Paul Newman is the quintessential movie star. Some were more iconic, or more quotable, perhaps, but no actor has managed to compete with Newman’s impeccable blend of good looks, talent, and longevity. He came from the mold of classic Hollywood in the 1950s, and yet helped to break the mold of the New Hollywood movement in the 1970s. He was nominated for an Oscar in five different decades, including three nominations (and a win) after he was given a Lifetime Achievement Award in 1985!
This is all worth noting because Newman’s single greatest talent, more than good looks or longevity, was his adaptability. The actor never fell into a slump for long because he could always recognize when he needed to change up the characters he played or the filmmakers he worked with. As such, these slumps can be hard to pick out. They were often introduced and corrected within the course of a single film, and the film that exemplifies this best is 1975’s The Drowning Pool.
The film’s international poster.
The film, based on the Ross Macdonald novel of the same name, is a Newman outlier for several reasons. It was the only sequel he appeared in during his lifetime, and it marked a crucial transitional moment in the midpoint of his career. The end result isn’t terrible so much as it is messy, and incongruous in terms of what the story is trying to achieve.
The origins of the film are muddled as the scripted mystery. Newman had scored a major hit with the first installment in the series, Harper (1966), which cast him as the heir apparent to Humphrey Bogart in The Big Sleep (1946). Harper’s screenwriter, William Goldman, quickly penned a sequel, but Newman’s busy schedule was prioritized and the franchise was shelved. The character of Harper (changed from “Archer” in the novels) was revived in 1973 when Walter Hill was hired to direct an adaptation of The Drowning Pool.
Harper revisited: Newman steps back into the role a decade later.
Initially, the Harper role was to be recast, and Hill, a burgeoning talent, was to strip away the silliness of the original film for a tougher approach. It was the age of Dirty Harry, and the plan was to put “a little more muscle” behind the private detective. The producers were eventually scared off by the new direction and Hill walked, but the sting of his departure was leavened by the fact that Newman agreed to reprise his role. Newman’s return bolstered the profile of the film, and Lorenzo Semple, Jr. was brought in to rewrite Hill’s script.
Semple was an accomplished wordsmith in his own right, with credits including the classic thrillers The Parallax View (1974) and Three Days of the Condor (1975). He relocated the setting of the novel from California to Louisiana in an effort to distinguish the film, and at one point considered changing the name of the Newman character to Dave Ryan. The latter suggestion was vetoed, though only a few weeks before production. The overriding narrative is that all were eager to distinguish the film from Harper, which is ironic given how similar the two films are when viewed in tandem.
Newman and Francoisa in one of the film’s many action scenes.
The Drowning Pool has a nearly identical plot to the first film, which sees Harper get dragged into the tangled web of a wealthy family. There’s another aging matriarch (Joanne Woodward), another vivacious daughter (Melanie Griffith), and another suspect male (Anthony Franciosa) who may or may not feed into the family’s criminal dealings. All of the story beats involving the characters play out the way they did in Harper, save for the matriarch character; who strikes up a deeper bond with the detective than her predecessor.
Newman and Woodward’s chemistry should come as no surprise to fans who’ve seen them together, and it stands out as one of the film’s subtle highlights. There’s a weathered quality to their dynamic compared to other detective-client relationships, and while largely unspoken, it gives The Drowning Pool a forlorn quality that was perfect for the Watergate era.
The other standout component of the film is Newman’s performance. The actor is repeatedly teased for being too old in the film, and the moments where he confronts (and mocks) his age quietly introduces a new trope in noir storytelling. There have been dozens of over-the-hill detectives since, but Harper, with his graying hair and grizzled pace, was the first of his kind (Robert Mitchum’s senior turn in Farewell, My Lovely arrived a month later).
“I have my moments.”
These tonal innovations are what make the script so frustrating. There are traces of Hill’s original draft in the scenes involving Louisiana henchmen and the main set piece (which involves a literal drowning pool), but they clash with Semple’s intimate, expository conversations. Both writers have a distinct vision for the story, which they’d go on to perfect in later films, but here, fused without a sense of harmony, they sabotage one another. Harper is too vulnerable to be an action hero yet too deadly to be an aging detective. He feels disconnected from the man he was a decade prior.
The frustration ratchets up further when one considers the source material. Ross Macdonald started off as a Raymond Chandler knockoff, aping the verbiage and tone of his idol in an attempt to develop his own style. The Moving Target (the basis for Harper) and The Drowning Pool were Macdonald’s first two novels and therefore the most derivative. When one looks at later efforts like Black Money or The Chill, however, it’s clear the author distinguished himself as a master in his own right. These novels were rife with aphorisms and inventive structures, and would have made for more thoughtful sequels had Warner Bros. adapted them instead.
The direction by Stuart Rosenberg does little to help the structural shortcomings. Rosenberg had proven himself a capable hand for Newman vehicles like Cool Hand Luke (1967) and Pocket Money (1972), but he had fallen on hard times and was reportedly “desperate” for the gig. Sources later claimed that director Jack Garfein was being coveted for the film before Newman made the push for his longtime friend.
Newman said Harper was one of his favorite characters to play.
Rosenberg does manage to evoke the intrigue of his Louisiana setting, and the decision to filter most of the scenes through a muted green color palette actually proved to be influential on the neon noir wave that followed (spearheaded, fittingly, by Hill’s The Driver). The biggest knock against Rosenberg here is that he fails to drum up any real tension.
The predictable beats are made all the more predictable by the fact that the director mounts them in the most straightforward manner possible. When compared to something like Cool Hand Luke, which prioritized character, one has to wonder whether Rosenberg’s commitment to plot stifled his eye for presentation. He delivers a hollow, albeit handsome product.
The Drowning Pool barely made a splash upon its release. The response from critics was muted, and the box office returns weren’t much better. Newman seized upon the elements of the film that worked (the aging, the reflecting) and transitioned, without missing a beat, to older roles in Slap Shot (1977), Fort Apache, the Bronx (1981), and The Verdict (1982). The Drowning Pool is little more than a footnote today, but it remains a fascinating pivot point between Newman the superstar and Newman the elder statesman.
TRIVIA: Newman, Woodward, and Francoisa had previously appeared together in The Long, Hot Summer (1958).
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.
It’s also been a year since my husband Doug and I were guests discussing Lone Pine movie locations on the France-based Western Movies podcast. Our host, Cole Armin, brought up an Audie Murphy film shot in Lone Pine I’d not yet seen: Hell Bent for Leather (1960), released the same year as Seven Ways From Sundown.
I was immediately
intrigued, as I hope to eventually see all of Murphy’s Westerns, and longtime
readers also know that I’m a regular visitor to Lone Pine and love its role in
movie Western history.
It took me a while to track down Hell Bent for Leather, a Universal Pictures release that somewhat inexplicably is not available on DVD in the United States. (The same is true, incidentally, of Seven Ways From Sundown.) However, it’s readily available in Europe on Region 2 DVD, so I was able to order a copy and watch it thanks to my all-region DVD player.
In Hell Bent for Leather Murphy plays Clay Santell, a horse trader who is startled when a thirsty man (Jan Merlin) staggers into his desert camp on foot.
Jan Merlin punches Audie Murphy
Santell shares his water
with the man and is about to give him some food when his ungrateful guest hits
him hard and steals his horse — leaving behind a distinctive rifle.
Santell eventually
staggers on foot into a small town, where he hopes to find help and a fresh
horse. The townspeople, however, get one look at the rifle he’s carrying and
seem scared out of their wits. Little does Santell realize that the rifle left
behind by his assailant belonged to a notorious gunman, Travers.
The townspeople believe Santell is Travers, who is shocked but assumes he’ll be freed when Sheriff Deckett (Stephen McNally) shows up. Deckett knows what Travers looks like — and Santell is stunned when the sheriff says he’s taking him to Denver to stand trial.
As a nightmare scenario unfolds, Santell believes he’ll soon be at the end of a rope and manages to escape from Deckett. He forces a young woman, Janet (Felicia Farr), to help him, and while she is initially resentful, the posse later turns on her as well, causing her sympathies to shift to Santell.
Santell and Janet manage to evade the posse, dealing with another bad guy, Ambrose (Robert Middleton), and his family along the way. Eventually, however, Santell and Janet have a fateful meeting in the desert with both Deckett and Travers.
