“An innocent man has nothing to fear, remember that.”
Alfred Hitchcock was nothing if not a dramatist. He loved taking trivial settings and inundating them with so much tension that something as trivial as delivering a glass of milk or watching a neighbor could be a matter of life or death. He was, after all, the “Master of Suspense.” What then, becomes of Hitchcock when he’s forced to tone down his exaggerated tendencies and tell a true story? The answer can be found in The Wrong Man (1956).
The Wrong Man is an outlier in so many ways. It’s the only Hitchcock film directly based on true events (others took real-life inspiration), the only one to eschew traditional set pieces, and the only one that sees the director’s trademark “mistaken identity” schtick explored to its grimmest and most logical conclusion. The Wrong Man is a devastating viewing experience when stacked against the cheeky thrills of North by Northwest (1959) or the drawing room intrigue of Dial ‘M’ for Murder (1954), and much of it comes down to its film noir ethos.
A lobby card featuring a deleted scene (and cameo from Hitchcock.)
Hitchcock and noir ran adjacently for the 1940s and 50s. They only occasionally overlapped, and when they did, a la Shadow of a Doubt (1943) or Strangers on a Train (1951), they still gave audiences a vicarious jolt. They may have had the window dressing of film noir, but they were thrillers at heart. The Wrong Man bucked this trend. It was Hitchcock embracing the unremittingly bleak, and it holds up remarkably well for being one of his less-celebrated releases.
The film revolves around Manny Balestrero (Henry Fonda), a jazz musician who never quite hit the big time. He carves out a meager living at the Stork Club in New York, but he still needs an influx of cash if he’s going to help his wife Rose (Vera Miles) pay for a dental procedure. He visits an insurance company with the hopes of finessing a deal, but while there, he gets identified as the man who robbed the company twice before. He’s taken into custody by the end of the night.
Henry Fonda dazzles in his only Hitchcock collaboration.
Manny’s arrest is among the most terrifying sequences in Hitchcock’s entire career. There are no stabbings or sudden bird attacks, but the depiction of his booking, fingerprinting, and subsequent incarceration is so unflinching that it borders on cruelty. We’re forced to sit and watch as Manny (and Fonda, one of our most beloved American actors) is treated like a common hood, even though we know he’s innocent. It’s maddening, and the film knows it.
Fonda is mesmerizing in what turned out to be his only Hitchcock collaboration. He radiates a put-upon decency from the moment he enters the frame, and the quiet dignity he musters despite being forced to suffer countless indignities is something that cannot be taught. Take, for example, the moment he gets handcuffed. While it could’ve easily been played up for dramatic effect, and used as a springboard for a Brando-esque breakdown, Fonda prefers to keep things subdued. He simply looks down at his shackled wrists, letting the sadness in his eyes communicate what we already know to be true.
A man trapped: Manny faces a life behind bars.
Another standout moment is when Manny is placed behind bars. Hitchcock’s camera launches through the slot in the jail cell, and what we find on the other end is a man who chooses to turn his back to us. We see a slight head tilt, then a head slumped in defeat. There’s a sense of moral humiliation that runs throughout Fonda’s performance, and it’s what makes The Wrong Man simultaneously powerful yet difficult to watch.
Hitchcock may have seemed an odd choice to tackle the material, which was adapted from the Maxwell Anderson novel The True Story of Christopher Emmanuel Balestrero, but in truth, he had been dying to tell this story his entire life. Hitch’s upbringing came with a crippling fear of the police, which many attributed to the night his father chose to punish him by sending him to jail for the night. The police are not demonized in The Wrong Man, but they are seen as intimidating forces who wield power far more callously than they ought to. Manny’s wife is pushed to the brink of sanity and then some over the course of the film, and the police do little to quell her concerns, or even suggest that Manny may be innocent.
Henry Fonda and Vera Miles in a promotional still.
The aesthetic choices support this unflinching outlook. The lush color palette that had adorned Hitchcock’s previous films is replaced with high contrast black-and-white. The elaborate crane shots are ditched for a gritty, documentary-style approach that made the whole thing feel like an A-list newsreel. Then there’s the jazz-tinged score by Bernard Herrmann. The composer was Hitchcock’s most important collaborator during his most fruitful period, and while The Wrong Man may not reach the highs of his other Hitch scores, Herrmann gives the film exactly what it needs.
I’m not going to pretend that The Wrong Man is Hitchcock’s crowning achievement as a filmmaker, or that it will top anybody’s list when it comes to listing his masterpieces, but there’s something to be said for the fact that it would be considered a minor classic were it made by any other filmmaker. The Wrong Man is creatively elevated by Hitchcock’s involvement, but commercially compromised because fans will always go into it expecting something slick and entertaining.
It’s left turns like these that would eventually allow Hitchcock to hit pay dirt with Psycho (1960), a film that not only recycled The Wrong Man’s casting of Vera Miles but the black-and-white cinematography and moral indifference. It’s well worth revisiting on its own as the most overt film noir in the director’s entire career.
TRIVIA:The Wrong Man boasts early, uncredited appearances by actors Tuesday Weld and Harry Dean Stanton.
Danilo Castro is a film noir aficionado and Contributing Writer for Classic Movie Hub. You can read more of Danilo’s articles and reviews at the Film Noir Archive, or you can follow Danilo on Twitter @DaniloSCastro.
Western RoundUp: Another Look at Western Movie Locations!
It’s time for another look at some Western movie
locations!
This year I’ve visited several interesting film-related places, starting with Bronson Canyon in Los Angeles’s Griffith Park. Bronson Canyon is home to a cave which has appeared in numerous films; the most significant Western to be filmed there was John Ford‘s The Searchers (1956).
Many scenes in The Searchers were filmed in Monument Valley, but the scene where John Wayne says “Let’s go home, Debbie” to Natalie Wood was filmed at the “back” entrance to the cave. The cave is actually a tunnel with two entrances.
Natalie Wood and John Wayne in The Searchers (1956)
In the final scene John
Wayne rides his horse down this hill:
Bronson Canyon
The cave is currently
blocked off with chain-link fences, but I have a photo from 2020 looking out
the back of the cave toward where Ethan rides down the hill.
Bronson Canyon cave
The cave’s best-known
role? It was the Bat Cave on the 1960s TV series Batman. Here’s a
shot of the front of the cave, where the Batmobile would exit.
Bronson Canyon cave aka the Bat Cave!
This spring we took a road trip which included a brief stop in Keeler, California. Keeler is a few miles from Lone Pine, a movie location I’ve written about here numerous times, and is close to being a ghost town; the current population is around ten people.
Keeler Train Station
There’s a fascinating
old train station, the Carson and Colorado Railroad depot, which looks as
though it would blow over in a strong wind. The information I’ve found online
indicates it may date from the 1880s.
The station was also seen in the silent classic Greed (1924), directed by Erich von Stroheim.
John Ford’s 3 Godfathers (1948) filmed in Keeler, but I’ve been unable to match up train station shots from that film with what’s still standing. For good measure, the crime film I Died a Thousand Times (1955), starring Jack Palance, filmed at a gas station in Keeler.
Our next road trip
destination was Utah, where we visited three national parks and one state park.
We particularly loved Moab, which is perhaps the most significant John Ford
location after Monument Valley.
One afternoon we drove
down the highway outside Moab which parallels the Colorado River; thanks to
books and websites we were able to find some wonderful locations, starting with
Fisher Towers.
Fisher Towers is seen in the background of Ford’s Wagon Master (1950), one of my favorite films. The Bureau of Land Management sign at Fisher Towers even mentions the Ford connection!
Fisher Towers visitor sign
First, here’s a screenshot from Wagon Master of Russell Simpson and Kathleen O’Malley on the lead wagon:
A little further down the river is Red Cliffs Lodge, which was originally George White’s Ranch, where Rio Grande (1950) filmed.
