12 Classic Movies Streaming at Best Classics Ever!
CMH is happy to say that our friends over at Best Classics Ever have made 12 classic movies available for free streaming as a Happy Holidays gift to us classic movie fans! And, of course, they included a couple of my favorites đ
Silents are Golden: Eidoloscopes, Praxinoscopes, And Other (Very) Early Cinematic Inventions
The invention of cinema was very much a
fast-paced race. Starting in the late 19th century, dozens of inventors worked
on machines to create moving images, everything from optical illusion toys to
cameras to projectors. Some of these machines, like Edisonâs Kinetoscope, were
essentially wood-and-brass versions of familiar modern-day projectors. But many
other of these Victorian machines were, shall we say, different.
Whirling discs, moving slides, multiple lenses â there seemed to be no end of ways to create and project moving images, some inventions being more cumbersome than others. In the 1870s Eadweard Muybridge got the ball rolling with his series of sequential photographs showing the movements of a running horse. This led to an interest in other optical illusion novelties and by the 1890s there were dozens of patents for photographic equipment, everyone hoping to create the next big thing. The bulk of these unusual-looking inventions cropped up in the 1890s, but some were around even earlier. Here are a few of these eccentric machines (note: all images are from victorian-cinema.net, a fabulous and extremely detailed resource for information on very early cinema).
Zoopraxiscope
Eadweard Muybridge’s Zoopraxiscope
The aforementioned Muybridge created this special 1880 projector for public demonstrations of his sequential photographs. It had the same basic idea as the phenakistoscope and zoetrope, the early 19th c. whirling discs that created animations: silhouetted images were painted on a glass disc, and the spinning disc projected moving images on a screen. Muybridgeâs photos demonstrating motion were massively influential and some consider him the true father of cinema.
Praxinoscope
Ămile Reynaud’s Praxinoscope
The son of a watchmaker, Ămile Reynaud grew up
well acquainted with unusual, fascinating inventions. Studies in engineering
and photography led to an interest in magic lantern slides and projectors. He
decided to try his hand at designing an optical illusion toy and the result was
the praxinoscope, featuring images on the inside of a circular band that
reflected in mirrors covering a central drum. Spinning the band caused an
animated image to appear in the mirrors. The success of his praxinoscope led
Reynaud to create the…
This was a large-scale praxinoscope that included a projector and two spools that fed long strips of images around the circular band, so the animation wasnât limited to what Reynaud could fit in a single circle. Each spool was cranked by hand simultaneously to make the animations. The images were printed on gelatin and fastened together with fabric or leather, and itâs thought that Reynaud was the first to come up with sprocket holes to help move the images along. Reynaud started demonstrating his invention in 1892, giving close to 13,000 shows in less than ten years.
Electrotachyscope
Ottomar AnschĂŒtz’s Electrotachyscope
This tall machine from 1886 was created by photographer Ottomar AnschĂŒtz, who would become the photographic advisor to the family of Kaiser Wilhelm II. It featured a large wheel of glass images, turned with a hand crank. The animation was viewed on a milk glass screen in a darkened room, just big enough to hold a handful of people. AnschĂŒtzâs invention was a popular one and smaller peephole versions started showing up in fashionable cities like Paris and Berlin, just before the similar (and slowly developed) Kinetoscope.
Tachyscope
Ottomar AnschĂŒtz’s Tachyscope
Created by AnschĂŒtz in 1890, this was a longer
version of a tachyscope he had created in 1887 (distinct from the electric
version in the last entry). It featured 4-6 bands of images around an enclosed
cylinder. A tiny spark illuminated each image, and the resulting moving
pictures could be viewed through several small windows.
In the mid-1890s brothers Grey and Otway Latham, along with their father Woodville and mechanic Eugene Lauste, patented what is probably the first cinematic machine that created a widescreen image (originally known as the Panoptikon). The brothers had been in the business of exhibiting films of prize fights and became determined to find a way of getting life-size images. They made films on the top of Madison Square Garden in New York City and used film that was two inches wide. While people were impressed by the magnified images, the Lathams soon became embroiled in legal and technical issues and eventually lost their patent. Their lasting legacy, however, is the âLatham loopâ â a slack loop of film that reduced tension on the film and allowed for the projection of much longer moving pictures. Lauste is given credit for much of its development, as is Edison employee William K.-L. Dickson, who was a secret advisor.
Kammatograph
Leo Kamm’s Kammatograph
Surprisingly, not all motion picture equipment inventors made the switch to spools of film when it became available â some still tinkered with other methods of making movies. In 1898 Englishman Leonard Ulrich Kamm created a thin, 12-inch wide glass disc with the images printed in a continuous spiral. Images could be recorded by simply rotating the disc by hand in front of the lens. Advertised as a âfilmless cinematograph,â guaranteed not to be flammable like film, it was on the market for a few years but didnât last â recordings were less than a minute long and there was no way to edit them.
Many of these early cinematic inventions exist in museums and private collections today, relics of a period of intense creativity and competition. While some once-popular inventions have become obscure and others only existed for a short time, they all helped create the movies as we know them 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.
Lives Behind the Legends: Clark Gable â From Country Boy to Hollywood Star
Clark Gable
Clark Gable was known as âThe King of Hollywoodâ. He was charming, masculine, talented, and popular. Men wanted to be him and women wanted to be with him. Luckily for the latter, Clark thoroughly enjoyed their company. Surprisingly, he started out as a completely different person than Hollywood came to know. Clark Gable was an awkward, gangly, shy young man with a high-pitched voice and self-described âelephant-earsâ. It took quite a transformation to turn this unassuming country boy into the King of Hollywood.
Clark Gable was born
to a sickly mother who passed away when he was only ten months old. His father
William was a tall, handsome man who was a struggling oil prospector. William
was also a known womanizer who liked to drink. As an oil prospector, he spent
his weekdays at the oilfield, so it made sense to leave little Clark in the
care of his wifeâs family after her death. As the only baby of the family,
Clark was spoiled and pampered. He was used to being the center of attention
and getting his way, but he was still a sweet little boy. After a few years,
Clarkâs father came to reclaim him. William had re-married and was building his
own house. Clarkâs family was so crazy about him that they refused to give the
sweet-tempered boy back. Eventually, William had to promise that Clark would
return to them every summer and the family gave Clark back to his father.