I found Hell Bent for Leather a strong and engaging Audie Murphy film that delivers good Western entertainment for all of its 82 minutes. It was effectively directed at a fast clip by George Sherman, who made many Westerns I’ve enjoyed, including Universal titles such as Black Bart (1948), River Lady (1948), Border River (1954), and Dawn at Socorro (1954). His previous work also included Reprisal! (1956), a Guy Madison Western which costarred Felicia Farr.
The theme of an initially antagonistic couple on the run together has been used in countless films, with Hitchcock‘s The 39 Steps (1935) being an early example. The idea shows up time and again because it’s dramatically effective, with natural conflict and then dramatic interest as a couple gets to know each other under pressure. The truth about their backstories and characters inevitably emerges, followed by the possibility of a relationship.
Felicia Farr and Audie Murphy
As written by Christopher
Knopf, the theme works very well here, with Farr’s Janet revealed to have a
troubled background which leads her to be believably sympathetic toward Santell
as she comes to understand his story. My only criticism of the film is the
somewhat abrupt ending to their story; one can assume what happens next, but an
extra 30 seconds to wrap things up would have been welcome.
The film makes
outstanding widescreen use of the Alabama Hills outside Lone Pine, as filmed in
CinemaScope by Clifford Stine. I recognized some of the locations; viewers
watching carefully will notice the distinctive overhang of Gary Cooper Rock in
the background during the movie’s action-packed finale. It’s seen here in a
photograph I took in October 2021.
Gary Cooper Rock
The film reunited Murphy and McNally from The Duel at Silver Creek (1952) which I wrote about here in 2018. Murphy offers his usual low-key yet simultaneously charismatic screen presence, which makes his films such a consistent pleasure; he’s effective as an honest man who can’t believe people adamantly refuse to believe the truth about him.
Unlike his congenial marshal of The Duel at Silver Creek, McNally plays a troubled character whose motivations are only fully revealed in the film’s final minutes. His character this time around is closer to his well-remembered Dutch Henry Brown of Anthony Mann‘s classic Winchester ’73 (1950).
Farr, who will be 90 this year, made a number of Westerns in the ’50s, the best-known being a trio for director Delmer Daves: Jubal (1956), The Last Wagon (1956), and 3:10 to Yuma (1957).
Farr also appeared in the Western The First Texan (1956) with Joel McCrea, which leads to a bit of fun trivia. The First Texan was filmed the year following the birth of McCrea and Frances Dee‘s youngest son, Peter. A decade later, Farr and her husband, Jack Lemmon, became the parents of a daughter, Courtney, who eventually married Peter McCrea.
Felicia Farr and Audie Murphy on the run
Farr is appealing as a
gutsy character who is more than a damsel in distress. Her Janet manages to
keep up with Santell step by step as they climb through daunting rocks, which
is all the more impressive given that she’s in a dress! Once she throws in her
lot with Santell she refuses to abandon him when Santell wants her to escape,
choosing instead to face down whatever happens together.
Robert Middleton has a brief but striking appearance as the hard-drinking Ambrose partway through the film. The characters of Ambrose and his brothers seemed very strongly inspired by Charles Kemper’s Uncle Shiloh and sons in John Ford‘s Wagon Master (1950); I noticed similar echoes of Wagon Master in Will Penny (1967), a Charlton Heston Western reviewed here last year.
Those recognizable
connections to previous movies are part of what I find makes viewing Westerns
so enjoyable. The same can be said for some of the other ties of actors,
locations, and themes mentioned throughout this review.
Hell Bent for Leather (1960) Lobby Card
Former “B” Western star Bob Steele, who I mentioned here a couple of months ago in a review of Joel McCrea’s Cattle Drive (1951), is visible in the background as one of the posse. Another “B” star, Allan “Rocky” Lane, is also in the credits, but I didn’t spot him on this viewing. I’ll be looking for him next time!
Hell Bent for Leather was quite enjoyable Western entertainment which I recommend. Let’s hope that at some point both that film and Audie Murphy’s Seven Ways From Sundown become more easily available in the United States.
…
– 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: The One-Of-A-Kind Harry Langdon
For a long time, most silent comedians were very much of the same “type.” Their appearances might vary and some had more distinctly “dimwitted” personalities than others, but practically all of them had a similar level of easily excitable, jumping, pratfalling energy. Exaggerated reactions and lots of racing around matched the fast-paced mayhem and chase scenes that were the norm in the 1910s. By the 1920s comedies were settling down, but it took a highly unique and deliberately slow-paced performer to popularize a very different kind of comedy. Enter the talented Harry Langdon, considered by some as one of the “Big Four” of silent comedy behind Chaplin, Keaton, and Lloyd.
Harry Langdon
Born in Council Bluffs, Iowa in 1884, the baby-faced Langdon had been in show business since he was a teen, performing in traveling medicine shows and stock companies. He married fellow performer Rose Musolff in 1903 and the two would eventually enter vaudeville where Langdon developed a sketch called “Johnny’s New Car.” Created at a time when automobiles were just becoming a part of everyday life (and were often the butt of jokes), the sketch featured meek husband Harry and shrewish wife Rose in their new car, which of course breaks down. Harry attempts to fix the unwieldy machine (a wooden break-apart replica of a real car), but as soon as one part is fixed another either falls off, shatters, or explodes. The Langdons performed the sketch thousands of times over the years, modifying and perfecting it along the way, working their way up to high-class vaudeville houses.
From the collection of Harry Langdon Jr.
Initially skeptical of the longevity of films, Langdon finally accepted a contract from Mack Sennett in 1924. His deliberately slow style and innocent, befuddled manner were a big contrast with Sennett’s usual brand of energy. The studio’s writers were skeptical about the new hire–as Frank Capra remembered: “…Here was this child-like character who took five minutes to wink. Nobody wanted him. But Sennett kept saying, ‘You guys all know what he’s got. He’s got something.’”
That “something” Langdon certainly had, although it took a while to shine. Starting with Picking Peaches (1924), his first few films had him sharply, if rather conventionally, dressed and going along with Sennett’s usual style of slapstick. But in time, Langdon’s comedies started to revolve around his more unique style of slow blinks, delayed reactions, and cheerful social awkwardness.
Harry Langdon in The Strong Man (1926)
With his white pancake makeup and dark liner, Langdon looked like he’d escaped from a comic strip–or perhaps a more apt description is “wandered away from a comic strip and gotten lost.” He adopted a signature dented hat, ill-fitting coat and trousers, and silk necktie he tied like a shoelace. While other comedians might give an exaggerated reaction when startled, Langdon would stand still and then jump a second too late. While most comedians would run from danger, Langdon was more likely to blink uncomprehendingly and then give danger a well-meaning wave. Writer Walter Kerr probably described Langdon’s enigmatic, childlike persona best: “A five-year-old and not a five-year-old. A twelve-year-old and not a twelve-year-old. A full-grown functioning male and not a full-grown functioning male. Langdon was and was not all three at once, with nary a seam showing.”
From Three’s a Crowd (1926)
Once Langdon was allowed to be fully Langdon,
the results were some of the best comedy shorts of the 1920s. One favorite is Saturday Afternoon (1925), about a
henpecked Harry whose friend talks him into sneaking away for a date with two
pretty girls. The costar was Vernon Dent, a heavyset comedian who often played
villainous characters. Dependable Dent and fluttery Langdon were well-matched
onscreen and would partner many more times in the future.
Harry Langdon, Ruth Hiatt, Peggy Montgomery and Vernon Dent in Saturday Afternoon (1925)
Langdon was becoming wildly popular, and his style was influencing those around him. Stan Laurel is probably the most obvious example, having started in comedy shorts as the usual energetic go-getter but noticeably slowed his performance style by the end of the ‘20s and added Langdonesque blinks and childlike reactions. Buster Keaton also started playing more with long takes and hesitant movements – and that’s just to name two well-known personalities.
By 1925 it was a given that such a popular comedian would go into features, and Langdon became a producer at his own company, the Harry Langdon Corporation. His first feature-length comedy was The Strong Man(1926), also the first feature directed by Frank Capra, and it was followed by Tramp, Tramp, Tramp(1926), and Long Pants(1927). Capra later insisted that Langdon had started getting a swelled head and wanted to add more Chaplinesque pathos to his films, in ways that Capra felt wouldn’t fit his character. In any case, Capra did get let go, and Langdon assumed the director’s chair.