There’s a big open area
near some of the lodge’s guest cabins…
Set location for Rio Grande (1950) today
… and it was quite a thrill to look at screenshots of the movie’s famous “Roman Riding” sequence and realize we were standing where Ben Johnson, Harry Carey Jr., and Claude Jarman Jr. filmed that wonderful scene.
Rio Grande (1950) “Roman Riding” scene
The rock formations in
the background match up perfectly!
We also found the spot
on the Colorado River where Wayne and his officers rode into the “Rio
Grande” to speak with the Mexican officer.
Set location for Rio Grande (1950) today
Here’s a screenshot of that scene to show how the backgrounds match up.
Rio Grande (1950)
Taza, Son of Cochise (1954) and Rio Conchos (1964) also filmed in the Moab area; Taza filmed in Arches National Park and Rio Conchos filmed at Dead Horse Point State Park — as did the previously mentioned Warlock and The Comancheros.
Here’s one of the
impressive vistas at Dead Horse Point State Park:
Laura can be found at her blog, Laura’s Miscellaneous Musings, where she’s been writing about movies since 2005, and on Twitter at @LaurasMiscMovie. A lifelong film fan, Laura loves the classics including Disney, Film Noir, Musicals, and Westerns. She regularly covers Southern California classic film festivals. Laura will scribe on all things western at the ‘Western RoundUp’ for CMH.
Silents are Golden: The Rise Of The “Underworld”– 5 Gangster Films From The 1910s
Long before James Cagney and Edward G. Robinson starting making a splash in Hollywood, gangsters had been showing up on the American silent screen. While the “gangster” genre wasn’t as well defined as it would be in the 1930s, many of its familiar tropes – slangy dialogue, shootouts, brassy dames, nattily-dressed ring leaders – got their start even earlier than the Roaring Twenties itself.
The chase sequences that livened up so many early silents were key. In the 1900s, the era when most people saw “moving pictures” via traveling shows, any film with an exciting chase scene was bound to be a crowd pleaser. Comedies of course abounded with comic chases, but recreations of fast-paced criminal activity like stagecoach holdups, bank robberies and pursuits by police were also popular–the most famous example probably being The Great Train Robbery(1903). Many of these films were basically Westerns – a wildly popular genre, and certainly the forerunner (or perhaps we can say wellspring) for the Depression-era gangster picture.
Interestingly, we start seeing films with
recognizable “gangster” tropes in the 1910s, a few years before the era of
Prohibition and Capone. At the time people were flocking from the country to
cities to find work, and the problem of urban crime was a common topic.
Organized gangs in New York City had been well known since the 19th century,
especially the ones formed by Irish, Italian, and Chinese immigrants. Public
fascination with these gangs’ power struggles was soon reflected in the movies.
Let’s consider the following films:
5. The Musketeers of Pig Alley (1912)
Lillian and Dorothy Gish in The Muskateers of Pig Alley (1912)
Recognized today as the great-grandaddy of the gangster film, The Musketeers of Pig Alley was a gritty two-reeler directed by D.W. Griffith. The four words of its first title card, “New York’s Other Side,” set the stage not only for its setting in the city’s crowded tenements, but arguably for the 1930s crime dramas to come. The plot even has hints of film noir, too – quite an achievement for an 18-minute film.
Set in the slums of New York, it concerns a young couple (played by Lillian Gish and Walter Miller) whose lives are affected by the rival gangs in their neighborhood. The highlight of the film is the tense shootout scene between the gangs, where a tight closeup shows two gangsters carefully creeping along a wall. A cocky, very Cagney-esque Elmer Booth plays the leader of one of the gangs. The gun fights, the rundown neighborhoods, the tough dames, the charismatic crime leaders, even the “gangsters’ ball” – it’s all there, over 100 years ago.
4. The Gangsters and the Girl (1914)
The Gangsters and the Girl (1914)
Very much in the category of “crime drama,” this Selig three-reeler starred Betty Burbridge and future star Charles Ray. “The Girl,” Molly Ashley, is framed for a shoplifting crime she didn’t commit and is sentenced to jail, but sympathetic crook Jim Tracy captures her to save her from the penitentiary. She lives with the gang at their hideout as they try to steal funds to help her and her father, but they’re infiltrated by the police detective John Stone in disguise. As Molly gets to the know the detective and learns his true identity, she begins to struggle with whom she should turn in, John or Jim.
Filmed in Los Angeles but with several rooftop
shots carefully angled to suggest New York City, The Girl and the Gangsters has the kind of plot that’s pretty
familiar to us today. Interestingly, the crooks are shown in a more sympathetic
light than their mid- to late-1930s counterparts, when the production code was
enforced.
3. The Making of Crooks (1915)
Jack Pickford in The Making of Crooks (1915)
Starring a young Jack Pickford in one of his
bigger early roles, this film is a cautionary tale about the dangers of
billiard rooms for impressionable youth, especially ones frequented by unsavory
characters. A druggist Walton, accused of selling dope-laced candy to children,
is freed from prison after the mob boss Lee O’Neill intervenes. Walton opens a
seedy billiard room, and the young Italian Tony becomes one of his pool sharks.
Tony soon becomes acquainted with Hazel, O’Neill’s daughter, and soon tragedy
ensues.
Much less lenient to the underworld than films like The Girl and the Gangsters, The Making of Crooks delivers a dark ending and a strong moral message. It’s not far removed from classics like Angels With Dirty Faces(1938), with its similar – if more subtle – message.
2. Reggie Mixes In (1916)
Douglas Fairbanks and Bessie Love in Reggie Mixes In (1916)
A minor Douglas Fairbanks film, it has his familiar mix of drama and comedy within the setting of New York’s Bowery neighborhood. When Reggie drives a lost little girl home, he meets an impoverished young woman named Agnes. He begins to court Agnes, but unfortunately his romantic rival is the local gang leader Tony Bernard. Eventually Reggie is attacked by Bernard’s gang, and soon must face a hand-to-hand fight with Bernard.
While lesser known than many of his other
1910s features and saddled with a rather routine gangster plot, Reggie Mixes In does feature a fairly
intense fight scene between Reggie and Bernard. It’s more realistically
choreographed than some movie fights, being more of a tight grapple than a
showy flinging of fists.
1.The Mother and the Law (1919)
Robert Harron and Mae Marsh in The Mother and the Law (1919)
This gritty drama was originally filmed by D.W. Griffith in 1914, and it was eventually expanded and incorporated into his mighty epic Intolerance(1916). Following this, it was tinkered with a little more before being released in 1919 as a stand-alone drama.
Starring Mae Marsh and Bobby Harron in two of their finest performances, The Mother and the Law had more of a definite “underworld” theme and shared some similarities with The Musketeers of Pig Alley –a gang leader is even referred to as “the Musketeer.”Marsh and Harron play a young couple whose lives are torn apart after “the Boy,” attempting to leave his old life in a gang, is accused of murder. When he’s sentenced to be hung, his young wife searches for a way to save his life. Tragic and touching in turns, it illustrates both the hopelessness that leads some to take up a criminal life as well as how difficult it is to escape it.
Films like these remind us that many movie tropes stretch back much further than we imagined. They also show us something unexpected: that certain “gangster” tropes not only predated the Roaring Twenties, but in a sense evolved along with the era itself, making these films fascinating and unique time capsules.
Lea Stans is a born-and-raised Minnesotan with a degree in English and an obsessive interest in the silent film era (which she largely blames on Buster Keaton). In addition to blogging about her passion at her site Silent-ology, she is a columnist for the Silent Film Quarterly and has also written for The Keaton Chronicle.
