and you find out how hot ancient meditators have become. What follows are YT stars to conjure with: Marcus Aurelius, Seneca, Epictetus, plus later lights Machiavelli, Arthur Schopenhauer, Nietzsche, these to light way toward wisdom from times past and more so now. It’s cool to be stoic, to rely mostly if not all on yourself. Ralph Waldo Emerson published his 1814 Self-Reliance essay we could as profitably live by today. Life coaches in the meantime sell tickets to teach us how to comport like Roman generals. To be a Sigma Male they say is to be a wolf among dogs, or better put, sheep. Being indifferent and emotionally unreachable is essence of quest. Let others talk as you stand silent and wait your turn to strike. What’s this to do with films, let alone films older than any of us? Seeing enough You Tube convinces me that Marcus Aurelius invented our Classic Era star system, him and fraternal lot from time of Christ to modern if confused concept of manhood as is, or ideally would be. Who are role models now? A song from fifty years back went, Our Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys. Not now they aren’t, but ho … is it possible philosophers have surpassed film figures as guides for masculine behavior? I read Stoics, observe Sigmas, and think yes, these all speak to me, or at least the strong, silent force I'd like to be. Too late? Maybe for some, but persuaders, influencers as they’re better defined, claim we’ve got stuff to keep a hostile world at bay, so long as we let it out, or better, hold it in. Advice covered in syrup that is flattery. But wasn’t this what role modelling movie stars did all along, and did best?

My Rifle, My Pony, and Me Was All Guys Like Ladd Needed

Still Waiting for This World of Ours (Really Theirs) To Make Wider Way For Me

Artificial Intelligence we pray to says the term “Sigma Male” came into usage during the early 2010’s, being desired alternative to Beta Males, who let others boss them, Gamma Males, who sell brooms for the Lion’s Club and seek to be liked by all/sundry --- then there are Alpha Males, who boss everybody and end up liked by nobody. There are other kinds of Males, but space forfends my listing whole of Greek alphabet. Sigmas are my meat for their being so much like stars in Classic Era’s firmament. Having oft-patterned myself after he-types from then, it’s clear now that Sigma is what I longed to be. Independent … keeps his own counsel … seeks not the approval of others … a loner wolf alert to anyone who’d seize an advantage. Chicks love Sigmas they say. Remember Pee-Wee identifying himself as “a loner and a rebel”? Every man wants to think of himself on rebel if not loner terms. Try watching Ride Lonesome and not projecting onto Randolph Scott. Idea of Sigma men was so appealing that of course they’d have to be certified by popular culture, at least named for purpose of You Tube and online worship. Sigmas are however nothing new. We’ve had them long as there’s been movies … or literature … or tales told by firelight. Sigmas know the score, answer to no one, live entirely off convention’s grid. Corporations can’t own them for they survive nicely whatever their circumstance. Alpha males may get rich and control others, which means they constantly have to deal with others, if only to dominate them. Sigmas go about cool because they dig being isolated. Alan Ladd says in Appointment with Danger that his idea of true love is carrying a .45 that won’t jam. We laugh but also envy his self-possession. If you want to understand Sigma, or be Sigma, go buy or stream Ladd plus others that polished the brand, and know they were popular for understanding What Men Really Want, and Women Too (from their men).

Later, Ruth ... Me and Ward Bond Have Gotta Go Tap Another Well

If Only We Could, Marcus. Please Come Back and Show Us How

As moderation applies to all things, so then do we combine Sigma, Gamma, Beta, even Alpha, to arrive at ideal manhood. Lone wolves are assumed to walk alone, but if that’s true, how come wolves keep being born? Those who preach benefits of Stoic and Sigma are mostly self-helpers selling lifestyles they claim are good for us as they were for the ancients. What Emerson counseled plugs profitably into most any life. What I must do is all that concerns me, not what the people think, he said, a quote as easily emanating from Gary Cooper once he decides to haul nitro in Blowing Wild so he can finance another oil dig. Alan Ladd’s onscreen philosophy was summed up by Emerson thus: It is easy in the world to live after the world’s opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude. Male stars were always for Self-Reliance. Scott, Cooper, Ladd became role models for the simple reason they lived for goals generally short term and let no one interfere with their pursuit. You could summarize Sigma life philosophy in a dozen or less words: Scott will find and kill men responsible for the murder of his wife, Cooper will get cash one way or another to drill another hole, Ladd will go undercover and root out mail robbers, simplest objective always the better. We watch these men’s behavior and are happily guided by them.