Three’s a Crowd (1927).
His directorial debut was Three’s a Crowd (1927), a charming story about Harry taking in a young woman who’s about to have a baby (despite owning very little himself), and it was followed by the less successful The Chaserand the lost Heart Trouble (both 1928). By this point his popularity was waning, perhaps because so many Langdon films had been flooding the market, and he would return to comedy shorts.
With Fifi D’Orsay and Chester Conklin at Columbia.
Langdon’s transition to talkies was rocky since his speaking style was often oddly rambling and monotone and some of the quirks of his childlike character could seem uncomfortably strange in “normal” life (as opposed to silent comedy’s slightly undercranked world). He did adapt, however, appearing in dozens of sound shorts throughout the ‘30s and ‘40s and some low-budget films, eventually specializing in henpecked husband characters. By this time the resemblances between him and Stan Laurel were pronounced enough that when Laurel went through a contract dispute with Roach, Langdon stepped in to star alongside Oliver Hardy in Zenobia(1939).
With Ollie in Zenobia.
Langdon passed away from a cerebral hemorrhage in 1944, leaving behind his wife Mabel (he had married two more times after divorcing Rose in 1928) and ten-year-old son Harry Jr. While he became an obscure figure in cinema in the decades after his death, in more recent years his films have been beautifully restored. Happily, they seem to be gaining the enigmatic little comedian new fans every year, and a new appreciation of his stature in silent comedy.
“The oddest thing about this whole funny business is that the public really wants to laugh, but it’s the hardest thing to make them do it.“ – Harry Langdon
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.
Lives Behind the Legends: Cary Grant – Finding Happiness
“My formula for living is quite simple. I get up in the morning and I go to bed at night. In between, I occupy myself as best I can.“ – Cary Grant
If there ever was a quintessential classic Hollywood gentleman, it was Cary Grant. Sure, he was handsome, but it was his charm and sophistication that set him apart from the rest. At the same time, there seemed to be a cheerfulness and warmth about him. But underneath the surface was a side that his fans never saw: Cary was a troubled man. Having lived through a traumatic childhood, he was always in search of his identity and a sense of inner peace. When fame and success didn’t turn out to be the answer, he walked some unconventional roads to find the happiness that eluded him.
Cary was born Archie Leach, the son of Elsie and Elias, in Bristol, England. Having grown up in poverty herself, Elsie wanted more for her family and she taught little Archie manners and etiquette from the get-go. He also learned to play the piano and received good grades in school, with encouragement from his devoted mother. This laid the groundwork for the well-mannered gentleman we would come to know later on. What he didn’t know at the time, was the reason his mother was so focused on him: Elsie and Elias had already had a son and he had died at only nine months old. This caused grief so deep, that his mother never truly recovered from it. Archie did notice that his parents fought often. Usually about their lack of money and his father’s frequent boozy nights with his buddies. One day when Archie was 11, he came home from school to find his mother gone. His father informed him that she had gone on vacation for a rest. At first, Archie was simply annoyed that she had not taken him with her, but after two weeks he wondered what he had done to make her so angry. His cousins put an end to his questions by telling him that she had passed away. The truth was that Elias had put Elsie in a mental institution.
Had it been necessary to put Elsie there? Although the mental institution did see a reason to diagnose her with mania, they did not deem her a threat to herself or anyone around her. Little was known about mental health at the time, and ‘husband knows best’ was still the general way of thinking. In fact, Elsie would spend years asking why she couldn’t be released and the reason was that Elias didn’t want her to be. As soon as Elsie was gone, Elias sent Archie to live with his grandmother. From that moment on, the boy rarely saw his father. Unbeknownst to Archie, his father was busy starting a new family with a co-worker he had fallen for. Archie’s grandmother had the same taste for alcohol as her son and a grown Cary Grant would describe her as “a cold, cold woman”. So at the age of 11, Archie was left to fend for himself.
A young Cary Grant
A teacher, perhaps knowing about the boy’s situation, took Archie to the theatre where he helped out with the lighting. There and then, Archie fell in love with the hustle and bustle of the theatre. He had found his people. Archie started working backstage and became familiar with a touring vaudeville group named The Bob Pender Stage Troupe. He joined the group at only 14 and started touring the country. Soon they headed for America. Life on the road was lonely and hard work for little pay. Archie realized he wanted more from life. When he was 18, he left the troupe and headed for New York. Though he initially struggled to get by, the charming Archie went from vaudeville to Broadway in only a few years’ time.
By now, Archie knew that his father had started a new family and he didn’t hold a grudge. He even went back to visit his father, stepmother, and half-brother in England when his finances finally allowed it. People who knew Archie at the time say he had only one thing on his mind: success. Something he later said was a stand-in for the love he craved. So it was no surprise to his friends when he left New York for Hollywood and secured a contract at studio Paramount. The studio changed his name to Cary Grant and he took his new Hollywood persona seriously. From now on, he introduced himself as Cary and he started hanging out with a more sophisticated crowd. Old friends complained that ‘Grant was taking over Leach’. This was not the studio’s doing: Cary desperately wanted to move up in the world and leave his struggling past behind him. The sense of style and impeccable manners his mother had taught him, helped him to easily maneuver in Hollywood’s upper class and he became friends with people like Douglas Fairbanks Jr. and Howard Hughes.
Soon, he became a popular leading man in hits like Blonde Venus (1932) and She Done Him Wrong(1933). All he needed to complete his dream life was a family. After chasing women around for years, he fell head over heels in love with Charlie Chaplin’s leading lady Virginia Cherrill. She was his type: slim, feminine, and sophisticated, just like his mother. Virginia and Cary became engaged, so he took her with him when he made his triumphant return to England after becoming a Hollywood actor.
Cary Grant and his first wife, Virginia Cherrill
It was 1933; he had just starred in the box-office hit I’m No Angel (1933), and it was the first time in years he would see his family again. But the real reason he made the visit wasn’t to promote his latest hit film – his father had called him weeks before and told him that he really needed to see him. Nervously, father and son went to the pub. Cary had been struck by his father’s change in appearance, later saying he suddenly looked like an old alcoholic. Then, his father told him that his mother was still alive. “I had to put her away”, he told a bewildered and increasingly upset Cary. As Cary ran out of the pub, his father yelled: “You should thank me. I did it for you!”. The news hit Cary so hard that nobody could find him for weeks. Eventually, he checked into a private hospital to dry out after a prolonged bender. His world had turned upside down. A part of him had always felt abandoned by his mother, but it turned out that she had been the one who was abandoned. He would go on to feel incredibly guilty for not looking into his mother’s sudden disappearance and the vague answers he was given. Once he sobered up, he went to visit his mother in the mental institution. He was shocked to see his mother, at only 57, with fully gray hair and missing teeth. She looked at him blankly when he told her who he was. Not comprehending that this fully grown man was her little boy.
Cary quickly left England and tried to create his own happy home: in 1934 he married Virginia. But no matter how much he tried to hide it, his past had a profound effect on his most intimate relationships. “My possessiveness and fear of losing her brought about the very condition it feared: the loss of her,” he would reflect decades later. He drank a lot, flew into jealous rages, and discouraged her from continuing her own career. The revelation of his mother’s disappearance had opened a floodgate of emotions that Cary did not know how to deal with. After only eight months, Virginia filed for divorce.
In 1935 Cary’s father passed away. His feelings towards his father were complicated, but Cary went to England for his final weeks and settled his affairs. His father’s death made him his mother’s guardian and he immediately arranged for her release from the mental institution. The facilities’ documentation noted that she hadn’t had an “attack of mental illness” for 21 years, the time she was admitted. Elsie went to live with her younger brother to acclimate and got to know her son through the many letters they sent each other. In 1937, Elsie rented an apartment with the monthly allowance Cary gave her. It was difficult for Cary to reconcile the woman who’d last taken care of him when he was 11 and who still called him Archie, with his new life as movie star Cary Grant. He never invited her to his home and kept those two worlds separate.
By now Cary had reached star status with movies like Topper (1937) and Bringing Up Baby (1938), but he wanted more. He was almost 40 and eager to start a family. He married classy Woolworth heiress Barbara Hutton in 1942, after two years of dating.