Recently, during a viewing of The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946) on TCM, I tweeted about Lana Turner’s first appearance in the film, stating that it was one of the best screen entrances, ever. One of my followers suggested that I conduct a poll to garner opinions on other contenders for this title, and I loved the idea! So, in this month’s Noir Nook, I’m shining the spotlight on what I believe are four of the greatest femme entrances in film noir; next month, I’ll conclude this series with a look at four more. Let me know what you think of these choices and tell me if you have others that should be considered!
Lana Turner in The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946)
Lana Turner as Cora Smith in The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946)
Turner plays Cora Smith, the wife of a roadside diner owner who teams with drifter Frank Chambers (John Garfield) to murder her husband (Cecil Kellaway). Cora is many things – frustrated, sexy, ambitious, smart. And she knows how to enter a room. We first meet Cora shortly after Frank’s not-so-serendipitous arrival at the diner, as he’s waiting for his burger to finish cooking. A lipstick falls to the floor and Frank tracks its path, right to a pair of gams that literally take his breath away. Along with the audience, Frank’s gaze travels upward to see Cora, dressed all in white, in shorts, top, and turban, as she holds out her hand for the lipstick Frank has retrieved. Having recovered from his initial shock, Frank cheekily makes Cora come to him for the item, and she does, sauntering easily across the floor before returning to the doorway, applying the lipstick, flashing Frank a look of disdain, and retreating back into her house. Of all the femme entrances on my list, Cora’s is my absolute favorite.
In my favorite noir, Barbara Stanwyck is the deadly and duplicitous Phyllis Dietrichson, who teams with insurance salesman Walter Neff (Fred MacMurray) to murder her husband (Tom Powers). If all of this sounds familiar, it’s because the source materials for both The Postman Always Rings Twice and Double Indemnity were novels by James M. Cain, who based both stories on a real-life 1920s murder case. Phyllis’s entrance comes when Walter stops by her house in an effort to get an auto insurance renewal from Mr. Dietrichson. The mister isn’t at home, but Phyllis is, which Walter finds out when she appears at the top of a staircase. She’s clad only in a towel – she was sunbathing, you see – and although she initially hangs back modestly in the shadows, she steps forward tentatively when Walter introduces himself, and with a little more interest when he explains that he’s from an insurance company. “Is there something I can do?” she asks. Her honey-silk voice combined with her bare shoulders and legs cause Walter to stutter and stammer and make a few bad jokes, but Phyllis is completely in control. We can practically see the wheels turning as she instructs her maid to show Walter into the living room while she puts on some clothes. When we see her again, she’s descending the staircase and we’re given a close-up of Phyllis’s high heels and her “honey of an anklet” – and we get an idea of why Walter is unable (or unwilling) to resist her.
Out of the Past, which many consider to be the quintessential noir, stars Robert Mitchum as private dick Jeff Markham, Kirk Douglas as Whit Sterling, a ruthless but refined gangster, and Jane Greer as Kathie Moffat, Whit’s lover, who absconds after shooting him and – allegedly – stealing $40,000. Whit hires Jeff to find Kathie, but the private dick gets more than he bargained for when he finds her. Our first glimpse of Kathie comes in Mexico, where Jeff has followed her trail, and where he waits patiently, day after day, in a dimly lit local café. “And then I saw her,“ Jeff’s voiceover recalls, “coming out of the sun, and I knew why Whit didn’t care about that forty grand.” What we – and Jeff – see is Kathie entering the café, dressed all in white, from her wide-brimmed hat to her heeled shoes, a flowy, fitted dress, and clutch purse, looking for all the world like some sort of sophisticated, untouchable angel. She sits wordlessly at a table near Jeff and lights a cigarette. And Jeff is drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
Joan Bennett and Edward G. Robinson in The Woman in the Window (1944)
Edward G. Robinson stars as Professor Richard Wanley who, at the film’s start, is bidding a summer’s farewell to his wife and children (one of whom is played by Bobby Blake, later best known as TV’s Baretta). Later, on his way to meet friends at his club, Wanley is mesmerized by the portrait of a beautiful dark-haired woman in a storefront window. The woman in the painting is Alice Reed (Joan Bennett), and she makes her entrance after Wanley leaves the club and is once again drawn to the painting. As he stands gazing at it, he suddenly sees another woman’s image in the reflection of the storefront window and realizes that it is the painting’s subject, seemingly come to life. He turns to see that standing near him is Alice Reed, who reveals that she posed for the painting and admits that she visits the storefront to watch people’s faces as they look at the painting. Moments later, just before they stroll off together, she links arms with Wanley and informs him: “I’m not married, I have no designs on you, and one drink is all I care for.” Unfortunately for Wanley, this is noir, and his future with Alice doesn’t end with one drink.
Visit the Noir Nook next month for my next four femme entrances!
…
– Karen Burroughs Hannsberry for Classic Movie Hub
Karen Burroughs Hannsberry is the author of the Shadows and Satin blog, which focuses on movies and performers from the film noir and pre-Code eras, and the editor-in-chief of The Dark Pages, a bimonthly newsletter devoted to all things film noir. Karen is also the author of two books on film noir – Femme Noir: The Bad Girls of Film and Bad Boys: The Actors of Film Noir. You can follow Karen on Twitter at @TheDarkPages. If you’re interested in learning more about Karen’s books, you can read more about them on amazon here:
The world can be a sad, scary place much of the time, and when I feel overwhelmed by bad news there are certain kinds of classic movies that ease my anxiety and remind me to embrace joy where I find it. The screwball comedy is one of my favorite tonics for dark days, and for good reason. Forged in the misery of the Great Depression, screwball celebrates laughter in the midst of chaos and scrappy survivors who persevere no matter how absurdly terrible their lives become. Modern comedy can be cruel; so often it laughs at characters instead of laughing with them, but screwball makes us fall in love with its wacky protagonists even as they fall in love with each other. Screwball is special for many reasons, but some of its best elements are its lively heroines, its absurd situations, and its ultimate emphasis on the joy of life.
The screwball comedy genre emerged just as the Hays Code cracked down on the more explicit sex comedies of the early 1930s, forcing filmmakers to get creative in their depictions of sexual tension and desire. The physical comedy and wacky chaos convey passion the same way that dance expresses it in musicals, and audiences still get the idea. Certain directors leaned into the comedic opportunities of the genre, including Frank Capra, Howard Hawks, Preston Sturges, Mitchell Leisen, and George Cukor, among others, with Sturges making a rapid-fire series of screwball comedies in the early 1940s.
Screwball stars are some of classic Hollywood’s most beloved icons: Claudette Colbert, Cary Grant, Barbara Stanwyck, Joel McCrea, Katharine Hepburn, and Carole Lombard, just to name a few. The films themselves are delightfully madcap but also quite willing to tackle the most serious issues of their day, from the Forgotten Man of the Great Depression and unplanned pregnancy to divorce and wartime housing shortages.
As Jean, Barbara Stanwyck keeps Henry Fonda’s Hopsy perpetually bewitched, bothered, and bewildered in The Lady Eve (1941).
With leading men like William Powell, Clark Gable, Grant, and McCrea, the heroes of screwball are no slouches, but screwball men are often serious fellows who need their lives thoroughly shaken up, and screwball heroines are there to get the job done. The first thing Barbara Stanwyck does when she sees Henry Fonda in The Lady Eve (1941) is drop an apple on his head, and from there she literally trips him up at every turn. The screwball heroine might be a mobster’s moll, a smart career gal, or a pampered heiress, but she always brings needed renewal through chaos and upheaval. She breaks rules, ignores conventions, makes demands, takes chances, and never relents until the inevitable happy ending arrives. Sometimes she learns a lesson or two along the way, as Colbert’s and Hepburn’s spoiled heiresses do in It Happened One Night (1934) and The Philadelphia Story (1940), but she’s just as likely to be as unteachable as Lombard’s and Hepburn’s scatterbrained socialites in My Man Godfrey (1936) and Bringing Up Baby (1938). Screwball heroines are forces of nature; it’s not necessarily their job to change because they already embody the fullest versions of themselves. The heroes, however, are often stuck, repressed, frustrated men who need a beautiful wrecking ball to break them out of their unsatisfying status quo.