Good Job, Bogie, But Let's Not Make a Habit of Roles Like This ...

The Next One He Did ... and Back at Familiar Work We Hired Him For

YT coaches tell Sigma candidates things they long to hear, cats  stroked when influencers speak. Who wouldn’t plug themselves into these: In a world of puppets, Sigmas cut the string … Instead of reacting, they absorb … People want you to be predictable, but you will always confound them. Check, check, and check --- That’s me, we’d all say. Swap your impotence for virility reclaimed. Folks imagine this to be fresh phenomenon, but frustration modern men feel go far back as Adam, movie salve a same since film got hold 125 years back and counting. Did pioneering Sigmas begin with strong, silent, and alone William S. Hart? That alone part is price Sigmas must ultimately pay. Might “loser” more describe those who’d elect always to isolate? Movies have done good giving boys and men worthwhile examples to follow. Many were those in maturity who’d lament passing of heroes adopted in youth. Ones less given to fan following were more subtly coopted. See/hear enough of any charismatic face and voice and chances are you’ll imitate him. How else did I get to be the youngest Basil Rathbone on my street? As narrative and character developed on film, there came shading by idols, effect sometimes unintended, this where good enough actors left singular impression upon men and boys who went expecting one thing and got something else. To ponder work of favorites is to realize they early adapted Sigma, widening range an option open to personas that projected strongest, result sometimes gone sideways and leaving us to wonder whether this is a man we’d like to emulate … or not.

That Stuff's Priceless!, Warns Offscreen Waldo to Laser-Focused Mark McPherson

Where Being Sigma Costs Lives and Property, Especially in Wartime. Slow Down, Jim!

Cary and His Childlike Crew. He Alone Knows Tokyo is Their Objective

Consider then Sigma performances and spot which were default setting for actors playing them. Some roles were so definitive as to sum up and represent the stance from there forward. Humphrey Bogart is decisively Sigma in The Maltese Falcon and then Casablanca, but would himself crack the mold to, if nothing else, show he could: Treasure of the Sierra Madre, The African Queen, The Caine Mutiny … would these disappoint ones who appointed him their life guide? Note a once thriving Bogart cult citing latters as less essential to revive, because who wants to grow up and be Fred C. Dobbs, Charlie Allnutt, or Captain Queeg? Bogart into his fifties would be less convincingly Sigma, returns to old Bogie form a matter of being an “official” hero who would support status quo of law enforcing (The Enforcer), or crime-busting journalism (Deadline USA). Sigmas being goal-focused to exclusion of all else could be romantic and a thing to aspire to, or distinctly neither of these. Consider Dana Andrews as Mark McPherson … we know he’ll end up with Gene Tierney’s Laura once she turns out to be still alive. Mark had a past relationship that he dumped for the gal pushing too much to marry, Sigmas sensing such as signal to back off. McPherson’s diligence on the job will put him at odds with a mainstream, attractively so in a long run, at least in Laura’s view, but what of the Sigma male too alienated from normal course of life. Laird Cregar in I Wake Up Screaming was an extreme example, Betty Grable asking him how anyone can get along without relationships, human contact of any kind, to which he softly replies, It can be done. That Laird turns out to be near psychotic comes as no surprise.