This was when the shy little boy met the woman who would become the most important person in his life: his stepmother Jennie Dunlap. Clark later stated that meeting her was the best day of his life. Jennie was hoping to have children of her own, but never did, so she lavished Clark with motherly affection. She saw and appreciated Clarkâs creative and sensitive side. Jennie taught him how to sing and play the piano. He started taking music lessons and played the French horn in a band. Jennieâs affection for Clark was the complete opposite of the way his father treated him. William, who would only refer to Clark as â(The) Kidâ, was aloof and stern. William never accepted Clark for who he was and felt that his son was too effeminate. It was made clear to Clark that he was expected to follow in his fatherâs footsteps and do heavy manual labor to make a living in the future, so heâd better toughen up. To appease his father, Clark played pretty much every sport available once he entered high school. But he never stopped his creative endeavors, thanks to Jennieâs unrelenting support.Â
Despite his athleticism and tall stature, Clark was quiet and shy. The charmer we would come to know wasnât there yet. So when they moved to another town and he entered a new school, Clark had trouble fitting in. He dropped out at age sixteen and found a job carrying water bottles in a mine. His father tried to persuade him that this was the time to work alongside him on the oilfields, but Jennie encouraged him to find his own path. For this, Clark would be forever grateful. He left for a job in a rubber factory in Akron, Ohio. The move would change his life.
In Akron, young Clark was introduced to the theatre and cinema. So far, he had only lived in small towns where they didnât have these forms of entertainment yet. The first play he ever saw was Birds of Paradise. Clark was mesmerized and would later say that it was the most exciting night in his life thus far. Still creative at heart, he decided then and there that he wanted to be an actor. He started hanging out after the shows, running errands for the crew, and was even allowed to fill in a few times when an actor was sick. Unfortunately, he had zero training or experience and was awkward and clumsy on stage.Â
At the end of 1919, Clark traveled back to Jennie because she was terminally ill. Once there, his father made fun of his theatrical aspirations and the atmosphere between them was frosty. Still, Clark was thankful that he was able to be by Jennieâs bedside when she passed away in January 1920. Since the theatre company had moved on from Ohio and he needed money, Clark took his fatherâs advice for once and joined him on the oilfields. The living there was rough, having to share a six-bed tent with twelve other men. Clark had to chop wood and clean all day. It was a very tough, back-to-basics lifestyle, that Clark had trouble getting accustomed to. The lack of hygiene in the camp left him with a lifelong germ phobia. If Clark or his father had hoped that working together would strengthen their bond, they were sorely mistaken. They got into a big fight, which reportedly became physical. Clark left the camp and the two wouldnât speak face-to-face again for a decade.
Clark Gable before his Hollywood make-over
Clark drifted from town to town, before eventually joining a small stock company in Portland. He was still insecure, especially about his height and clumsiness. He worked hard to learn and even took dancing lessons to move more naturally on stage. He kept his eyes open for opportunities and one came his way that would change the course of his career around 1922.
Actress-turned-teacher Josephine Dillon was starting acting lessons in Portland. Josephine, who was 17 years older than Clark, liked the ambitious young man and took him under her wing. She saw his raw star potential and devoted all of her time to Clark and his career. It wasnât long before Josephine suggested a move to Hollywood. Money was tight and the only way for them to move in together in those days was to get married. The pair became official on December 14, 1924, though both maintained that the marriage was never consummated. Josephine gave Clark a much-needed make-over: she paid for a new wardrobe and to have his rotten front teeth fixed.
More importantly: she honed his acting skills, taught him body control and posture, and gave him exercises to lower his naturally high-pitched voice. One of these exercises was to scream and yell to damage his vocal cords, leaving him with his famous drawl. From the money that was left, they went to the movies so Clark could study the actors. Their relationship appeared to be completely professional since the more and more confident Clark was openly dating other women.
Though Hollywood wasnât interested in Clark just yet, he started to receive some theatre roles. Josephine sat in the front row at every performance and would go backstage to give him her notes afterward. This annoyed the cast and crew and embarrassed Clark. He felt that she was possessive and asked her not to come to any more shows. This was the beginning of the end for them. Josephine now barely saw him anymore. He was frequently seen out and about with wealthy socialite Ria Langham, who was also 17 years older than Clark. Clark soon asked Josephine for a divorce. The divorce was finalized in April 1930 and Clark and Ria married that August. Josephine would never see Clark again and later complained to the press that she was the one who had created him. This was certainly partly true. Clark took every bit of help he could get on his road to stardom and slowly created âThe King of Hollywoodâ we came to know. As for Josephine: though Clark never responded to her pleas for money over the years, he did buy the house they had lived in for her. Which was probably his way of “paying her back” for all that she had done for him.
Clark Gable and his second wife Ria Langhamï»ż
His second marriage got off to a great start. Ria Langham was an elegant and worldly woman, which Clark greatly admired. Like Josephine, she was somewhat of a mentor to him. She taught him etiquette, how to fit in with the upper class, and dressed him in the finest clothes – a far cry from the oilfields or scraping up money to go to the movies with Josephine. Unlike his marriage to Josephine, he did have a romantic relationship with Ria. She was very supportive of his career and Clark was a decent stepfather to her two children.
His performances on stage were finally getting noticed and he was able to get a top-notch agent. After a few small film roles, his agent was able to get Clark a contract at leading Hollywood studio MGM. Still, the studio wasnât sure about their new asset. Despite Josephine and Riaâs best efforts, Clark was a bit too rough around the edges. They sent him to a gym to work out with weights, plucked his shaggy eyebrows, and gave him a new haircut. Cameramen were told to never film him head-on because of his ears. Clark wasnât deterred and set out to prove himself.
In 1931, his first year at MGM, Clark made twelve films. Most of them were bit parts, but he had finally shown that he was a great asset to the studio. Now the most important part of his public persona began â his PR package. When a studio has faith in their new actors and actresses, they introduce them to the media. To do this, they create a biography that fits the image they have in mind for their new star. Clark was assigned to top publicist Howard Strickland. Howard decided to create a stereotypical âhe-manâ image for him. Clarkâs hobbies in real life were work and women, but this would not look good in his official biography. He was presented as an outdoorsy type, who enjoyed hunting, fishing, and shooting. Ironically, this was a better description of Clarkâs father than of him. Clark had to take pictures in the outdoors and pose beside cars to emphasize his manliness. These, along with his new biography, were handed to the media. The press and the public responded well, so he was given bigger roles by the studio.