Down and out on the road, Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert resort to stealing carrots, sleeping in haybales, and hitching rides in It Happened One Night (1934).
As the wrecking ball image suggests, the action of screwball comedy can be extreme, which makes it as unpredictable as the tricky baseball pitch for which it’s named. Sure, we expect a happy ending, but all kinds of crazy things can happen along the way. Our protagonists might find themselves in jail, kidnapped by the mob, robbed, attacked by leopards, in the newspaper headlines, or penniless in the rain in Paris in nothing but an evening gown, which happens to Claudette Colbert at the beginning of Midnight (1939).
Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant encounter not one but two leopards during their misadventures in Bringing Up Baby (1938).
Real life isn’t usually quite as absurd as a screwball plot, but we recognize the truth in not knowing what could happen next. Sometimes we’re on top, but more often we’re struggling to get by, and the reversals of fortune in screwball make us laugh because they’re so ridiculous and also because we sympathize. Even if Cary Grant has never accidentally torn the back of your dress off in public, you’ve experienced embarrassment akin to what Hepburn’s heroine feels in that scene in Bringing Up Baby. Sometimes the misadventures take a dark turn, as they do for Joel McCrea in Sullivan’s Travels (1941), reminding us of real adversity and, hopefully, making our troubles look less dire in comparison. The ups and downs show our protagonists at their best, as beautifully dressed as Stanwyck and Fonda on the cruise ship in The Lady Eve, and at their worst, as bedraggled as Gable and Colbert trying to hitch a ride in It Happened One Night. One of my favorite things about screwball is the way it liberates its actresses from having to be glamorous all the time by putting them into hilarious but relatable situations, whether that’s Jean Arthur with pigtails and a face full of cold cream in The More the Merrier (1943) or Veronica Lake dressed as a penniless boy in Sullivan’s Travels.
Joel McCrea finds joy in the unlikeliest place, while in prison, in Sullivan’s Travels (1941).
However wild the turns of fortune may be, screwball comedies end happily because the joy of life is one of the genre’s most important themes. Yes, it’s scary and confusing and sometimes terrible to be alive, but it’s also wonderful and sweet and worth it to keep trying. You never know what lucky break or unexpected happiness might be just around the corner. In screwball, absurd good luck is just as possible as absurd bad luck, as long as the protagonists don’t stop trying. You could even find out that your unrequited crush has a conveniently single identical twin, as Rudy Vallée and Mary Astor discover in The Palm Beach Story (1942). The unlikely couples who end these movies in love or at the altar might seem destined for divorce down the road, but that’s a problem for another story – or a perfect starting point for The Awful Truth (1937), The Philadelphia Story, and The Palm Beach Story.
Jean Arthur and Joel McCrea aren’t glamorous in their bathrobes, but they are very relatable in The More the Merrier (1943).
Life is change and chaos and uncertainty, but screwball reminds us to roll with the punches and even laugh at our own misfortunes while we hang on for better times. It’s no wonder Depression and WWII Era audiences responded to these movies, and it’s a shame we don’t see more similar comedy being made today, when most of us could really use a morale boost. Luckily, we do have these delightful classics to revisit and enjoy whenever we feel overwhelmed by the weight of our modern world.
Of all the monsters in horror films, the “eye” creature is one of the most bizarre.
I’m not talking about the great one-eyed giant called the cyclops – he tends to make a grand appearance in movies and is a force to be reckoned with. This is about a monster that is an … eye.
First, there can be some confusion about these films starting with titles. The British-made Trollenberg Terror is more well known by its U.S. title The Crawling Eye. The Eye Creatures is also known as Attack of the Eye Creatures.
Though the artwork looks incredibly similar, these are not the same movies.
Then there’s the artwork. The Crawling Eye has a great poster with a giant eye wrapping itself around a lovely lady. That same image is found on art “created” nine years later for The Eye Creatures. The only reason I could find that this not a copyright infringement is because Trollenberg Terror/The Crawling Eye was the final film made by Southall Studios which then went out of business. Still, it doesn’t seem right.
The Beast With 1,000,000 Eyes (1955) and The Eye Creatures (1967) unfortunately don’t live up to their awesome titles. By far the best is The Trollenberg Terror, the focus of this article, about otherworldly creatures that move within a cloud that has settled over the fictional town of Trollenberg in Switzerland.
Of the “eye” movies, The Trollenberg Terror is the best and the creatures live up to the name the film went by for its U.S. release – The Crawling Eye.
It’s directed by Quentin Lawrence, who also helmed the six-part 1956 ATV British TV series the film is based upon.
The compact film, written by the talented Jimmy Sangster
(Hammer films), doesn’t waste time with preamble or setting up the characters.
Instead, we are thrust right into the action from the opening scene of three mountain
climbers that involves fog, screams and a decapitated body. We then quickly
meet the main characters who all play a role in filling in the plot or moving
it forward.
There is an unease from the opening scene and a surprising
amount of tension throughout that builds to the conclusion. Sometimes it’s from
something as simple – and budget friendly – as the use of static shots of the
Trollenberg mountain with creepy music. It shouldn’t work, but it does.
The Trollenberg Terror is told like a good
old-fashioned yarn that catches your imagination even if you may not quite
believe it. Some scenes are set up like stories told around the campfire including
one in a hotel parlor where the main characters share tales and theories over
drinks about those students, missing mountaineers, frightened peasants and what
could be going on.
Alan (Forrest Tucker) meets sisters Sarah (Jennifer Jayne), left, and Anne (Janet Munro) when Anne faints in his lap after seeing Mount Trollenberg through a train window in The Trollenberg Terror.
Forrest Tucker plays handsome and steadfast U.N. worker Alan Brooks who meets sisters Anne (Janet Munro) and Sarah Pilgrim (Jennifer Jayne) on a train. As they pass by Mount Trollenberg in Switzerland, Anne faints for no apparent reason.
Clearly something is going on with Anne, who describes
places she’s never been like when she insists they get off the train at
Trollenberg and stay in the Hotel Europa. (Conveniently, that’s where Alan is
staying.) She also goes into little trances (my favorite scenes), providing exposition
and drama. “They shouldn’t have started the climb,” she says on the way to the
hotel, mentioning the three English students from the opening scene. And she
knows more, like how the mountain people are leaving and climbers are
disappearing into the fog, never to be seen again. Creepy.
Other characters include journalist Philip Truscott
(Laurence Payne, who played the same role in the TV series); first-time climber
and geologist Dewhurst (Stuart Saunders, also in the TV series) and his guide
Brett (Andrew Faulds); and Professor Crevett (Warren Mitchell) who has called
Alan to Trollenberg after discovering familiar and disturbing occurrences from
his observatory.
Mount Trollenberg is an ominous presence out the window as Professor Crevatt (Warren Mitchell), left, and Alan (Forrest Tucker) discuss some concerning news in The Trollenberg Terror (AKA The Crawling Eye).
Alan and the professor saw the same sort of cloud that is hovering over Mount Trollenberg three years earlier in the Andes Mountains. People also disappeared in the Andes and villagers swore something was alive inside the radioactive cloud, just as they are saying in Trollenberg. Alan balks at the comparison between the two situations, until the professor says the only factor missing between Trollenberg and the Andes is “mental compulsion.”
That gets Alan’s attention as he recalls how Anne seems
compelled with her visions. Still, he won’t go to the authorities, nor stick
his neck out again after the two men were laughed away in the Andes. “I need
facts, proof,” Alan tells Professor Crevett. He’s about to get some.