These Boys Badly Need to Settle Their Personal Fued Before Germans Start Dropping Ashcans on Them

Sigma behavior gone a bridge too far is explored by James Cagney in Captains of the Clouds, his “Brian MacLean” me-first to frightening degree. If there is screen argument against Sigma Males, Captains of the Clouds is it. Brian is capable and successful at lone wolfing way through civilian bush piloting, but can’t adjust himself to any cooperative effort, let alone team-play necessitated by war. That Brian must die for his self-centered recklessness is understood, him better off dead than to muck up combat effort on behalf of the Royal Canadian Air Force. Independence for which we applauded Sigmas had to be suspended in favor of Allied wartime effort. John Garfield is resentful that he’s washed out of flight training in Air Force, senior captain John Ridgely, stable and married qualifying him to lead Garfield and crew to victory in the Pacific. Ridgely is seasoned by experience, thus ideal to command. Cary Grant with a wife and child left behind will sail his sub to enemy shore for the Allied effort in Destination Tokyo, conduct anything but an expression of Sigma values. Devoted husband in civilian life Raymond Massey pauses all that to skipper a Merchant Marine vessel for Action in the North Atlantic, second-in-command Humphrey Bogart the Sigma who is that way in part because he’ll not lead where given an opportunity, preferring instead a footloose and non-committing lifestyle, that a less appealing option now that our freedoms were under threat. Where sub Captain and First Officer argue over a girl back in New London ... well, that could jeopardize a mission, like Dana Andrews and Tyrone Power at loggerheads in Crash Dive. Clark Gable won’t give up Sigma ways till island invasion he's smack in a middle of, Somewhere I’ll Find You being account of one Sigma who’ll fight for the team whether he wants to or not. Even Alan Ladd will forfeit Sigma stripes where Nippon perfidy pushes him past boiling point in China. Film Noir after the war would do much to restore men’s natural inclination to go it alone, thus Ladd and others back to lone pursuits per customary.

Pat Hendry Understands That to Lead Is To Do So Sans Baggage --- Will Sassy/Saucy Nikki Change His Mind?

Smug Townfolk Look On Approvingly at a Safely Gelded Jeff Webster (James Stewart)

Urban dwelling was best done by oneself. Even with badges, Sigmas went largely solo. Dennis O’Keefe in T-Men knows any man weighted by family and domestic duties dies hard in the face of harsh reality, a lesson undercover partner Alfred Ryder learns at expense of his life. Kenneth Tobey is effective where protecting us from Arctic alien invasion but might be less so should he settle down with Margaret Sheridan. What’s a Sigma to do? The Thing’s teasing conclusion implies he’ll give in, or maybe not. We can have it either way depending on personal preference. James Stewart in The Far Country must be beaten, shot, otherwise outraged, before joining community membership. He’ll belong to them or else, Sigmas in the audience figuring Jim worse off than if felled altogether by villainy. Mid-fifties Sigmas seem at times like overgrown juvenile delinquents, less cool to us for having less control of unattractive impulses. James Dean’s Jett Rink sulks and pouts and throws sucker punches to disappointment of would-be fellow Sigmas, but maybe he was just warning us what might come of such chosen way of life.

If 1966-67 Had a Cooler Example to Follow, I Surely Missed Him

Where Even a Dedicated Sigma Could Never Undo a Grievous Past Mistake

Don't Get Too Close Ingrid, I'm a Married Man. Except He Really Isn't.

A man could turn heavy Sigma for loss sustained offscreen and long ago. Lee Marvin’s “Fardan” in The Professionals had a wife once, but she was cruelly done in by the Mexican army and he has gone it resolutely alone since. It is for Burt Lancaster’s “Dolworth” to explain in fewest words as Sigmas are wont. Water might muddy where a Sigma has committed a bad deed for which there’d be no proper penance, like Paul Newman as Hud Bannon drunkenly responsible for his brother’s death in an auto crack-up. Despite Hud being so indifferently cool otherwise, we cannot forget any more than his estranged father will. Sigmas often floated upon a past that was mild soufflé, nothing to disturb us or them. Cary Grant as Roger Thornhill had a marriage that failed, but so what? He’s Sigma now and liking it. To Catch a Thief gives Cary a reformed thief’s irresistible past plus Single Is the Best Thing philosophy per You Tube imprint above. Indiscreet sees Grant telling Ingrid Bergman he’s married to keep her at safe distance. Grant did ageless Sigma most becomingly, was able to carry it off longer than rival leading men. I could go on about Sigma Males, in fact will in future columns. For my liking of the type and actors that represented it, there could well be a series coming of this, so be warned.