During this time World War II had begun. Cary was very worried about his mother, so he moved her into a safer area of Bristol and sent her many letters to check on her. Though England would continue to have a place in his heart, he felt a growing loyalty to his newly adopted home country. He officially became an American citizen and legally changed his name to Cary Grant. Still, Archie Leach was never far away. During this time, he made the movie Penny Serenade (1941) based on who he would have been, had he not become ‘Cary Grant’. He played a struggling Cockney with a difficult relationship with his mother. Elias Leach’s picture is even seen in his fictional mother’s apartment. He poured his all into the film, but it didn’t do well at the box office. Proving to Cary that people were not interested in seeing the real him. He would never become so emotionally involved in a movie again.
The way his past had shaped him also reared its head in his marriage to Barbara. He had worked hard for his money and never forgot what it was like to struggle. He was annoyed by the constant presence of her servants and he didn’t like spending time with her ‘old money’ friends. Cary had many friends in the upper class himself, but they all worked and he respected that. Barbara was embarrassed by him avoiding her friends and felt that he worked way too much. The pair desperately tried to make their marriage work: he took on fewer roles and Barbara agreed to a smaller house and less staff. It didn’t help. They were divorced by the end of World War II.
The end of the war meant that Cary could visit his mother for the first time in years. Still, his visits were always tied to business and he would spend only one or two days with Elsie. On the boat back from one of these trips, he met the actress Betsy Drake. Though there were almost twenty years between them, Cary was fascinated by her mind and knowledge. She practiced yoga, liked to discuss philosophy, and was open-minded.
Cary Grant and third wife, Betsy Drake
Once they were in a relationship, it was clear that he had learned from the mistakes he made in his marriage to Virginia. Instead of being opposed to it, he was so supportive of Betsy’s career that he arranged a studio contract and a role in his new film for her. They married in 1949 and for the first time since he had started working, Cary took some time off from filming. While Cary mentored her career, Betsy taught him about poetry, philosophy, and yoga. Betsy even helped him to quit smoking by using hypnotherapy. Cary raved about the practice and started using it to relieve physical ailments as well. After a while, he realized work was still an essential part of his life and he returned to the limelight after 18 months with the spectacular To Catch a Thief (1955).
His marriage to Betsy seemed picture-perfect to everyone around them, but once again Cary became restless. While filming The Pride and the Passion (1957) in Spain, Cary fell for his co-star Sophia Loren. She was very different from his usual type, with her voluptuous figure and dark hair. But Cary fell so deeply in love with her, he even offered to divorce Betsy and marry her. Sophia, who was already involved with future husband Carlo Ponti, declined. Their affair was not just physical: they shared stories about their troubled childhood and the effect it had on them. Cary told her that his childhood was the reason his relationships never worked out. Betsy visited Cary in Spain for a few weeks and realized he was having an affair, but felt that there was nothing she could do. When heading back to America, Betsy’s boat got into a terrible accident and sank. 49 passengers drowned, but Betsy was able to get on a lifeboat.
By the time Cary came back home, their marriage had changed forever. Cary still had Sophia on his mind and Betsy was traumatized by the accident. Desperate, Betsy took a friend’s advice and went to a doctor who worked with a new method: LSD. At the time, LSD was a licensed therapeutic drug, only available to the wealthy through a specialized doctor. It was thought that its psychedelic effects led you to the core of your unresolved trauma and fears and subsequently gave you clarity and release. Betsy found it so healing that she recommended it to Cary. He would go on to take it 100 times under the care of a doctor whom he called ‘my wise Mahatma’. He later said: “When I broke through, I felt an immeasurable beneficial cleansing of so many needless fears and guilts. I lost all tension I’d been crippling myself with”. He also came to a realization about his romantic relationships: “LSD made me realize I was killing my mother through my relationships with other women. I was punishing them for what she had done to me.” Friends were a little wary of Cary’s cry of a rebirth. It certainly was the first step to a more enlightened and relaxed Cary. He admitted to the press that he had hidden behind the ‘Cary Grant’ character and he told his life story openly and without shame. He would continue to rave about LSD therapy but later admitted that “there is no end to getting well”. For Betsy, LSD therapy made her realize that their marriage wasn’t working and they separated amicably after 12 years together.
While filming That Touch of Mink (1962), Cary started dating actress Dyan Cannon. They fell in love and Cary was convinced the LSD therapy had enabled him to finally have a healthy relationship and start a family. Despite Dyan being 25 to Cary’s 58, their relationship progressed quickly. He took Dyan to meet his mother in England, something he usually saved for after the wedding. Dyan later noted that he had been excited to see his mother until the day finally arrived and he became gloomy. Things did not improve when his mother was rather cold to him and rejected the expensive mink coat he had bought her. In the following years, his mother’s letters to him would become more rambling, but she seemed to open up more as well. Whereas before she had always refused to say a bad word about her late husband, she now confided that Elias had ‘deceived’ her and that she regretted not taking a second husband. Cary appreciated her honesty. Elsie was now in her eighties and Cary convinced her to live in a nursing home of her choosing, promising her that she would never be forced to stay.
Cary and Dyan got married and a dream came true for Cary: he finally became a father. In 1966 their daughter Jennifer was born. Cary was overjoyed and told reporters outside of the hospital that she was his “greatest production”. When the new family arrived home, Cary looked at their little girl and told Dyan that this was everything he’d ever wanted. He was so devoted to fatherhood that, after 72 films, he retired completely. For the first time in his life, he didn’t need work to feel fulfilled. But while he doted on their daughter, he became colder towards his wife. He became more and more domineering and kept persuading Dyan to take LSD therapy. The sessions were traumatizing for her. Eventually, the marriage caused Dyan too much distress and she filed for divorce after three years. After a nasty court battle, which they kept from Jennifer, they settled into a custody arrangement.
Cary still visited his mother in England and had even taken baby Jennifer to meet a glowing Elsie. He recorded Elsie talking about her life, so Jennifer could listen to it when she was older. Elsie passed away peacefully at the age of 95 in 1973. Her tape recordings were kept in a safe Cary had for Jennifer. In this, he put her childhood mementos: drawings, letters, videos he’d made of her. Cary didn’t have anything from his childhood, so he wanted things to be different for his little girl. “I was embarrassed I think, by the extent of his love and devotion to me,” Jennifer later said. As an adult, she would be very grateful for her “time machine”. Fatherhood had finally given Cary the unconditional love and warmth he had always searched for.
Cary and his daughter, Jennifer
Cary had a life outside of fatherhood too: he joined several boards, like those of Faberge and MGM. He was still close friends with colleagues like Grace Kelly and Alfred Hitchcock. In 1981 he entered into his fifth and final marriage, to publicist Barbara Harris, who was 47 years his junior. Barbara later admitted that Cary was wary of women’s motives with him and that she had to prove she was with him for the right reasons. Once she did, she said she couldn’t have wished for “a more loving husband”. Barbara turned his house, which was in a perpetual state of renovation, into a home. Cary became a homebody for the first time in his life and Barbara lent a professional hand as his publicist and personal assistant. Jennifer adored her stepmother.
It may not have been conventional, but Cary finally had the happy life he had always wanted. As Barbara said after his death in 1986: “LSD therapy removed an awful lot of his barnacles. The birth of Jennifer brought him great love, and I think the relationship we had brought him peace. Most of the people who truly knew him commented that he was much more at ease and a much happier person in the later part of his life.”
Arancha has
been fascinated with Classic Hollywood and its stars for years. Her main area
of expertise is the behind-the-scenes stories, though she’s pretty sure she
could beat you at movie trivia night too. Her website, Classic Hollywood
Central, is about everything Classic Hollywood, from actors’ life stories
and movie facts to Classic Hollywood myths. You can follow her on Twitter
at @ClassicHC.
Every film noir lover has their best-loved features from this shadowy era of filmmaking. As we begin another year, I’m taking a look at my favorite films noirs. One of the reasons why I love this particular task is because some of my favorites will always remain the same, no matter when or how many times I identify them – while others will change depending on the season, my mood, or even the time of day. The following are the first five of my Top 10 list – next month, I’ll wrap it up with the next five…
Barbara Stanwyck & Fred MacMurray in Double Indemnity (1944)
I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again – my favorite film noir of all time is Double Indemnity. It’s absolutely perfect to me. It tells the story of Phyllis Dietrichson, a frustrated and unhappy housewife, and Walter Neff, a bored insurance salesman, and the transformation of the couple’s passion into murder, with Phyllis’s husband being the unlucky recipient.