That night, the sisters give a demonstration of their London
“show” that explains Anne’s odd actions. She is telepathic but her fun parlor
game of guessing hidden objects turns to terror as a snow globe with a hut
brings visions of Dewhurst and Brett on the mountain.
In one of my favorite scenes, she very slowly utters words
and sentence fragments that build on an increasing sense of dread.
“Snow … mountains … hut. Two men in the hut. The fat one,
he’s asleep. But he’s not the one. The other one… sitting at the table,
smoking, writing in the book. He’s the one. He’s getting up. He’s coming toward
the door. He’s reached the door. He’s opening it. He’s coming out. Up the slope.
Up the slope …”
As she’s speaking her eyes are superimposed over images of
Brett leaving the hut and going into the snow. A call to hut reveals that Brett
has indeed disappeared.
If it wasn’t already clear before this scene, it’s now obvious that the eyes in this film are not only those of the creatures, but also Anne’s. Actress Janet Munro has lovely, expressive eyes and the camera often focuses on them in close-up, drawing the viewer into what she is saying and seeing. In a clever twist, Anne is sometimes the eyes of the creatures, sharing with the audience what they are seeing.
The superimposition of the eyes of Anne (Janet Munro) as she sees Brett in a dangerous situation on the mountain is one of the atmospheric moments in The Trollenberg Terror (AKA, The Crawling Eye).
While the film has already been moving at an interesting pace, the action speeds up here. A search party goes out; Brett returns (or does he?); Anne is in danger; the radioactive cloud moves toward the village; guests evacuate to the observatory to find safety and buy time to devise a way to stop the cloud that has broken into five dangerous pieces.
There will be a child in peril while looking for toy (a trope still used in films today) and some nifty scenes of the fog sinisterly finding its way under a door and wrapping itself around electrical and other mechanics to shut down power. If that seems familiar, there’s a reason: director John Carpenter saw this film as a kid and was inspired to have similar scenes in his excellent ghost story The Fog (1980), also about evil things that live inside of fog.
A giant crawling eye knocks down a door in a jolting moment from The Trollenberg Terror (AKA The Crawling Eye).
We finally see our eye monsters which look surprisingly close to how they are depicted on the poster, albeit on a shoestring budget. It was clever to make the creatures in the mold of an octopus with one huge eye and multiple spindly arms that reach out and grab people. That fact that do indeed crawl (slowly) is impressive.
But while an eye creature busting down a hotel door is momentarily effective, your imagination is needed to boost the effect of multiple creatures attacking the observatory, scenes that make me wish there was a larger budget. The effects were by Les Bowie, who also worked for Hammer films and won a posthumous Oscar for Superman (1978).
Still, The Trollenberg Terror is a solid B-movie
creature feature with a good cast (why wasn’t Forrest Tucker used more as a
leading man?), a story that keeps the viewer interested and an almost constant sense
of dread.
Grab the popcorn for this fun matinee movie.
The other eye movies
The Beast with 1,000,000 Eyes and The Eye Creatures can’t hide their low budgets and slim stories. Both also take too much time to get moving – if you can call it that – and take odd turns as one becomes a family drama about hearts and souls; the other finds a little life when it becomes one of those “adults won’t listen to the teens, so the teens take on the beast themselves” films. Here’s a brief look.
An example of the excellent opening credits of The Beast With 1,000,000 Eyes.
If only this film lived up to the incredible opening credits with eyes on objects in the desert that nicely gives off the impression of being watched by a million eyes. But it doesn’t – and it also falls about 999,999 eyes short of the title. In fact, the bizarre eye creature we finally see at the very end was a last-minute addition.
The film opens with an ominous voiceover with thunder, lightning and images of an eyeball. It deserves to be shared in its entirety because it’s so over the top (read it with a deep voice):
“I need this world. From millions of light-years away I approach your planet. Soon my spaceship lands on Earth. I need your world. I feed on fear, live on human hatred. I, a strong mind without flesh or blood, want your world. First, the unthinking — the birds of the air, the animals of the forest — then, the weaker of men shall all do my bidding. They shall be my ears, my eyes, until your world is mine. And because I see all of your most secret acts, you will know me as The Beast With a Million Eyes.”
And there is the plot – told to us before the film title
hits the screen.
The burly Paul Birch plays Allen Kelley, who lives on his date ranch in a California dessert with his unhappy wife Carol (Lorna Thayer) and teen daughter Sandy (Dona Cole) along with a mute handyman called “Him” (Leonard Tarver).
After an “airplane” flies overhead, strange sounds and
events start occurring with increasing attacks by animals (including the family
dog) and birds that are a precursor to a certain Hitchcock movie. Although not
graphic, those animal attacks are unnerving.
What looks like a kitchen gadget is an alien spaceship in The Beast With 1,000,000 Eyes.
This goes on for some time without any sight of the eye creatures. Instead, we only see a metal object in the desert that looks like an oversized kitchen gadget. It lights up and makes strange sounds that cause animals and people to turn violent.
Then the unexpected shift happens from sci-fi film to a family drama about how people are stronger together than alone. Nasty wife Carol has an especially strong change of heart, showing remorse for how she treated her family and being the one who pulls them together to fight off the alien.
This drama finally gives the film some interest, but like the alien we finally see (a blurry creature that appears out of an eye), it’s extremely late in the film.
The Eye Creatures
A loose remake of Invasion of the Saucer Men, there’s
not much to see in this ultra low-budget film – literally. Sets are as bare as
they can be and still be considered a set; the same can be said about the
script.
Oh, it has some of the right jargon with talk of the government’s “Project Visitors” and security sectors. It even opens with a man who has a briefcase locked on his wrist.
What could be so important? You may not wait around for it to be opened. The acting is mostly dreadful and the film barely moves forward. Extended attempts at humor with two military guys peeping through an infrared scanner at frolicking teens fall flat. (This made-for-TV movie is labeled a comedy by some.)
However, fans of John Ashley, who was groomed to be the next Frankie Avalon, will be happy to see him. He plays Stan, a teen (he was 30 at the time) who is planning to elope with his girlfriend Susan. (Ashley did multiple films with beaches and hot rod cars, he also starred in another monster B-movie, Frankenstein’s Daughter.)
Unlike the other films, we see the title creatures early and often which is not a good thing. They’re bumbling guys in suits that have big bubbles over them and a few extra eyes placed haphazardly on their oblong heads.
Stan hits one of the eye creatures with his car, but the authorities don’t believe him after they find the body of a drifter, not an alien. (The accident does lead to fun scenes involving the creature’s severed hand in the car with Stan and Susan.)
After a lot of unnecessary scenes with the military, cops, another drifter, the old guy who owns the land where the aliens have landed and teens kiss, the film makes an abrupt turn. Stan and Susan have gone to extremes to get someone to believe them to no avail, so when they accidentally discover how to kill the aliens, they turn to their friends – who are still parked in their cars making out.
The silly title characters in The Eye Creatures were better left off screen.
Finally, the film has some life and a bit of comedy as Stan and Susan drive off with a couple still smooching it up in the back seat to fight the aliens. Perhaps if filmmakers had gone the full route of the “teens against the monsters” and not shown the creatures, The Eye Creatures could have been a watchable movie.
Toni Ruberto, born and raised in Buffalo, N.Y., is an editor and writer at
The Buffalo News. She shares her love for classic movies in her blog, Watching Forever and is a
member of the Classic Movie
Blog Association. Toni was the president of the former Buffalo chapter of
TCM Backlot and now leads the offshoot group, Buffalo Classic Movie Buffs. She
is proud to have put Buffalo and its glorious old movie palaces in the
spotlight as the inaugural winner of the TCM in Your Hometown contest. You can
find Toni on Twitter at @toniruberto.