Clark Gable in a promotional shot
The studio soon found that women loved to see Clark on-screen. His collaborations with Joan Crawford were a big hit and his roles changed from âbad guyâ to âheartthrobâ. Nobody was more surprised than Clark, who went into boss Louis B. Mayerâs office and complained that he was âtoo elephant-eared and unattractiveâ for these roles. Fortunately for him, he was wrong and the move to desirable leading man made him a star. It was around this time that he completed his make-over. His front teeth may have been fixed, but the rest were so rotten, that his gums became severely infected. Clark had to get dentures, which gave him a Hollywood smile and raised his cheekbones. This is also the time when he reportedly got his ears fixed, though he would claim that they simply seemed smaller because he had gotten bulkier. The star transformation was completed when he divorced Ria, became a power couple with Carole Lombard, and got the part of Rhett Butler in Gone With The Wind. So when Ed Sullivan asked his audience in 1938: âWho is the King of Hollywood?â, Clark won the vote by a landslide. It would be his nickname for the rest of his life.
Clark had come a long way from being a shy, awkward country boy. That day in Ohio, when he was so mesmerized by the first play he ever saw, lit a fire in him. From that moment on, he would take every opportunity to grow, learn and move forward for the sake of his career. Through this process, he changed as a person as well: Clark became more confident, charming, and comfortable in his own skin. Although the image that the studio created for him wasnât truthful at the time, Clark even embraced that. Devote of hobbies before, he started spending more time in the outdoors – fishing and shooting with Hollywood buddies and Carole. He was proud of his “tough guy” image and embodied it more and more. The country boy in him never completely went away though. Instead of living in the middle of the action in Hollywood, Clark and Carole bought a quiet farm. He would live there until the day he died.
Ultimately, Clark wanted more than a carbon copy of his fatherâs life. After he found his passion, Clark gave his all to become the person he wanted to be: the King of Hollywood.
Arancha has
been fascinated with Classic Hollywood and its stars for years. Her main area
of expertise is the behind-the-scenes stories, though sheâs pretty sure she
could beat you at movie trivia night too. Her website, Classic Hollywood
Central, is about everything Classic Hollywood, from actorsâ life stories
and movie facts to Classic Hollywood myths. You can follow her on Twitter
at @ClassicHC.
A Season of Free Holiday Movies and Giveaways, courtesy of Best Classics Ever
CMH is happy to announce that Best Classics Ever is giving away lots of BCE Streaming Subscriptions to celebrate the Holiday Season! Plus a few amazon fire TV sticks as well!
There are a bunch of different (and very easy) ways to enter, and no purchase is necessary đ The link(s) to enter are listed below.
Here’s what BCE will be giving away throughout the month:
Week ending Dec 17: a 60-day subscription to BCE (10 winners) — click here to enter
Week ending Dec 23): an Amazon Fire TV Stick 4K (5 winners) — check back next week for the link to enter
Week ending Dec. 30: a yearlong subscription (3 winners) and a lifetime subscription (1 winner) — check back in 2 weeks for the link to enter
In addition to the prize giveaway, Best Classics Ever will be featuring a collection of classic cartoons, holiday TV episodes and free movies this month on their channel as well– so if you have a chance, please feel free to check it out.
You can read more about Best Classics Ever and our partnership here.
All in a Dysfunctional Family with ‘Frankenstein’s Daughter’
Teens, cars, kissing, music, dancing and a pool party: you might be thinking it’s time to settle in with a 1950s hot-rod film.
Not so fast. Meet Frankenstein’s Daughter, a 1958 film that has all of that plus the bonus of a mysterious woman running around Los Angeles in a negligee, bathing suit and the head of a monster.
âWoman monster menaces city!â the newspaper headline
screams.
An innocent teen (Sandra Knight) needs a makeover after a scientific experiment in Frankenstein’s Daughter. (Photo courtesy The Film Detective.)
We hate to tell them, but they havenât seen the true horror â as unintended as it may be â of the title creature in Frankensteinâs Daughter, newly restored on home video by The Film Detective. (Hint: Lipstick is not going to help the poor girl.)
Itâs one of four drive-in films made in 1958 by director Richard E. Cunha. (The others are She Demons,Giant from the Unknown and Missile to the Moon). These âsix-day wondersâ were made, as you would expect, in six days with a miniscule budget of $65,000 to $80,000. Every penny is there on the screen: the good, the bad and the truly ugly.
Unlike the worthy family sequels to Universalâs original Frankenstein (1931) â Bride of Frankenstein (1935) and Son of Frankenstein(1939) â this film comes from another world of horror starting with a title that’s a misnomer.
There isnât a daughter, although there are young women in peril. There is a Frankenstein but heâs a grandson and we can all agree that Grandson of Frankenstein doesnât roll off the tongue very well (but it would at least be accurate).
Sandra Knight and John Ashley are a young couple in love in Frankenstein’s Daughter. (Photo courtesy The Film Detective)
The film plot
Frankensteinâs Daughter features another of the well-meaning scientists who proliferate 1950s B-movies. Dr. Carter Morton (played by Felix Locher) is working to stop diseases and save lives, but he keeps falling short. One small problem is that his formula causes brief disfigurement, something he knows he could fix if only he had the chemical Digenerol kept under lock and key at a nearby research laboratory.
Living with him in his lovely house are his teen niece Trudy (played by Sandra Knight, the future Mrs. Jack Nicholson) and his assistant Oliver (TV actor Donald Murphy, in an interesting performance that is part ladies’ man, part sleaze, part madman). In one of those strange tropes of the sci-fi films of the era (The Fly, Tarantula), the laboratory is off the first-floor vestibule making it easy for everyone in the house to come and go.
Trudy is dating cute Frankie Avalon look-alike Johnny
(played by John Ashley, the future Mr. Deborah Walley) and they double date
with dorky Dave (Harold Lloyd Jr.) and sexy Suzie (former Playmate Sally Todd).
These kids are fun.
It might almost be idyllic if Oliver didnât hit on Trudy or pick fights with the doctor as he increasingly becomes more of a hinderance than a help to the old man.