I love so much about Double Indemnity. The story. Barbara Stanwyck’s much-maligned wig. The clipped way that Fred MacMurray says “Baby.” Heck, the fact that former fun-guy Fred is even IN this movie. Edward G. Robinson, and everything he does and says. And all the noir boxes that are ticked: voiceover narration, flashback orientation, shadows filtered through Venetian blinds, a badass femme fatale, and an anti-hero who thinks he’s running the show – but who’s really not.
Favorite quote:
“Yes, I killed him. I killed him for money – and a woman – and I didn’t get the money and I didn’t get the woman. Pretty, isn’t it?”
Joan Crawford, Ann Blyth, and Eve Arden in Mildred Pierce (1945)
Another film that always and forever will be on any and every top 10 noir list I ever make is Mildred Pierce. It’s not the first noir I ever saw – that honor goes to Double Indemnity – but it was the first noir I ever saw on the big screen. And I’ve been in love ever since. Based, like Double Indemnity, on a novel by James M. Cain, Mildred Pierce centers on the title character (played in an Oscar-winning performance by Joan Crawford), the lengths she goes to support her daughters – one of which is a truly horrid child who grows up to be an even more horrid adult – and the dashing spendthrift she falls for, and who winds up dead.
In addition to Crawford, the film is highlighted by Eve Arden, who plays Mildred’s wise (and wise-cracking) friend; Jack Carson, as the ex-partner of Mildred’s ex-husband, whose attraction to Mildred is superseded only by his affinity for a dollar; and Ann Blyth, whose angelic face was an ideal façade for the villainous Veda Pierce.
Favorite quote:
“Personally, Veda’s convinced me that alligators have the right idea – they eat their young.”
Ever since I was a child, I’ve been fascinated by the story of Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow – so I was primed and ready to fall in love with Gun Crazy, which is inspired by the exploits of the Depression-era outlaws. Peggy Cummins and John Dall star as Annie Laurie Starr and Bart Tare, star-crossed partners in crime who, in Bart’s estimation, go together “like guns and ammunition.” The two first meet at a gun-shooting competition in a local carnival and before you can say “Bob’s your uncle,” they’re knocking off the Traveler’s Aid Society and robbing banks.
A transplant from Ireland who was cast – and then cast off – as Amber in Forever Amber (1947), Peggy Cummins was made for the role of Annie Laurie Starr. With her face often an expressionless mask, she was no one-note character; she could be soft and sweet, and earnest as a Girl Scout, or fearless and ruthless and downright scary.
Favorite quote:
“Bart, I’ve been kicked around all my life, and from now on, I’m gonna start kicking back.”
Distinguished by its time-bending plot, The Killing is a noir that I dearly love to watch over and over and over again – I have it on VHS and DVD, I’ve seen it on the big screen, and I watch it every time it airs on TV. I simply cannot see it too many times. The film was directed by Stanley Kubrick early in his storied career and centers on a motley crew of individuals – including a mousy cashier, a beat cop deep in debt to the mob, and a bartender caring for his invalid wife – who unite to carry out an intricately designed racetrack heist. The mastermind of the scheme is Johnny Clay, played by Sterling Hayden at his badass best.
The cast includes Marie Windsor, as the mousy cashier’s duplicitous, gold-digging wife; Timothy Carey as a pivotal but ill-fated cog in the heist machinery; and Vince Edwards, playing a hard-boiled character who’s light years away from his role as TV’s Dr. Ben Casey. Also in the cast, making his big-screen debut was comedian Rodney Dangerfield, who can be spotted as a bystander in a scene where a brawl is taking place near the racetrack bar.
Favorite quote:
“You know Fay, the biggest mistake I made before was shooting for peanuts. Five years have taught me one thing, if nothing else: Any time you take a chance, you better be sure the rewards are worth the risk. Because they could put you away just as fast for a ten dollar heist as they can for a million dollar job.”
Yvonne De Carlo & Burt Lancaster in Criss Cross (1949)
Criss Cross is a noir that, to borrow a phrase from Mary Poppins, is “practically perfect in every way” – yet, it’s woefully underappreciated, in my view. At its core, it features a passionate but deadly triangle populated by Steve Thompson (Burt Lancaster), recently returning to his hometown after a lengthy absence; Steve’s ex-wife, Anna (Yvonne De Carlo), who he can’t seem to stay away from; and Slim Dundee (Dan Duryea), head of the local mob and Anna’s new husband. The emotions, suspicions, and deceit swirling around these three are heightened when armored car theft is thrown into the mix – and the term “criss-cross” takes on a whole new meaning.
Yvonne DeCarlo, perhaps best known for her exotic roles in a number of sword-and-sandals flicks, is ideal as the fatal femme in Criss Cross. Early in the film, as we – along with Steve – watch Anna dancing to a soulful Latin beat (with a young, uncredited Tony Curtis, no less), we know exactly why he’s drawn to her like a magnet. And later, as we get to know her better, we know why Steve should have stayed far, far away.
…..
What are your favorite films noirs? Tune in to the Noir Nook next month for the next half of my Top 10!
…
– 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:
I’m a big fan of screwball comedy, so of course, I enjoy the wacky antics of Gregory La Cava’s 1936 classic, My Man Godfrey, which stars William Powell and Carole Lombard as an unlikely couple brought together by a scavenger hunt and the societal upheaval of the Great Depression. This sparkling romp features one of the nuttiest families you’ll find in classic cinema, with Lombard leading the charge as Irene, a dizzy daughter of the spoiled, spendthrift Bullock family, but there’s a far more serious undertone to the story than its silly surface might suggest. While watching My Man Godfrey again recently, I was struck by the way the screwball elements sweeten a story that’s really about socio-economic inequality, selfishness, and the ways in which the idle rich could transform society for everyone’s benefit if they’d just wake up to the idea that it might be their responsibility to share the wealth.
Scruffy and bedraggled, Godfrey looks like the other forgotten men when he first encounters the Bullocks, but they can’t guess the journey that brought him to the dump or the lessons he has learned there.
The wacky comedy of the movie lures us in and keeps us laughing, thanks to the iconic performances of Powell and Lombard and an impressive supporting cast. The Bullock family is headed by Eugene Pallette as patriarch Alexander, the only member who seems to recognize the precipice of self-destruction on which they teeter. Pallette plays gruff father figures in quite a few top-notch comedies, including The Lady Eve (1941) and Heaven Can Wait (1943), so he’s in his element here, although his protests rarely have much effect on the rest of the clan. Alice Brady plays his wife, Angelica, whose mind is so scattershot that listening to her talk is like watching a rubber ball ricochet around a room. Brady, a veteran of the stage and silent film era, goes for broke with the performance, which earned her an Oscar nomination for Best Supporting Actress. Her partner in comedy throughout the film is Mischa Auer as Angelica’s “protégé,” Carlo, really just a moocher with a healthy appetite for the Bullock’s food and a desire to avoid any actual labor to justify his existence. Auer also picked up an Oscar nomination, thanks mainly to the scenes where he and Brady tag team with their fast-paced, madcap antics. The least nutty but most pernicious of the lot is Gail Patrick as Irene’s sister Cornelia, who spends much of the picture trying to get Godfrey fired, partly to spite the smitten Irene, partly because Godfrey rebukes her, and partly because she just enjoys stirring up trouble. Taken together, the Bullocks are such a handful that we understand why Molly (Jean Dixon), their shrewd, experienced maid, expects Godfrey to make a speedy exit.
Godfrey’s ragged clothes stand out in the opulence of the scavenger hunt crowd, but not to his detriment. His dignified poverty calls out their vanity and foolishness, a fact that galls Cornelia especially.