Kay Kyser in Kay Kyser’s Kollege of Musical Knowledge, 1940s
Bandleader and radio personality James Kern Kyser was born on June 18, 1905, in Rocky Mount, North Carolina. His parents, Paul and Emily Kyser, worked as pharmacists. Kyser was one of six children.
In the years to come, Kyser attended and graduated with his
Bachelor’s degree from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. There,
he was active in the Sigma Nu Fraternity and senior class president.
During his time at Chapel Hill, Kyser expressed his
enthusiasm and joyous persona through cheerleading, quickly becoming a popular
and adored campus personality. He was eventually invited by musician,
bandleader, and composer Hal Kemp to take on his band-leading duties. Though
Kyser studied clarinet, he found more fulfillment in working as an announcer
and master of ceremonies. His middle initial soon substituted for his first
name as his newly-minted stage name: Kay Kyser.
Kyser and his orchestra recorded sessions for Victor at
Camden, New Jersey, and Chicago, Illinois, in the 1920s. Upon his graduation,
Kyser and his band toured restaurants and nightclubs throughout the Midwest,
gradually building a following. Kyser was especially popular at the Blackhawk Restaurant
in Chicago, where Kyser came up with a musical quiz act called “Kay Kyser’s
Kollege of Musical Knowledge,” broadcast on the Mutual Broadcasting System and,
later, NBC Radio.
Ad for Kyser’s NBC appearence
Aside from the “Kollege of Musical Knowledge,” Kyser’s orchestra was highly successful. Though his “Ol’ Perfessor” character was at the helm, his band members were also popular in their own right, including Harry Babbitt, Merwyn Bogue (or Ish Kabibble), Bruce King, Jack Martin, Ginny Simms, Sully Mason, Mike Douglas, and Georgia Carroll.
Incidentally, a year after “Gorgeous Georgia Carroll”’
joined the group, she and Kyser married. The couple had three children and
remained married until Kyser’s passing.
Kay Kyser and his wife, Georgia Carroll
Kyser’s orchestra popularized numerous tunes, including
“Woody Woodpecker,” “Three Little Fishies,” “The Old Lamp-Lighter,” “Praise the
Lord and Pass the Ammunition,” and “Jingle Jangle Jingle.”
Kyser and his bandmates appeared in various films, typically as themselves. They can be seen in That’s Right—You’re Wrong (1939), You’ll Find Out(1940), Around the World(1943), Stage Door Canteen (1943), Thousands Cheer (1943), and Carolina Blues(1944). Kyser also appeared as himself in the cartoon Hollywood Steps Out(1941) and in the Porky Pig cartoon Africa Squeaks (1940), in which he voiced a caricature of himself named “Cake-Icer.”
Kay Kyser in Looney Tunes Hollywood Steps Out (1941)
Kay Kyser’s Kollege of
Musical Knowledge made its way to television on NBC-TV. Struggling with
arthritis, Kyser retired from performing in 1950. He converted to Christian
Science and ran the film and television department of the church in Boston,
Massachusetts, eventually becoming its president in 1983.
Kyser passed away on July 23, 1985, from a heart attack in
Chapel Hill, North Carolina. He was buried at Old Chapel Hill Cemetery in
Chapel Hill. He was 80 years old.
Kyser’s headstone in Chapel Hill, North Carolina
The Kyser family home was located at 219 Sunset Ave., Rocky Mount, North Carolina. Kyser’s parents and the six children resided in the home for decades. The home no longer stands, however, a historic marker in Kyser’s honor was dedicated there in 2019. Kyser’s two remaining daughters – Kimberly and Amanda – attended the ceremony, as did Kyser’s best friend from childhood. The mayor declared October 5th as Kay Kyser Day in Rocky Mount, presenting plaques to Kyser’s daughters. The day culminated with an evening performance filled with Kyser’s music. The marker is behind the First Methodist Church, on the corner of Franklin St. and Sunset Ave. in Rocky Mount.
a plaque in Rocky Mount, North Carolina commemorating October 5th as Kay Kyser Day.
In 1945, Kyser resided at 9646 Heather Rd., Beverly Hills,
California. The home still stands today.
Kay Kysers home at 9646 Heather Road, Beverly Hills, California
Kyser has two stars on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, honoring
his work in radio and recording. The stars are located at 1601 Vine St. and
1708 Vine St. in Los Angeles, California.
Kyser’s star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame
The Blackhawk Restaurant operated at 139 N. Wabash Ave.,
Chicago, Illinois. While the restaurant no longer remains, the building still stands.
Blackhawk Restaurant, 139 N. Wabash Ave., Chicago, Illinois
In
1951, Kyser and his wife moved into a home at 504 E. Franklin St., Chapel Hill,
North Carolina. The home exists today as the Hooper-Kyser House.
504 East Franklin Street, Chapel Hill, North Carolina
Kyser was inducted into the North Carolina Music Hall of
Fame in 1999. His papers
were donated to the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill by his widow
and were made available to the public in 2008. The University of North Carolina
at Chapel Hill remains a prestigious academic institution.
Old Chapel Hill Cemetery is located at 405 Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd., Chapel Hill, North Carolina.
Annette Bochenek of Chicago, Illinois, is a PhD student at Dominican University and an independent scholar of Hollywood’s Golden Age. She manages the Hometowns to Hollywood blog, in which she writes about her trips exploring the legacies and hometowns of Golden Age stars. Annette also hosts the “Hometowns to Hollywood” film series throughout the Chicago area. She has been featured on Turner Classic Movies and is the president of TCM Backlot’s Chicago chapter. In addition to writing for Classic Movie Hub, she also writes for Silent Film Quarterly, Nostalgia Digest, and Chicago Art Deco SocietyMagazine.
“We’ve gotta figure out something better. We can’t go on like this.”
Film noir was an American phenomenon during the 1940s and 50s. It was built on the foundation of stateside pulp writers, and thrived on the sex appeal and allure of stateside actors. Still, the style proved so effective (and cheap) that it trickled out into international waters before the end of the classical period. The results were fascinating, blending the hardened realism of Europe with the doomed fatalism of postwar America. Oftentimes, in an attempt to draw larger audiences, films would cast English-speaking actors and dub them over during the editing process. What’s a voice, after all, when you’ve got a face that’s been recognized by Hollywood?
Il bidone (1955) is a footnote in the career of its director, Federico Fellini, but it’s one of the most sobering Italian noirs of all time. It’s a predictably slow burn (as most neo-realist films tend to be) that follows the exploits of three low level con men: the arrogant womanizer Roberto (Franco Fabrizi), the nervous husband Picasso (Richard Basehart), and the tired veteran Augusto (Broderick Crawford). They have been in business with each other for a number of years, but they’re growing old, and the realization that they’ve wasted their lives begins to set in. Where does a con man turn when conning is all they know?
A string of unforgettable faces on the poster.
The film’s title loosely translates to “The Swindle”, and Fellini wastes little time establishing the trio’s amoral tactics. Augusto dresses like a priest in order to con poor country folk out of their money, and the matter-of-fact nature of the scene only makes it tougher to watch. The subsequent reactions of the characters neatly set up where they are in life: Roberto wants to go out and celebrate, Picasso is eager to dote on his wife Iris (Giulietta Masina), and Augusto grimaces his way through another night.
Crawford was at an interesting juncture in his career. He’d won the Oscar for Best Actor for All the King’s Men (1949) and had subsequently appeared in a handful of films noir, including The Mob (1951) and Scandal Sheet (1952). He was the prototypical blowhard, throwing around his literal and figurative weight to intimidate anybody he encountered. He rarely took guff from other characters, and when he did, a la Human Desire (1954), he wound up killing them. This was not a man to be trifled with.