Oliver does make a few good points, but heâs unnecessarily rude and too quick to anger. Then it becomes clear he has some type of agenda and then we learn heâs using the phony last name of Frank – yes as in Frankenstein.
He’s only working with the professor in hopes of successfully completing the work of his grandfather and father while also restoring the family name to the glory he feels it deserves. (âThey were geniuses!â he exclaims.)
The handsome but off-kilter Oliver (Donald Murphy) flirts with and experiments on Trudy (Sandra Knight) in Frankenstein’s Daughter. (Photo: Mary Evans/AF Archive/Cinetext Bildarchiv/Everett Collection)
He has their original notebooks and believes he needs a woman to succeed where they failed.
âThe female brain is conditioned to a manâs world and therefore
takes orders where the others wouldnât,â Oliver says, in reference to the
bodies used in earlier experiments.
Despite that awful chauvinistic statement, he clearly has a thing for the ladies in both the romantic and scientific departments. Living in the house with Trudy makes her an easy target for Oliver who grossly puts the moves on her. When that doesnât work, he targets Suzie the sexpot who is a much easier mark.
Wolfe Barzell, left, is the faithful Elsu who tries to help the title character (Harry Wilson) in Frankenstein’s Daughter. (Photo courtesy The Film Detective.)
Adding to the atmosphere and the Frankenstein backstory is the pitiful gardener Elsu (Wolfe Barzell) â clearly a stand-in for Fritz/Igor â who has faithfully worked with the family from the beginning.
Frankensteinâs Daughter is easy to figure out in real time as youâll guess the identity of the first female monster in the negligee, the fact that Oliver is up to something, and that there was something in Trudyâs punch.
It takes a while for others though, including the police, to believe that there is a monster(s). And even after those newspaper headlines proclaim the truth, the kids don’t hesitate to attend a poolside party with a live band (The Paul Cavanaugh Trio). It’s an odd scene of frivolity thrown in perhaps to allow actor Ashley, who was also a singer, to show off his vocal talents.
A female monster in a negligee roams the streets of Los Angeles in the opening scene of Frankenstein’s Daughter.
The monster(s)
There are various looks for the creatures since there are multiple experiments done on different women. For the female monster we see in the opening scene and the first part of the film, the look is simply dirty buck teeth and bushy eyebrows, nothing some toothpaste and tweezers couldnât fix. Facial shadows will later be added to varying degrees.
Oliver (Donald Murphy) with his creation (Harry Wilson) in Frankenstein’s Daughter. Note the lipstick, used to add a feminine touch to the monster. (Photo courtesy The Film Detective)
The title creature is a different story. Frankenstein’s Daughter, as she’s named by Elsu, is clearly a man (played by Harry Wilson). It’s in a big and boxy rubber-looking suit with a patched together head and large bulbous nose.
A story behind the masculine makeup is that the artist didnât know the monster was supposed to be a woman. To make up for the oversight, lipstick was added as a quick fix which worked about as well as you would expect.
Itâs a look that confused even director Cunha who was introduced to it on the set with a quick âhereâs your monster,â he said in the documentary included in the extras of the home video release.
âI nearly died. The monster wasnât designed like that â it just looked that,â Cunha said. Without time or money to fix it, âWe had to keep it.â
That documentary with Cunha features video footage the director did to answer questions that were mailed to him by author Tom Weaver around 1983. Itâs a treat to learn about the film directly from Cunha.
The new DVD and Blu-ray from The Film Detective also has an audio commentary, color booklet plus a short, but fascinating career retrospective on actor John Ashley.
In John Ashley: Man from the Bâs, film historian C. Courtney Joyner details how Ashleyâs career started when he was a tourist with friends visiting the set of a John Wayne film and the Duke pointed him out because he looked so much like Elvis. (I still say he looks more like Frankie Avalon, an actor he co-starred with in such films as Beach Party, Muscle Beach Party and Beach Blanket Bingo.) Ashley later had a successful career as a producer especially on television with such shows as The A-Team.
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.
As another holiday season rolls around, this monthâs Noir
Nook is devoted to gift-giving. If you like to visit this website, youâre
obviously a classic film lover, and one of the many great things about these
movies is the moments that you simply canât forget â the moments that you find
yourself waiting for when you watch your favorites over and over again â the moments
that practically leave you breathless, no matter how many times you see them â
the moments that you may have seen years before you first watched the film. So,
in honor of the holidays, Iâm giving the gift of my top three iconic movie
moments from film noir. And when Iâm finished, I may just go watch them again! (Watch
your step as you proceed â spoilers abound!)
The plot: Small-time grifter Johnny Farrell (Glenn Ford) becomes the right-hand man of Ballin Mundson (George Macready), the owner of a Buenos Aires casino, but the symbiotic relationship is shattered when Ballin shows up with a brand-new wife, Gilda (Rita Hayworth). And his bride just happens to be Johnnyâs ex-lover.Â
The moment: Ballin doesnât invite Johnny to his
wedding to Gilda, which takes place while Ballin is on a business trip. In
fact, he doesnât even tell Johnny that heâs married until Johnny shows up at
Ballinâs sprawling abode, completely unaware that anything is amiss until he
notices that Ballin âlooks foolish.â Even then, Johnny doesnât suspect a thing
â not until Ballin opens the door to his bedroom and Johnny hears the faint
strains of a song playing on the phonograph: âPut the Blame on Mame.â The music
is accompanied by a woman softly singing, and Johnnyâs stunned countenance
reflects his instant recognition of the owner of the voice. Ballin calls out to
his wife, âGilda, are you decent?â And weâre then taken inside of the bedroom,
where Gilda explodes into view, flipping back her mane of hair, and smilingly
querying, âMe?â As Johnny steps out of the shadow and into view, Gildaâs smile
slowly fades and she says flatly, âSure, Iâm decent.â
The plot: Ellen Berent (Gene Tierney) meets writer Richard Harland (Cornel Wilde), who reminds her of her beloved, recently deceased father. After a whirlwind romance steered by Ellen, the two get married. But behind Ellenâs beautiful and fascinating façade lurks a psychopath who wants her new husband all to herself â to the exclusion of her family, Richardâs disabled brother, and even her own unborn child.