Godfrey, however, has a more serious turn of mind and plans that go far beyond a butler’s paycheck in return for his labors. Taken up by Irene as a “forgotten man” for the wealthy revelers’ scavenger hunt, he’s really a Harvard graduate and scion of a lofty Boston family whose life fell apart after his marriage ended in disaster. Having seen the misery and resilience of the jobless men living at the dump, Godfrey has experienced an epiphany. He’s out to shake things up and make a difference, and that journey is really the heart of the story, even if it’s told in and around the hilarious comedic scenes. Godfrey knows that he was once as naïve and shallow as the Bullocks are now, a point he makes clear to Cornelia, but he has seen up close how the other half lives and realizes that the men society has forgotten have a lot to teach the upper classes about dignity, resilience, and the value of life. Godfrey takes his butler job seriously and strives to do justice to it because he knows that it’s not beneath him to work hard, but he also knows that his privileged background makes him both able and obligated to give the forgotten men of the dump the same opportunity to earn a living.
Godfrey attracts the devotion of both Irene and Molly, who bond over their shared love for the seemingly oblivious butler.
He’s rightfully incensed by the scavenger hunt that equates a suffering human being with a goat or a bowl of goldfish, but he’s not so much angry on his own behalf as is he for the other men he has gotten to know and respect. A lot of Godfrey’s evolution as a character takes place before the story begins, so that we only see the third act, as it were, of his development; he’s already riding the redemptive arc from the nadir of being a suicidal wreck ready to throw himself into the river. That decision feels intentional within the framework of the film, given that this is a story originally being told to people who are actually living through the Great Depression. Godfrey functions as a beacon of hope and a catalyst for change. “Prosperity,” as Godfrey tells his friend, Mike, “is just around the corner,” and Godfrey himself is its agent.
Irene’s love for Godfrey is so pure that she enjoys even the most mundane tasks, like washing up dishes, as long as she’s with him.
In another kind of movie, Godfrey’s personal growth
and business success would be reward enough for his enlightenment, but since
this is a screwball comedy he also has to be rewarded – or punished, depending
on how you feel – with the disruptive, chaotic life force that a screwball
heroine embodies. Life with Irene will never be dull, although it might make
rational conversation hard to come by, but Irene also brings an unshakable
devotion that was tragically missing in Godfrey’s previous marriage. Irene
loves him when she thinks he’s a homeless nobody, she loves him when she thinks
he’s a butler, and she loves him when she finds him running a prosperous
nightclub. Unaware of the revolution in his circumstances, Irene even brings
firewood and food with her to the former site of the dump when she runs away
from home to be with him. She might not be logical or wise, but she is
faithful, generous, and determined to overcome any obstacle. There’s a lot to
love in a personality like that, especially during the Depression, when
loyalty, generosity, and determination were needed even more to get through
troubled times.
My Man Godfrey is a brilliant comedy, but I appreciate how much more there is to it. It’s social commentary and call to action made palatable by rapid patter and bright laughter. For a similar take on the same themes, pair it with Sullivan’s Travels (1941), or move into full-strength Depression drama with The Grapes of Wrath (1940). My Man Godfrey earned six Oscar nominations, including acting nods for Powell, Lombard, Brady, and Auer, as well as Best Director and Screenplay, but it went home empty-handed in a year of strong contenders.
Horror movies of the 1950s fed off real-world fears in a way – it feels so wrong to say – many of us have enjoyed. Paranoia about nuclear war and Communism, among other threats, were turned into a horror movie industry of big bugs (Them!), radioactive horrors (Day the World Ended) and alien attacks (Invasion of the Body Snatchers).
But something else captured the public’s imagination in the 1950s and, while it didn’t create panic or was a danger like nuclear annihilation, it was a much talked about curiosity that remains with us today: the search for the Abominable Snowman of the Himalayas.
Reports of the Yeti and similar creatures can be traced back for centuries, but there was a renewed interest in the creature during the 1950s after climber Eric Shipton took photos of an enlarged footprint while climbing Mount Everest in 1951. Two years later, Sir Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay, who were the first to reach the top of Everest, also reported seeing large, unexplained tracks.
Peter Cushing in a publicity still from The Abominable Snowman.
Talk of the Yeti grew, as did interest in proving its existence. A London newspaper even mounted an expedition to find it. There were so many expeditions that rules were set, and the American Embassy in Kathmandu even issued the memo Regulations Governing Mountain Climbing Expeditions in Nepal – Relating to Yeti from regional guidelines.
There were three rules: Expedition permits had to be purchased through the Nepalese government; a Yeti could be photographed or captured but not killed and all photographs or captured Yeti must be surrendered to the government; finally, any information “throwing light” on the creature’s existence had to be submitted to the government before being made public.
Though not one expedition has yet to produce a Yeti, we do have movies to enjoy.
The Snow Creature (1954), the Japanese film Half Human (1955), Man Beast (1956) and The Abominable Snowman (1957) are four movies from that decade alone, with others following in subsequent years that took on such variations as Big Foot in the U.S. and Sasquatch in Canada.
In the 1950s films, moviegoers often only saw glimpses of the Yeti, like a giant hand, to build suspense about the creature as in Hammer’s The Abominable Snowman.
You’ll notice much documentary-style footage of snowy regions and climbers. There will be footprints (many footprints) and well-meaning researchers spouting things like “This is not a hunting party” to adventurers looking to make a buck. Violence is implied mostly by off-camera screams. The Yeti is shown in pieces, like a hairy arm, or in shadows to build suspense to the big reveal which isn’t very big or scary.
Even with the rich folkloric material and a ready-made beast, the movies generally plod along before dwindling out to the end credits.
Hammer takes on the Yeti
The most intriguing story belongs to the best-known Yeti film of the 1950s, The Abominable Snowman. It was based on the 1955 BBC TV play The Creature by Nigel Kneale, who was inspired to write it after learning that the London newspaper’s expedition for the Yeti did find mysterious tracks but had no explanation for them. Kneale said at the time that he wrote The Creature as his guess to explain the footprints, but he doesn’t give himself enough credit for his thoughtful exploration of the legend. (The TV play was broadcast live twice but was not recorded so it is considered lost.)
Dr. John Rollason (played by Peter Cushing in both the TV and film versions) is studying plant specimens in a Tibetan monastery where he joins adventurer Tom Friend on an expedition to find the Yeti. (Also appearing in both versions is Arnold Marle as the mysterious Lhama.)
Peter Cushing and Forrest Tucker, center, take part in an expedition up the Himalayans for different reasons in The Abominable Snowman.
Before watching the film, put aside your expectations of what you are used to seeing in a Hammer film starring Peter Cushing (it was his second movie for the studio) because that’s not what you get here. It is certainly a tense thriller with horror elements, but Kneale’s considerate script gets the audience in sync with Dr. Rollason who questions what defines a monster and posits the idea of the Yeti being “parallel evolution” to humanity.
The good doctor goes on the expedition much to the chagrin of his wife Helen (Maureen Connell), also a researcher (a part added to the film). She doesn’t trust Tom Friend (played by Forrest Tucker) or the Sherpa guide Kusang (Wolfe Morris) who will take her husband up the Himalayas to learn the truth behind the Yeti.
Rounding out the small party are trapper Ed Shelley (Robert
Brown) and Scottish photographer Andrew McNee (Michael Brill), who once
glimpsed a Yeti. All play an important role.
It’s clear that Dr. Rollason and Friend have different motivations for the expedition – one is there for science, the other for money and glory. The tension between the two men is palpable and grows through the film.
As they climb higher, the men become strangely affected, especially
McNee who hears things others don’t and often gazes into the distance like he’s
in a trance. They blame it on the thin air, but you get the feeling they don’t
believe it.
Strange things start to happen to men on an expedition in The Abominable Snowman. Forrest Tucker, left, and Peter Cushing help their photographer (Michael Brill) after he falls into another trance.
They do find proof of the Yeti in 13-inch-long footprints that show the stride of something that can stand up to 8-feet tall. The explorers set little bear-like traps that catch one of their own but are easily torn apart by “something” else.
When they finally have proof a Yeti, it sets other things in
motion as sad howls and cries are carried on the wind, again affecting the men.
Peter Cushing comes face to face with The Abominable Snowman in the 1957 Hammer Films production.
Dr. Rollason’s empathy for the Yeti grows as he believes they are trapped in the evolutionary process and are hiding in misery of the harsh Himalayan environment to die. (Yes, it’s depressing.) Not only do those compassionate words for the Yeti take this film up a notch, but so does the mystical turn that makes us wonder if they have powers we can’t understand. (And what role does the Lhama play, if any?)
Trivia: The Abominable Snowman was directed by Val Guest, whose work with writer Kneale and Hammer Films also included The Quatermass Xperiment(1955) and Quartermass 2 (1957).