Picasso and Augusto try out a new “swindle”.
The preconceived notion of Crawford as a tough guy makes his performance as Augusto all the more fascinating. The character is like an old car; he once hummed, but now he’s broken down and running on fumes. Whatever moxie he once possessed has given way to frustration, and a sense that his best days never materialized. That’s not to imply that Crawford is one note, of course. There are multiple scenes where Augusto perks up at the possibility of redemption (or at least something different). He stands up straighter, mustering up whatever charm he has left, and still, no dice.
Fellini wrote the part with Humphrey Bogart in mind, which would have been fascinating, but Crawford was the better choice when it comes to the depiction of a loser. Bogart would have been too cool, too disenchanted with the Italian setting. Crawford gives Augusto an unrelenting pitifullness, as though we’re only watching the parts where Sisyphus’ boulder rolls down the hill.
Augusto gets his comeuppance.
Nowhere is this more evident than the sequence involving Augusto’s daughter, Patrizia (Lorella De Luca). He bumps into her on the street after what seems like years apart, and for a brief moment, the two of them are free from the burdens of the outside world. They begin to spend more time together, and Augusto goes as far as to offer payment for her schooling. In a heartbreaking twist of fate, Augusto is arrested outside of a movie theater, and Patrizia, unaware of her father’s sins, watches in horror. A shot at deliverance gets squandered in a couple of seconds.
Fellini doesn’t pull punches. The celebratory, sensorial style that would go on to make the filmmaker a legend has not yet surfaced here, allowing him to construct a tight, heartbreaking yarn. There’s barely any fat on the bone, and while the country scenes bear more than a passing resemblance to his previous film, La strada (1954), they achieve an entirely different goal. Whereas La strada spoke to lost innocence, Il bidone articulated the fear that survival could kill the desire to be alive. Augusto’s partners have interests outside of conning, but the film makes the specific choice to weed them out of the narrative once they’ve given up on the business. Their decision to pursue the straight and narrow path dooms them to a life they’re unequipped for, and the aging Augusto is the only one who resists
Since Il bidone is one of Fellini’s lesser-known films, I won’t spoil the ending. Anyone familiar with the director’s work can ascertain that things go profoundly awful for Augusto, but it’s the execution of a theme that matters most. There are shades of future masterpieces like Nights of Cabiria (1957) and La Dolce Vita (1960), but the noir pathos has never been more prominently featured in a Fellini joint than it is here, and for that reason alone, it’s worth revisiting.
TRIVIA: Richard Basehart appeared in Fellini’s previous film, La strada.
Danilo Castro is a film noir aficionado and Contributing Writer for Classic Movie Hub. You can read more of Danilo’s articles and reviews at the Film Noir Archive, or you can follow Danilo on Twitter @DaniloSCastro.
I’ve written here on multiple occasions about my love for “B” Westerns. While I love these films at all times, over the years I’ve found that they’re the perfect thing to watch on road trips – they’re short and sweet, sometimes only about an hour long, which makes them perfect for a brief break at the end of a long day. And as an added bonus, sometimes they’re filmed in some of the same places I visit!
While traveling recently
I watched several films thanks to my portable DVD player, including a couple I
thought were particularly fun discoveries. Here’s a sampling of what I watched:
I’m a big fan of Tim Holt’s RKO “B” Westerns, which stand head and shoulders above most other “B’s.” The Holt films, whether made before or after Holt’s service in World War II, typically have attractive production values, including top cinematographers and excellent location work. This early Holt Western tops most of his Westerns quality wise; it apparently had an extra-large budget, as all but a few of the movie’s 59 minutes were shot outdoors in Kanab, Utah. I wrote about Kanab, where Westward the Women (1951) and other Westerns were filmed, for Classic Movie Hub in 2021.
The strong story finds Tim working as a wagon train guide in the American Southwest; he’s also looking to avenge his father’s murder. Meanwhile, he meets charming Helen (Martha O’Driscoll) and quickly falls for her, not knowing she’s (none-too-enthusiastically) engaged to someone else.
Tim Holt and Martha O’Driscoll
O’Driscoll and Holt
O’Driscoll, a longtime
personal favorite, is one of Holt’s best leading ladies, perfectly matched with
him in looks and personality; she has a particularly strong scene after an
Indian massacre.
The supporting cast includes singer Ray Whitley, who also cowrote several songs for the film, and Western staple Glenn Strange.
There’s an impressively
staged wagon train chase across the desert which appears to have been shot for
this film, rather than being stock footage, as was often done to save money on
“B” Westerns. The final sequence has a few close-ups with back projections, but
all in all the sequence is really well done and exciting, including a runaway
wagon pulled by six horses.
This is a top Holt film
which I highly recommend. It’s on DVD from the Warner Archive.
This is the second in a series of half a dozen films Jimmy Ellison and Russell Hayden starred in for low-budget Lippert Pictures in 1950.
The leading lady in these six films was a newcomer named Betty Adams, later to be known as Julia or Julie Adams. Julie wrote in her memoir that she did her own hair and makeup for the movies, and said “…for each new scene [I] tried very hard to remember which ‘girl’ I was playing…It was harder than it seems because we shot scenes from all six movies in the same locations…I had to play multiple parts on multiple movies on the same set or location on any given day.” She also said it was a marvelous experience because she was so busy she became “immersed in the work” and learned a great deal.
The story finds
“Shamrock” (Ellison) posing as an outlaw to break up a gang of stage
robbers. He gets to know the gang’s leader, Lucky (Hayden)…along with Lucky’s
charming sister Ann (Adams).
Julie Adams in Crooked River (1950)
Ellison is charming as the quick-drawing Shamrock. Adams is so young and green she doesn’t even sound quite like we’re used to, but there’s something interesting about her which hints at the career she would shortly develop.
As a teen in the late ’70s I had the pleasure of playing a small role in a stage production of The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie starring Adams; she was a wonderful, professional woman, and her career has thus always held special interest for me. When she signed my copy of her memoir a number of years ago I reintroduced myself and she wrote “We have a history!”
The movie combines stock footage from the Alabama Hills outside Lone Pine, California, which happens to be where I watched the film, with new footage shot at Iverson Ranch. I wrote about Iverson Ranch here earlier this year.
Crooked River wasn’t a top-drawer film, but I found it
an enjoyable 56 minutes, particularly for the insight it provided into the
early film career of Julie Adams.
Crooked River is available on DVD from VCI
Entertainment.
This is one of eight films costarring “Wild Bill” Elliott and young Anne Jeffreys. I previously wrote about Elliott and Jeffreys in Calling Wild Bill Elliott (1943) here in 2019.
The story this time around finds Marshal Wild Bill protecting a bunch of wildcatters, including his old pal Gabby (Gabby Hayes), from crooked businessmen headed by Richard Quinn (Weldon Heyburn). Quinn, whose character is revealed to be increasingly evil as the film goes on, is in cahoots with Judge Hobart (Herbert Heyes). Jeffreys is the judge’s pretty, innocent niece.
Bill Elliot in Death Valley Manhunt (1943)
I’m an Elliott fan but
found this one a relatively dry 55 minutes, with too much focus on men riding
around on horses, which tends to be a crutch some “B” films use
instead of plot; at the same time, there’s not enough of Jeffreys. We do, at
least, get the pleasure of Jeffreys singing “Carry Me Back to Ole
Virginny.”
I also wondered why
Marshal Wild Bill followed the bad guy up to the very top of an oil rig. Why
not just let the man climb up there and wait him out? He couldn’t stay up there
forever, after all. However, it led to a very exciting sequence with a fight
followed by Bill escaping from the rig, which I’m sure is the reason it was
worked into the story!
Something a little different about this film is that telephones play a big role in the story. This kind of mixing of the Western time period with more modern technology often happened in Roy Rogers films, leading me to term that kind of fantasy movie setting “Roy Rogers Land.”