The moment: Ellen has been working with her young brother-in-law, Danny (Darryl Hickman), whoâs trying to surprise his big brother with his ability to swim across the lake behind their home; as Danny tries to swim a little farther each day, Ellen trails behind in a rowboat. On this particular day, before Danny takes the plunge, Ellen tries to gently persuade him to join her mother and sister in Bar Harbor, Maine, instead of remaining with the newlyweds at the Back of the Moon lodge. Danny says heâd rather wait until the three of them can go together, and although Ellen stresses that it would only be for a few weeks, Danny holds firm. As Danny climbs into the water and starts his swim, Ellen dons her sunglasses, which serve to complete the expressionless, enigmatic mask of her face. Even her voice lacks inflection as she rows behind Danny, assuring him that sheâll keep him on course. But less than a minute later, Danny begins to get winded and complains of getting tired. âTake it easy,â Ellen says stiffly. âYou donât want to give up when youâve come so far.â Danny keeps going, but before much longer, he stops â he ate too much lunch, he tells Ellen breathlessly, and he has a cramp. His voice sounds increasingly anxious, but Ellen is now motionless, no longer using the paddles, impassively staring in Dannyâs direction from behind those glasses. Danny goes underneath the water for several seconds, then emerges, screaming Ellenâs name and calling for help as he struggles ineffectively to keep his head above the water. Still, Ellen doesnât move â she simply watches as Danny goes down for the final time. Suddenly, Ellen hears her husband whistling as he walks along a nearby trail. She snatches the glasses from her face and screams her brother-in-lawâs name before shedding her robe and diving into the water. But itâs all for show â and all for naught. Just as she planned.
The plot: A small mob of criminals carries out a series of heists, led by their psychotic boss Cody Jarrett (James Cagney), who suffers from debilitating headaches and has an abnormal attachment to his mother (Margaret Wycherly). After his beloved mother is murdered while heâs in prison, Cody stages a break along with his trusted cellmate, Hank Fallon (Edmond OâBrien), unaware that Fallon is a federal agent. And when he finds out, well, letâs just say itâs not pretty.
The moment: Cody has planned a heist at a huge gas
facility and the scheme is underway when Fallon is recognized by one of Codyâs men,
causing the already fragile Cody to become completely unglued. âA copper.
A copper. How do ya like that, boys? A copper,â Jarrett says.
âAnd we went for it. I went for it. Treated him like a kid brother. And
I was going to split 50-50 with a copper.â As the authorities â tipped off by
Fallon â converge on the plant, Codyâs men are picked off one by one, until
only Cody is left. He climbs to the top of a storage tower, daring the cops
gathered below to come after him. When Fallon fires a rifle, striking Cody
twice, the gangster begins to laugh uncontrollably, managing to stand to his
feet. He fires his gun into the huge gas tank, setting off a geyser of flames, then
fires a second shot, producing more flames and causing the men on the ground to
run for safety. Cody then firmly plants his feet, assumes a defiant, almost
triumphant stance, and shouts skyward, âMade it, Ma! Top of the world!â A
second later, the tank, and Cody, are engulfed in an enormous exploding ball of
fire. And from the ground, Fallon wryly comments: âCody Jarrett. He finally got
to the top of the world. And it blew right up in his face.â
What other iconic scenes can you think of from film noir? Let me know and it may be in a future Noir Nook column!
âŠ
â 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 â Femme Noir: The Bad Girls of Film and Bad Boys: The Actors of Film Noir. You can follow Karen on Twitter at @TheDarkPages. If youâre interested in learning more about Karenâs books, you can read more about them on amazon here:
Some of the earliest Westerns I watched and loved as a child were Joel McCrea films for Universal Pictures. In fact, I credit those films with helping to develop my love of classic films in general and Westerns in particular. Â
I’ve also never stopped being a big fan of McCrea, so it’s been a particular joy to pay several visits to his longtime home, McCrea Ranch, over the past decade and get to know his grandson Wyatt. Wyatt is a wonderful keeper of the legacies of the ranch and his grandparents, Joel McCrea and Frances Dee.
I wrote about McCrea’s Saddle Tramp (1950) in my very first Classic Movie Hub column, and I’ve also written about my love for Universal Westerns here on previous occasions.
Joel McCrea
Today I return to the topic of Joel McCrea’s work at Universal with a look at another early favorite, Cattle Drive (1951). Cattle Drive reteamed McCrea with his costar from Stars in My Crown (1950), Dean Stockwell, so this column is also a timely chance to pay tribute to one of cinema’s finest child actors. Dean Stockwell passed away at the age of 85 on November 7, 2021.
Stockwell was about 14 when he appeared in Cattle Drive. He plays Chester Graham Jr., who as the movie begins is being insufferably rude and unkind to all while traveling on a train owned by his wealthy father, Chester Sr. (Leon Ames).
Chester’s father means well and
is willing to listen to a veteran train conductor (Griff Barnett) who tells him
his son is a troublemaker, but he’s a bit hapless about dealing with his son’s
ill temperament and poor character.
A series of incidents result in Chester being left behind after the train stops to take on water in the middle of the desert. Fortunately for Chester, he’s found wandering by Dan Mathews (McCrea), who’s taking time out from working on a nearby cattle drive to chase a magnificent stallion.
Dean Stockwell & Joel McCrea
Chester is initially as sullen and unhelpful to the cowboys as he was on the train, but eventually, the patience of Dan and the chuckwagon cook, Dallas (Chill Wills), gets through to him and he begins to unbend.Â
Chester, now nicknamed “Chet,” learns varied skills as he pitches in and becomes a working member of the crew before being reunited with his father in Santa Fe. In fact, Chet so comes to like cowboy camaraderie and being useful that he’s reluctant to go back to his more comfortable previous life in the East.
Like many Universal Westerns, this film is short and sweet, with a running time of just 77 minutes. That’s really all that’s needed to successfully put over a solid and entertaining story that has a somewhat unique theme for a Western. Some have likened the script by Lillie Hayward and Jack Natteford to being a Western version of Kipling’s Captains Courageous; that story had been notably filmed in 1937 with Spencer Tracy and Freddie Bartholomew.
With a couple of exceptions, McCrea focused entirely on making Westerns in the ’50s, and for me, this relatively small-scale relationship film is one of his best. McCrea’s easygoing charm is perfect for the role of the endlessly patient Dan, who not only helps Chet mature but firmly protects him from an ornery cowhand (Henry Brandon) who considers the kid bad luck.