The film was originally going to be titled The Snow Creature, until they learned that title was already taken.
Other films
The Snow Creature(1954) was directed by W. Lee Wilder, brother of Billy Wilder, and written by his son Myles Wilder in the vein of King Kong. Don’t expect that same clever Billy Wilder touch, though.
Botanist Frank Parrish (played by Paul Langton) and photographer Leslie Denison (Peter Wells) are on a Himalayan expedition to study plant life.
But when their Sherpa guide Subra (Teru Shimada) learns his wife has been taken by a Yeti, he forces the group to change course and look for her.
They do find a Yeti and somehow build a cage to transport it down the mountain, then concoct a large, refrigerated box that looks like a telephone booth to get it to California. We know it won’t hold the Yeti, so we bide our time (just a few minutes) until it gets loose and mysteriously makes its way around the city without being seen. (This part of the film recalls a similar setting from one of the best 1950s horror movies.) Good for the Yeti, by the way, who discovers a meat packing freezer where it can eat, be cold and hide for a while.
Though the creature doesn’t do much damage and there’s barely a body count, the cops are out to get it on a boring city-wide creature hunt that slows the film to a crawl.
Half Human (AKA Half Human: The Abominable Snowman) was a Japanese film directed by Ishiro Honda in 1955. It was dubbed and re-edited for its U.S. release in 1958, adding footage of John Carradine explaining the story to his colleagues. (The Japanese version, as expected, is considered superior to the reworked U.S. film.)
A poster for the U.S. release of Half Human.
A reporter meets with two mountaineering students who share a strange tale about their ski trip in the Japanese Alps. They were part of a group that split in two with some going to a friend’s cabin and the others to a lodge. A blizzard strikes and the next day a search party finds the cabin destroyed with a dead body and giant footprints. Rescue efforts can’t resume until the spring thaw, the same time another group led by an animal broker is out searching for the Abominable Snowman.
It gets muddled as the good-guy searchers are targeted by both the bad-guy animal broker and the villagers who honor a “Mountain Lord.” All the while, that Mountain Lord is around and may not be alone.
Trivia: Actors Momoko Ōkōchi and Akira Takarada are
well-known for their roles in multiple Godzilla films.
Man Beast (1956) clearly had such a low budget that they couldn’t afford to rent proper winter gear for the characters seen tracking through the Himalayas without scarves or gloves. (They blow into their hands a lot to “warm them up.”)
The title comes from the question most often asked when discussing the Yeti: Is it man or beast? Man Beast has an interesting answer that would make a sold movie. But with such poor acting and low production values, this is not that film.
These hearty explorers climb the Himalayas without gloves or winter gear in Man Beast.
Connie Hayward (Virginia Maynor) is a concerned sister who gets her annoying boyfriend Trevor Hudson (Lloyd Nelson, AKA Lloyd Cameron) to travel with her to the Himalayas in search of her brother. They meet Steve (Tom Maruzzi) who reluctantly agrees to take them to find her brother’s camp, where they learn he is missing. They continue their search with the help of Dr. Erickson (George Wells Lewis) and the strange-looking climber and guide Varga (George Skaff), who has made more expeditions to find the Yeti than anyone else, but also tends to lose at least one member of his team each time.
By the end, the film has traveled into that intriguing territory that it fails to deliver on, with things quickly explained and then wrapped up.
Trivia: Billed as Virginia Maynor, actress Asa Maynor will be familiar to “Twilight Zone” fans as the stewardess in the famous episode Nightmare at 20,000 Feet.
Asa Maynor and William Shatner in Nightmare at 20,000 Feet.
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.
Betty White was an American actress and comedian who has worked across many different mediums and is a beloved icon today. He career has spanned over nine decades within the entertainment industry, with her having the distinction of being one of the first women to produce a sitcom and executing creative control both in front of the camera and behind it. White was to turn 100 on January 17, 2022; sadly, she passed away on December 31, 2021. While her wit and joyful presence will sorely be missed, there is still much to celebrate regarding White’s career.
Betty Marion White was born in Oak Park, Illinois, on January 17, 1922, to homemaker Christine Tess and salesman Horace Logan White. When she was one year old, her family moved to Alhambra, California, followed by Los Angeles, California. White graduated from Beverly Hills High School in 1939 and dreamed of becoming a forest ranger, though women were not allowed to serve in that profession. Instead, she realized an interest in performing, idolizing Jeanette MacDonald and Nelson Eddy. As a result, she turned to acting.
A young Betty
Prior to this realization, White had already had some experience with performance. In the early 1930s, she appeared on a radio program. Following her graduation, she and a classmate sang songs from The Merry Widowon a television program. She also found work in modeling, though she put her career on hold with the start of World War II, serving with the American Women’s Voluntary Services.
White struggled to find film roles, so she instead appeared in radio programs to execute bit parts or participate in commercials. Eventually, she was offered her own radio show, The Betty White Show, soon followed by co-hosting Hollywood on Television with Al Jarvis on television. When Jarvis left, she hosted the show on her own, receiving a nomination for the Best Actress Emmy Award. In the same year, she co-founded the production company Bandy Productions. White and co-founders George Tibbles and Don Fedderson developed Life with Elizabeth, a sitcom with White portraying the title role. As a result, White became one of the first few women of television.
Betty White, early in her long career
As the years went on, White became a staple in game shows as well as continued work in television shows. She appeared on The Mary Tyler Moore Show, The Carol Burnett Show, Mama’s Family, and played the signature role of Rose Nylund in the hit show TheGolden Girls. White won the Emmy Award for Outstanding Actress in a Comedy Series for the first season of The Golden Girls and was nominated in that category for each subsequent year of the show’s run. Once the show ended, White also appeared in The Golden Palace, The Bold and the Beautiful, and more.
White also carried out various supporting roles in films,
including The Proposal (2009) and
voiceover work in Toy Story 4 (2019),
and hosted an episode of Saturday Night
Live in 2010.
In 2012, White won a Grammy Award in the spoken word
category for her recording of her best-selling book, If You Ask Me. She was also awarded the UCLA Jack Benny Award for
Comedy. Her career was explored in the PBS documentary Betty White: First Lady of Television.
White’s 100th birthday is slated to be celebrated
across theaters throughout the United States, with the showing of a
documentary-style film celebrating White’s life and career. The film is titled Betty White: 100 Years Young—A Birthday
Celebration. The event will still go on in her honor.
Betty’s 100th Birthday Celebration will go on in her honor
White was a devoted animal health advocate and humanitarian.
She worked with the Los Angeles Zoo Commission (having been a board member),
Morris Animal Foundation (as president emerita), African Wildlife Foundation,
and more. She regularly donated as well as raised funds for various
organizations.
Throughout her career, White was lauded with a vast array of
performing and humanitarian awards. White is the only woman to have won an Emmy
in all of the performing comedic categories. She was inducted into the
Television Hall of Fame in 1995. Moreover, White’s lifelong dream of becoming a
forest ranger was fulfilled; she was made an honorary forest ranger in 2010 by
the USDA Forest Service.
Presently, there are various points of interest to White’s
life and career that remain.
In 1930, White’s family resided at 454 N. Harper Ave., Los
Angeles, California. The home remains today.
454 N. Harper Ave., Los Angeles, California
By 1940, they resided at 11444 Ayrshire Rd., Los Angeles,
California. This home also stands.
11444 Ayrshire Rd., Los Angeles, California
White’s alma mater, Beverly Hills High School, is located at
241 S. Moreno Dr., Beverly Hills, California.
Beverly Hills High School
Additionally, White is celebrated at the Los Angeles Zoo
with an honorary plaque near the gorilla exhibit. The zoo is located at 5333
Zoo Dr., Los Angeles, California.
Betty’s plaque at the Los Angeles Zoo
White’s handprints are also featured in the Disney Legends
Plaza in Disney’s Burbank, California, studios.
White’s handprints at the Disney Legends Plaza
White also has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame on the Northside of the 6700 block on Hollywood Blvd., Los Angeles, California.
Her Star on The Walk of Fame
White’s work in radio, television, and films continues to be enjoyed by fans across multiple generations all over the world.
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.
In order to qualify to win this book via this contest giveaway, you must complete the below entry task by Saturday, Jan 29, 2022 at 6PM EST. Winners will be chosen via random drawings.