This was another film
shot at Iverson Ranch. It’s always fun to recognize places I’ve visited when
watching these movies.
This Republic Pictures
film is not available on an authorized DVD, but as is obvious from this review,
copies can be found with some persistence.
Bandit Queen (William Berke, 1950)
Bandit Queen (1950)
I thoroughly enjoyed this reimagining of Johnston McCulley’s Zorro character as a female heroine named Zara.
Zara Montalvo (Barbara Britton) arrives at her family home in Old California after a long absence, just in time to witness the murder of her parents by Sheriff Jim Harden (Barton MacLane) and his gang.
After this dramatic opening, Zara seeks refuge at a mission with Father Antonio (Martin Garralaga). Initially tutored by Joaquin Murrieta (Philip Reed), she becomes proficient with a whip and, aided by her countrymen, she beomes the “Angel of the Sierras,” going after the men responsible for the murders of her parents.
Barbara Britton and Philip Reed in Bandit Queen (1950)
The movie is somewhat
unusual in that it’s the Americans, including Hinsdale (Willard Parker), who
are the villains; Zara wants to reinstitute Spanish law.
With both Zara and
Joaquin having dual identities, there’s much intrigue and excitement, along
with some good mild comedy. The priest’s reactions as he tries to keep Zara and
Joaquin’s phony identities straight are quite amusing.
I found Britton and Reed engaging as the leads, while MacLane and Parker were properly evil as the villains. Margia Dean, who I wrote about here in April, appeared in many Lippert films and has a small role in this film.
Barbara Britton
This 70-minute film was
from low-budget Lippert Pictures, but it has nice production values for a
Lippert film, with filming at Vasquez Rocks and plenty of background extras,
not to mention chickens!
It’s available on DVD
from VCI Entertainment.
This month I’m celebrating my fourth anniversary writing the Western RoundUp column, and I’d like to thank everyone once more who reads and comments! Your support and enthusiasm for the Western genre are both greatly appreciated.
…
– Laura Grieve for Classic Movie Hub
Laura can be found at her blog, Laura’s Miscellaneous Musings, where she’s been writing about movies since 2005, and on Twitter at @LaurasMiscMovie. A lifelong film fan, Laura loves the classics including Disney, Film Noir, Musicals, and Westerns. She regularly covers Southern California classic film festivals. Laura will scribe on all things western at the ‘Western RoundUp’ for CMH.
Silents are Golden: A Closer Look At – Tol’able David (1921)
One of the great joys of American silent film is
not only the “up close and personal” look at times gone by, but seeing how
people regarded even earlier times
gone by. We associate the early to mid-20th century with Americana today, but
during the silent era folks were more likely to associate it with their youth
in the 19th century.
Richard Barthelmess in Tol’able David (1921)
By 1921 innumerable generations of Americans had
grown up in rural areas, or at least had a childhood out on a farm. It was only
recently that 50% of the population had started living in urban areas, and only
3% of American farms had electricity. People had a fondness for old country
traditions as well as a keen nostalgia for a way of life that seemed to be
fading. Children could quote homespun poems by James Whitcomb Riley,
rural-themed plays like Sis Hopkins were
wildly popular, and silent films abounded with quaint settings and comic
country rubes.
This was the type of Americana-infused atmosphere familiar to Henry King when he directed his rural melodrama Tol’able David(1921), certainly one of the great masterpieces of the 1920s. Films like D.W. Griffith’s True Heart Susie(1919) and Way Down East(1920) had paved the way for it, as well as rural-themed light comedies starring Charles Ray. But it was King’s own memories of his childhood in Virginia that gave the film its spirit, which still contributes to its power today.
Richard Barthelmess and Marion Abbott in Tol’able David (1921)
King had gotten his start with stock companies on the stage and started directing at Pathé. He worked for Thomas Ince and studio Robertson-Cole for a few years and then joined the newly-incorporated Inspiration Company, which was headed by Charles Duell and young actor Richard Barthelmess. Barthelmess was fresh from his success in Way Down East and had just gotten the film rights to Joseph Hergesheimer’s short story “Tol’able David” from Griffith, who had been planning on adapting it to the screen but hadn’t gotten around to it. King was excited about the idea and would later say, “With part of the picture I relived the days of my boyhood.”
While scouting for filming locations King sent
an assistant to charming little Blue Grass, Virginia, located in a nook in the
Shenandoah Valley. He told him exactly what terrain to look for and the type of
split rail fences he wanted for his scenes–King had been born only eight miles
away, just over the Appalachians. The assistant phoned him from the location,
saying, “I stood on top of a hill and I could see everything you told me
about.” Without further ado, King brought his company to Blue Grass and work
began on Tol’able David.
On set of Tol’able David (1921) Image credit: Highland County Chamber of Commerce
The plot revolved around the theme of family
honor, a concept which feels foreign today but was supremely important in the
lives of the film’s characters. David Kinemon, played by Barthelmess, is the
youngest son of a family of tenant farmers. He wants to be treated like a real
man like his older brother, but he’s gently told he’s “tol’able, just
tol’able.” He also wants to impress the sweet Esther Hatburn (Gladys Hulette)
who lives with her grandfather on a neighboring farm.
Richard Barthelmess and Gladys Hulette in Tol’able David (1921)
The Kinemons’ humble, idyllic way of life begins
to change when the Hatburns’ distant cousins, the thuggish outlaws Iscah
(played by dependable character actor Ernest Torrence) and his grown sons Luke
and “Little Buzzard,” move to the Hatburn farm. Esther and her grandfather are
powerless to stop them, and they soon begin bullying and terrorizing the
Kinemons. They end up killing David’s dog and injuring his older brother,
turning him into a cripple. David’s father intends to avenge the family’s honor
himself, but perishes from a heart attack. This leaves David as the sole man of
the family, and he soon undergoes the ultimate life-or-death challenge to
uphold the Kinemons’ honor.
Richard Barthelmess and Ernest Torrence in Tol’able David (1921)
King greatly enjoyed the production of Tol’able David, as did the local residents who often played extras. He insisted on making it feel as authentic as possible, which at times made him a little at odds with his screenwriter Edmund Goulding, who was British and not as familiar with rural America. King later recalled: “I talked about the boy, the type of person he was, the family he came from. I talked about the family kneeling around the chairs each night, saying their prayers, which was done in my home for as long as I can remember.” He insisted on rewriting parts of the plot, amping up the drama. Goulding was nervous about altering Joseph Hergesheimer’s story, but Hergesheimer himself ended up being very pleased, telling King: “You put into this all the things that I left out.”
Tol’able David turned out to be hugely successful with both critics and audiences, and instantly lauded as a masterpiece. Photoplay magazine voted to give it their 1921 Medal of Honor, and stars like Mary Pickford would call it one of their favorite films. Lillian Gish recalled that Griffith himself, upon seeing it, embraced Barthelmess and “told him, with tears in his eyes, how proud he was.”
Lobby Card for Tol’able David (1921)
Today, Tol’able David is a classic that’s certainly stood the test of time, as powerful and engrossing as it was over a century ago. Even parts that seem melodramatic today, such as the scene where David’s mother stops him from seeking revenge, are strengthened by the actors’ sincerity. It feels as authentic as King had hoped, mixing gritty realism with warm sentiment and beautifully capturing the old barns and green valleys of the Virginia countryside. Above all, it has a reverence for an era long gone, a reverence that will still be apparent to viewers today.
Lea Stans is a born-and-raised Minnesotan with a degree in English and an obsessive interest in the silent film era (which she largely blames on Buster Keaton). In addition to blogging about her passion at her site Silent-ology, she is a columnist for the Silent Film Quarterly and has also written for The Keaton Chronicle.
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