Stockwell & McCrea
McCrea and Stockwell have excellent chemistry; their familiarity from making the very fine Stars in My Crown the previous year doubtless contributed to their ease together in this film. Cattle Drive would be Stockwell’s last feature film for half a decade; he returned to the screen in another Western, Gun for a Coward, in 1956.
McCrea doesn’t have a leading lady in Cattle Drive, but there’s a lovely touch when Dan shows Chet a picture of his “girl” who is waiting for him in Santa Fe. The picture is of McCrea’s real-life wife, Frances Dee.
Leon Ames’ screen credits included many notable roles as fathers, including Meet Me in St. Louis (1944), Little Women (1949), and On Moonlight Bay (1951). He’s perfectly cast as Chet’s amiable if befuddled father, and this fine actor’s presence also brings the film a bit of extra gravitas.
Building on that thought, one of the things I really appreciate about the film is the marvelous supporting cast. Chill Wills is always terrific in sympathetic, humorous roles such as this one, and having someone like Henry Brandon play the film’s villain — as villainous as anyone in the film gets, at any rate — adds to the film’s depth. Brandon was then half a decade away from playing Chief Scar in one of the greatest Westerns ever made, The Searchers (1956)
One of the wonderful things about returning to a film like Cattle Drive for the first time in a number of years is how much more the “deep cast” players mean to me when watching in a new context. For instance, when I watched and rewatched this film as a child I had no idea who Bob Steele was; having now seen him as a leading man in “B” Westerns and in numerous supporting roles in “A” films, his presence here as “Careless” delighted me. I love returning to a film with a fresh perspective and coming away appreciating it even more.
The movie was filmed by Maury
Gertsman largely in the great outdoors, including Arizona and Utah; although
it’s not listed at IMDb, a few of the backgrounds appeared to be in the Lone
Pine area, which was confirmed by Tony Thomas’s book The Films of Joel
McCrea.
McCrea & Stockwell with Highland Dale
Cattle Drive incorporates extensive stock footage of the horse Highland Dale from Universal’s Red Canyon (1949), which starred Ann Blyth, George Brent, and Howard Duff. It’s fun to note that Highland Dale would later appear in the title role of a film that starred Joel McCrea’s wife Frances, Gypsy Colt (1954).
Cattle Drive was directed by Kurt Neumann, whose next film, Reunion in Reno (1951), was made with Frances Dee. I’m particularly fond of a film Neumann directed the following year, Son of Ali Baba (1952), starring Tony Curtis and Piper Laurie. I also liked another of Neumann’s Westerns, Bad Men of Tombstone (1949), which starred Barry Sullivan. Earlier this year I was honored to pay my respects to Neumann at his final resting place at Home of Peace Memorial Park in East Los Angeles, California.
Cattle Drive lobby card
Cattle Drive, which holds appeal for adults and children alike, would be an excellent choice for family viewing during the holiday season. It’s available on DVD in the TCM Vault Collection.
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â Laura Grieve for Classic Movie Hub
Laura can be found at her blog, Lauraâs Miscellaneous Musings, where sheâs 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 âWestern RoundUpâ for CMH.
Lauren Bacall was just a 19-year-old newcomer when she appeared in To Have and Have Not (1944) and instantly launched into stardom.
From the moment you see them together on screen in To Have and Have Not (1944), you know thereâs something special about Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall. They embody that magical idea of âchemistryâ between actors; the electric thrill of the sparks flying between them is just as potent today as it was when they shot that first film, even though more than 75 years have passed. She gives him âthe lookâ that would become her trademark and nickname, she asks him if he knows how to whistle, and the moment becomes an iconic piece of Hollywood history. The story of Lauren Bacallâs arrival as a star and the great love of Humphrey Bogartâs life is truly fascinating, but there was a lot more to Bacall than just making Bogart whistle. She was married to Bogart for a little over a decade; she lived nearly sixty more years after his death and never really stopped working. In order to appreciate Lauren Bacall more thoroughly, we have to see her celebrated romance as one (albeit very important) part of a long, full life.
âLauren Bacallâ was a cinematic fantasy dreamed up by Howard Hawks and inspired by his wife at the time, whose nickname was Slim, but Betty Joan Perske â later Betty Bacall after her parent’s divorce â was born in New York City on September 16, 1924. Hawksâ wife saw the teenaged model on a magazine cover and brought her to Hawksâ attention, which led to the 19-year-old beauty getting a screen test that turned into a starring role in To Have and Have Not.
Starring in How to Marry a Millionaire (1953) with Marilyn Monroe and Betty Grable gave Bacall an early hit that did not involve Bogart.
Like Athena springing fully formed from the head of Zeus, Bacall emerged into stardom in that first role. There was no apprenticeship of small parts growing into larger ones, no starlet training ground, no uncredited background work that offered an early peek. That sudden stardom would have been a lot to handle for any young actress, but Bacall forged ahead, into more leading roles and marriage to a man almost 25 years her senior with three divorces behind him. They had two children together, Stephen and Leslie, who were still quite young when Bogart died of cancer in 1957. A second marriage to Jason Robards produced a third child, Sam, but ended in divorce in 1969. Bacall continued to work through all of these life changes, either in films and television or on the stage; she earned her only Oscar nomination, for her supporting role in The Mirror Has Two Faces (1996) quite late in her career and contributed her distinctive voice to several animated films, including the English version of Howlâs Moving Castle (2004). By the time of her death on August 12, 2014, she had appeared in more than 40 films, only four of which co-starred Humphrey Bogart.
Those four films are all classics that deserve our love and attention, with Bogart and Bacall creating intense chemistry in each. After To Have and Have Not they burned up the screen with The Big Sleep (1946), Dark Passage (1947), and Key Largo (1948), and each film takes full advantage of their celebrated off-screen romance. They are evenly matched as romantic leads, both strong-willed, world-weary, and unimpressed by the tough guys and macho posers who populate their worlds. The Big Sleep is probably the best of the set, and certainly the most celebrated, thanks to its perfect noir style and the popularity of Philip Marlowe as a big screen detective (not to mention Martha Vickersâ wild turn as Bacallâs troubled little sister).
Although Bogart and Bacall would not appear in films together after these four, they did work together in radio and television productions, including a live 1955 television version of Bogartâs stage and screen success, The Petrified Forest (1936), in which Bogart reprised his role as Duke Mantee and Bacall played Gabrielle, with Henry Fonda taking the role of Alan Squier.