…..
We will announce our four lucky winners on Twitter @ClassicMovieHub on Sunday, Jan 30, around 9PM EST. And, please note that you don’t have to have a Twitter account to enter; just see below for the details.
To recap, there will be FOUR WINNERS, chosen by random, all to be announced on Jan 30.
…..
Orson Welles, Victor Millan, Joseph Calleia and Charlton Heston in Touch of Evil (1958)
And now on to the contest!
ENTRY TASK (2-parts) to be completed by Saturday, January 29, 2022 at 6PM EST
1) Answer the below question via the comment section at the bottom of this blog post
2)ThenTWEET (not DM) the following message*: Just entered to win the “What Ever Happened to Orson Welles?: A Portrait of an Independent Career” #BookGiveaway courtesy of @KentuckyPress & @ClassicMovieHub – #EnterToWin here http://www.classicmoviehub.com/blog/what-ever-happened-to-orson-welles-book-giveaway-jan/
THE QUESTION: What is your favorite Orson Welles film and why? And, if you’re not familiar with his work, why do you want to win this book?
*If you do not have a Twitter account, you can still enter the contest by simply answering the above question via the comment section at the bottom of this blog — BUT PLEASE ENSURE THAT YOU ADD THIS VERBIAGE TO YOUR ANSWER: I do not have a Twitter account, so I am posting here to enter but cannot tweet the message.
NOTE: if for any reason you encounter a problem commenting here on this blog, please feel free to tweet or DM us, or send an email to clas…@gmail.com and we will be happy to create the entry for you.
ALSO: Please allow us 48 hours to approve your comments. Sorry about that, but we are being overwhelmed with spam, and must sort through 100s of comments…
…..
Don’t forget to check our chats in our Screen Classics Discussion Series with University Press of Kentucky and @CitizenScreen. You can catch them on Facebook and YouTube:
Jayne Mansfield: The Girl Couldn’t Help It — with Author Eve Golden
…..
Vitagraph: America’s First Great Motion Picture Studio – with Author Andrew Erish:
…..
Jane Russell and the Marketing of a Hollywood Legend – with Author Christina Rice:
…..
Growing Up Hollywood with Victoria Riskin and William Wellman Jr:
…..
About the Book: In this intimate and often surprising personal portrait, Joseph McBride challenges the conventional wisdom that Welles’s career after CitizenKane, widely regarded as the greatest film ever made, fell into a long decline. The author shows instead how Welles never stopped directing radical, adventurous films and was always breaking new artistic ground as a filmmaker. McBride is the first author to provide a comprehensive examination of the films of Welles’s artistically rich yet widely misunderstood later period in the United States (1970–1985), when McBride knew the director and worked with him as an actor on The Other Side of the Wind, Welles’s personal testament on filmmaking. To put Welles’s later years into context, the author reexamines the filmmaker’s entire life and career. This newly updated edition rounds out the story with a final chapter analyzing The Other Side of the Wind, finally completed in 2018, and his rediscovered 1938 film, Too Much Johnson.McBride offers many fresh insights into the collapse of Welles’s Hollywood career in the 1940s, his subsequent political blacklisting, and his long period of European exile. What Ever Happened to Orson Welles? serves as a major reinterpretation of Welles’s life and work. McBride’s revealing portrait changes the framework for how Orson Welles is understood as a man, an actor, a political figure, and a filmmaker.
This month I’ll be sharing another round of what I like to call “Hidden Gems,” Westerns which are lesser-known yet entertaining films worth seeking out.
Below are brief sketches of a trio of worthwhile movies from the latter half of the ’50s. Happily, all are available on DVD and/or Blu-ray.
I’d love comments from
others who have enjoyed any of these films, and I hope viewers who are
unfamiliar with them might seek them out in the New Year.
Stranger at My Door, a personal favorite of director William
Witney, is a “psychological Western” with some powerful moments. The
story concerns a bank robber, Clay (Skip Homeier), who takes refuge at the home
of a minister (Macdonald Carey) after his horse goes lame. The minister quickly
realizes Clay’s true identity but — despite the danger to his little boy
(Stephen Wootton) and his new wife Peg (Patricia Medina) — attempts to break
through to Clay with Christian kindness. Things go awry when the sheriff (Louis
Jean Heydt) arrives at the farm and realizes Clay’s identity.
Macdonald Carey and Patricia Medina, Stranger at My Door
The screenplay by Barry
Shipman goes much deeper than this bare bones description sounds, raising
interesting questions along the way. There’s a memorable set piece in which a
wild horse tears up the farm; the horse is clearly a metaphorical reference to
Clay. Peg attempts to shoot the horse but can’t bring herself to do it,
symbolizing her own conflicted feelings regarding the stranger in their midst.
Like many good movies, Stranger at My Door leaves viewers
pondering its themes long after “The End” comes on the screen, though
my one quibble about the film is I would have liked to have a few more of my
questions answered!
Skip Homeier and Stephen Wootton
Stranger at My Door is compellingly directed by Witney, who
specialized in Westerns over the course of his decades-long career in films and
television. For those wondering about the horse sequence, the animal was very
extensively trained by one of the great stuntmen in the business, Joe Yrigoyen.
The movie was filmed in black and white by Bud Thackery.
The Quiet Gun is a strong film directed by William F. Claxton, best known for his longtime work on TV Westerns such as The High Chaparral and Bonanza. It was written by Eric Norden, adapted by Norden and Earle Lyon from the novel Law Man by Lauran Paine.
In a film which has
echoes of High Noon (1952), Forrest Tucker is superb as
Sheriff Carl Brandon, a world-weary yet honorable man who won’t ever back down
from doing the right thing. Trouble arrives in town in the form of nasty
troublemaker Sadler (Lee Van Cleef); more problems arrive on the stagecoach
with Teresa (Kathleen Crowley), whose estranged husband (Jim Davis) has stirred
up local outrage keeping company with an Indian girl (Mara Corday). The
Sheriff’s unspoken feelings for Teresa further complicate matters.
Forrest Tucker and Lee Van Cleef, The Quiet Gun
Tucker gives a nuanced
performance, much of which is communicated nonverbally; there’s a great moment
I love where he goes in a saloon and stares down Van Cleef. Tucker has
excellent support from a fine cast which also includes Hank Worden, Vince
Barnett, and Tom Brown.
Van Cleef and Tucker
The movie was beautifully filmed in widescreen black and white Regalscope by John Mescall. The film’s Southern California locations included Corriganville, which I wrote about here at Classic Movie Hub earlier this year.
The Quiet Gun is a special movie which I recommend.
Mark Stevens might not
readily come to mind as a Western star, but he was a compelling presence in a
handful of ’50s Westerns, including Jack Slade (1953)
and Gunsight Ridge (1957).
My favorite of Stevens’
Westerns might be Gunsmoke in Tucson, in which he plays one-time
outlaw Chip Coburn, who’s spent eight years in jail thanks to his brother,
Marshal John Brazos (Forrest Tucker). Upon his release Chip intends to turn
over a new leaf and ranch, and he patiently avoids numerous confrontations
arranged by Bodeen (Vaughn Taylor), who’d like to see him back in jail, or
worse. But when an innocent farmer (Kevin Hagen) is targeted by one of Bodeen’s
men, Chip finally goes into action, backed by his friend Slick (John Ward).
Mark Stevens, Gunsmoke in Tucson
Stevens wasn’t
conventionally handsome by this point in his career, yet his performance
demands viewer attention. What he lacks in size and good looks he makes up for
with attitude and charisma. Ward, an actor who was previously unfamiliar to me,
is also terrific as Slick. It’s a great deal of fun watching them deal with the
bad guys while Chip also resolves his conflicted relationship with his brother.
Mark Stevens and Forrest Tucker
Gunsmoke in Tucson was nicely filmed in Deluxe color and
CinemaScope by William P. Whitley; the film’s locations included Old Tucson.
The screenplay was by Robert Joseph and Paul Leslie Peil, based on Peil’s
story.
Gunsmoke in Tucson is available on DVD-R from the Warner Archive Collection.
For previous “Hidden Gems” recommendations, please visit Volume 1 (January 2020), Volume 2 (November 2020), and Volume 3 (May 2021).
Best wishes to all my readers for a very happy 2022!
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.
,