Bacall was in her 50s when she costarred in John Wayneâs final film, The Shootist (1976), in which she plays the widowed mother of Ron Howardâs aspiring gunfighter.
By herself, however, Bacall continued to make pictures, with leading men like Kirk Douglas, Gary Cooper, Gregory Peck, and John Wayne. With Bogart, she had become associated with film noir, but on her own, she made comedies, Westerns, dramas, and mysteries, as well. The most popular of her early solo films is undoubtedly How to Marry a Millionaire (1953), a sharp romantic comedy in which Bacall plays the most pragmatic of three young dress models looking to land rich husbands. Other films in the 1950s included Young Man with a Horn (1950), Womanâs World (1954), The Cobweb (1955), Designing Woman (1957), and Northwest Frontier (1959). She made fewer films after Bogartâs death in 1957, partly because she enjoyed working in stage productions and partly because she had two young children with Bogart and then a third in 1961 with Robards. Her career, however, was far from over. After Sex and the Single Girl (1964) and Harper (1966) in the 1960s, Bacall made memorable appearances in two Agatha Christie film adaptations, Murder on the Orient Express (1974) and Appointment with Death (1988), and also took a leading role in John Wayneâs swan song, The Shootist (1976). She was busier with films in the 1990s than she had been for decades, taking roles in Misery (1990), Ready to Wear (1994), The Mirror Has Two Faces (1996), and My Fellow Americans (1996). The early 2000s saw her in Lars von Trierâs Dogville(2003) and Manderlay (2005), while her voice work as the Witch of the Waste in the English version of Hayao Miyazakiâs beloved animated feature, Howlâs Moving Castle (2004), introduced her trademark husky voice to a new generation.
Bacall made her final big-screen appearance in the 2012 drama, The Forger, when she was in her late 80s.
I love Bacall and Bogart together, but I also love the breadth and depth of Bacallâs career after Bogart. Sheâs great even in pictures that probably didnât deserve her, and she ages in films with the same strength and frankness that her characters embody. As beautiful as she is at 19 in To Have and Have Not, sheâs just as remarkable at 52 in The Shootist and at 72 in The Mirror Has Two Faces. Thereâs so much more to Lauren Bacall than her famous romance, more than we can even begin to discuss here. She was nominated for Emmy and Grammy Awards as well as her Oscar, and she won two Tony Awards for her Broadway roles. She wrote three memoirs, the first released in 1978 and the third in 2005, and if you want to learn more about her life, her work, and her opinions about both, those are the place to begin. The first one, tellingly, is titled By Myself, while the third is By Myself and Then Some, which serves as an apt summary of this great leading ladyâs long life and career.
A silent film actress and director, Alice Terryâs made her mark as Marguerite in The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse(1921) alongside Rudolph Valentino. Sporting a trademark blonde wig from that point on, Terry enjoyed additional starring roles, though her film career would end by 1933.
Alice Frances Taaffe was born on July 29, 1900, in Vincennes, Indiana. Her
parents, Matthew and Ella, worked as barbers, and she had two older siblings:
Edna and Robert. By age 15, she was working as an extra in films, making her
debut in Not My Sister (1916), and
also worked in cutting rooms for Famous Players-Lasky.
A young Alice
1921 would be a pivotal role for the actress. She would marry director Rex Ingram in this year, in addition to being praised for her role in The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. The couple married during the production of The Prisoner of Zenda(1922), which Ingram was directing. Terry appeared in the film as Princess Flavia. The couple married over a weekend in Pasadena, returning for work the following Monday, and left for their San Francisco honeymoon when filming was complete.
Terryâs appearance in The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse served her well and led to additional starring roles in films like The Prisoner of Zenda (1922) and Scaramouche(1923). While Ingram cast her in leading roles, they proved to be unmemorable.
Rudolph Valentino and Alice Terry in The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (1921)
Terry and Ingram relocated to the French Riviera, forming a small studio in Nice and shooting various films on location in other countries. During a visit to Tunisia to film The Arab (1924), the couple adopted a boy who claimed to be orphaned; however, the boy misrepresented his age and was sent to Morocco to finish school. In reality, he never returned to school and his whereabouts are unknown.
Apart from her husband, Terry proved to be a strong actress in Any Woman (1925) and Sackcloth and Scarlet (1925) for
Paramount Pictures. She also enjoyed working behind the scenes, gaining work as
a director when Ingram would be upset with his cast and production, in addition
to film editing. Ingramâs final film and sole sound feature Baroud (1933) credited Terry as a
co-director.
Alice Terry and Rex Ingram
Shortly after the advent of sound in films, Ingram and Terry retired, with
Terry exploring painting as a hobby. Ingram passed away in 1950.
In the years that followed, Terry hosted parties and enjoyed social events
on the town, dressing to the nines. She remained highly active and visible in
society until her Alzheimerâs diagnosis. She passed away on December 22, 1987,
in Burbank and is buried at Valhalla Memorial Park Cemetery in Los Angeles,
California. She was 87 years old.
Today, Terry is remembered on the Hollywood Walk of Fame with a star at 6628
Hollywood Boulevard in Los Angeles.
Terry’s star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame
Her childhood home at 508 Shelby St. in Vincennes, Indiana, burned down on June 6, 2021. This is what the home looked like:
Terry’s home at 508 Street, Vincennes, Indiana
By 1910, she lived at 707 œ Maud Olive Greenberg in Los Angeles. Her father
had passed away in 1907, and her mother was working as a barber. Seven years
later, she lived at 1226 Cabrillo Canal in Santa Monica, California. In 1920,
she lived at 632 Bixel St. in Los Angeles with her mother, as well as her
sister, Edna, and brother-in-law, Gerald. She also resided at 501 Windsor in
Los Angeles in 1940 and at 11566 Kelsey St. in Studio City, California. None of
these homes remain.
Though there are very few tributes to Terry, her filmography can continue to be enjoyed.
Annette Bochenek of Chicago, Illinois, is a PhD student at Dominican University and an independent scholar of Hollywoodâs 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 âHometowns to Hollywoodâ film series throughout the Chicago area. She has been featured on Turner Classic Movies and is the president of TCM Backlotâs Chicago chapter. In addition to writing for Classic Movie Hub, she also writes for Silent Film Quarterly, Nostalgia Digest, and Chicago Art Deco SocietyMagazine.
Silents are Golden: A Closer Look at â Greed (1924)
With its deeply, grittily realistic story and
grand, almost operatic themes, Frank Norrisâs 1899 novel McTeague is one of the great American books of the late 19th
century. While many critics disliked it at the time for being overly âvulgar,â
âdepressingâ or even âhideous,â its powerful story would leave an impact on
generations of readers.
A famous symbolic shot from Greed.
One such reader was film director Erich von Stroheim. Born in Austria to a lower-class family, he came to America insisting he was descended from Prussian noblemen and stuck to the story like glue. He would specialize in playing villainous âHunsâ onscreen during the propaganda-soaked era of World War I and by the late 1910s had started directing. Obsessed with military life and uniforms, he was said to sometimes wear a Prussian uniform even offscreen.
An intense von Stroheim on set.
Von Stroheimâs films took sophisticated looks at the themes of sex and seduction â often with himself in the role of a villainous seducer â and he was always happy to push the envelope. He also pushed the envelope on his studio budgets, insisting on lavish replicas of Monte Carlo or imperial Vienna. But when he decided to adapt McTeague to the big screen, it was the idea of bringing its macabre story to life with humble, real-world locations that excited him.
ZaSu Pitts, Gibson Gowland, and Hughie Mack.
The story concerns the dentist McTeague, a large, gentle, slow-witted man who runs his little business out of his apartment in San Francisco. His friend Marcus, a confident blowhard type, is engaged to Trina Sieppe, a sensitive, fluttery sort of young woman. McTeague finds himself powerfully attracted to Trina, and Marcus decides to âsacrificiallyâ break things off with her. In time McTeague and Trina marry, and by a strange stroke of good luck, Trina discovers she won $5,000 in a lottery. This is unwelcome news to Marcus, who becomes very jealous.
Despite their sudden fortune, the McTeagues
live modestly and Trina becomes more and more obsessed with hoarding her
winnings. She becomes a miser and a frustrated McTeague turns to drink. Marcus
has his revenge by informing the authorities that McTeague doesnât have a
dentistry license. And everything keeps going downhill from there.
An increasingly tragic Trina.
Naturally, this grim plot fascinated von Stroheim. His casting decisions were arguably perfect: the husky Gibson Gowland, who had played a mountain guide in von Stroheimâs hit Blind Husbands(1919), was chosen to play McTeague. Danish actor Jean Hersholt would play the greasy Marcus Schouler. Fragile-looking ZaSu Pitts, who was known for comedy roles, would be an ideal Trina. And various other comedians were chosen for other roles, such as Dale Fuller, Chester Conklin, and Frank Hayes. Von Stroheim had reasoned â correctly â that their comic skills would help them excel at more dramatic roles.
Gowland as McTeague.
He wanted to set his film in the same Polk Street neighborhood Norris described but found it had been largely destroyed by the 1906 earthquake. But he searched diligently until he found the perfect building with a large bay window to serve as McTeagueâs dental parlor, situated at the corner of Hayes and Laguna. The waterfront and Shell Mount park, the setting of some memorable scenes, were happily unchanged and other buildings around Hayes and Laguna were perfect for the stores, the saloon, and the junk shop described in the novel.
That corner building survives today.
Von Stroheim threw himself, heart and soul, into filming Greed(he thought the title a better fit for the storyâs operatic themes) and was obsessed with capturing the novel as perfectly and realistically as possible. He could even recite passages from McTeague from memory. His enthusiasm swept up his cast and also bystanders who came to watch the filming â writer Eleanor Ross wrote an essay describing what it was like in the Hayes and Laguna building:
âIt was odd how these people spoke of all the characters in McTeague as if they really lived and breathed. In fact, owing perhaps to von Stroheimâs realism, they do live and breathe. âKnock again,â someone was shouting. âAgain! Again!â The door opens; Marcus appears; they talk for a while; the door closes. Yet it must be shot again. âVon Stroheim shot a scene twenty-six times once,â I was informed, âbecause it didnât suit him.ââ
Demonstrating a scene to Gowland.
Sometimes the realism was extended even beyond
the sets. In a scene where Trina discovers a character has been murdered, Pitts
went into the street and hysterically informed innocent passers-by what had
âhappenedâ while the cameras secretly
rolled, causing several people to call the police for real. In a scene where
McTeague and Marcus wrestle, von Stroheim encouraged Hershoult to bite Gowlandâs
ear so hard that it bled, much to Gowlandâs anger. Gowland did manage to
successfully object to having a knife thrown at him in a key scene, even though
the thrower was a skilled professional.
But most realistic of all were the Death Valley scenes, taken in â yes â Death Valley itself when the temp was soaring above 120 degrees. The grueling shoot, where members of the crew often suffered heat exhaustion and heatstroke, was so miserable that von Stroheim reportedly kept a pistol on him 24/7. Gowland and Hersholt had to actually crawl and fight on the blinding salt flats, clearly sweat-soaked and miserable onscreen. Von Stroheim reportedly screamed at them to âFight! Fight! Try to hate each other as you hate me!â When shooting finally ended, it took Hersholt several weeks to recover his health.
Gowland and Hersholt in Death Valley.
The result of the memorable production was an astonishing 42 reels of film, which was about nine hours long. It was apparently shown once at MGM studios to friends and reporters on January 12, 1924. Critic Idwal Jones described von Stroheim as âsitting motionless in a straight chair, cane in hand and staring straight ahead as if boring through the screen⊠Every episode is developed to the full, every comma of the book put in, as it were.â Von Stroheim then cut this mega picture down to about 4 1/2 hours. Apparently, von Stroheim originally hoped would be shown over two consecutive evenings or one lengthy sitting, but studio executives disagreed and his precious film was chopped shorter and shorter until it ran about 10 reels.
Lobby card for the film.
While Greed
did well, its reputation grew throughout the following decades and today
itâs considered one of the finest silents ever made. Fans frequently mourn the
loss of the 42-reel version, which was almost certainly destroyed. Happily
today the 4 œ version has been reconstructed with surviving stills added into
the film, allowing us to get at least a strong idea of von Stroheimâs
obsessive, manically-authentic vision.
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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