Wini
Shaw was born Winifred Lei Momi on February 25, 1907, in San Francisco,
California, to James Edmonds Shaw and Esther Pua Kinamu Stephenson. She was of
Hawaiian and Irish descent, and the youngest of thirteen children.
Shaw began her time in the entertainment
industry as part of her parents’ vaudeville act in 1915 during the San
Francisco World’s Fair. The family had a hula act in which Shaw danced as a
child. Once the act disbanded, Shaw pursued an independent career.
At 17, Shaw married Leo Cummins and had
three children: Elizabeth, James, and John. They divorced in 1933.
Shaw performed in revues and as part of
the Ziegfeld Follies of 1931.
Additionally, she worked on radio as well as various short-lived Broadway plays
and musicals.
Later, Shaw performed in several Warner
Brothers musical films, for which she is best known. During this period, Shaw
introduced “Lullaby of Broadway” in Gold
Diggers of 1935 (1935). Her only commercial recording would be with Dick
Jurgens and his Orchestra, which included “Lullaby of Broadway” and “I’m Goin’
Shoppin’ with You” from the film. Shaw also introduced “The Lady in Red” in In Caliente (1935).
By 1939, she left the film industry. During
the World War II years, she toured service camps and Red Cross clubs as part of
the USO alongside Jack Benny and Larry Adler.
Shaw performed on Broadway and in
nightclubs before ultimately retiring in 1955. According to her family, Shaw
married three more times, with her final husband being box office manager
William “Bill” Joseph O’Malley. When Shaw suffered a stroke from which she did
not fully recover, O’Malley remained devoted to her and assisted her throughout
this time.
Shaw passed away on May 2, 1982, in New
York. Shaw was buried at Calvary Cemetery in New York. Her epitaph credits her
performances of “Lullaby of Broadway” and “The Lady in Red,” in addition to the
phrase, “I will sing to my God a new song.” She was 75 years old.
In
1910, Shaw and her family resided at 210 N. Hoyt St., Portland, Oregon. The
home no longer stands. In 1930, she resided at 111-26 177th St., Jamaica, New
York, which stands.
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.
This
month we return to the topic of the final resting places of Western filmmakers,
visiting the gravesites of several actors and actresses across the Greater Los
Angeles area.
Actor Kirk Douglas lived to the venerable age of 103, when he was buried at Westwood Memorial Park. He’s buried alongside his son Eric, who died in 2004, and his wife Anne, who passed away the year following her husband, aged 102. Kirk Douglas was in a number of Westerns over the years, including Along the Great Divide (1951), The Big Trees (1952), and Man Without a Star (1955); one of his best-known Westerns was Gunfight at the O.K. Corral (1957), in which he played Doc Holliday.
Kirk Douglas
Kirk
Douglas’s leading lady in The Big Trees (1952), Eve Miller, is
interred with her parents at Forest Lawn Hollywood Hills. Sadly, Miller was
only 50 when she died. She never obtained top stardom but worked steadily in
films and television for roughly 15 years. Her other Western films included
appearing opposite Charles Starrett in Buckaroo From Powder River (1957)
and costarring as Sterling Hayden’s leading lady in Kansas Pacific (1953).
Eve Miller
Western star Forrest Tucker is also interred at Forest Lawn Hollywood Hills. He appeared in countless Westerns, including many made at Republic Pictures; some of my favorites are Gunfighters (1947), Hellfire (1949), Rock Island Trail (1950), California Passage (1950), Jubilee Trail (1954), and The Quiet Gun (1957), to name just a few. I could easily go on! He also starred in the TV series F Troop (1965-67). Tucker was 67 when he passed on in 1986.
Forrest Tucker
Westerns may not be the first genre associated with singer-actor Dean Martin, but he appeared in a handful; he’d be worth mentioning if only for his work in one of the greatest Westerns ever made, Howard Hawks’ Rio Bravo (1959). I wrote about that favorite film here in 2021. The most notable of Martin’s other Westerns might be The Sons of Katie Elder (1965), which like Rio Bravo costarred John Wayne. Martin was 78 when he died in 1995. He’s interred at Westwood Memorial Park.
Dean Martin
Fred
MacMurray made many different types of films throughout his long career,
including his notable association with Disney. Westerns were scattered
throughout his credits, including The Texas Rangers (1936)
early on; he later made a number of solid Westerns in the ’50s including Quantez (1957), Day
of the Badman (1958), and Good Day for a Hanging (1959).
MacMurray died in 1991 and is interred at Holy Cross Cemetery in Culver City
along with his second wife, actress June Haver.
Fred MacMurray
Like
Fred MacMurray, Robert Young may be best remembered today for his years playing
a father on a TV sitcom, but he appeared in a couple very good Westerns,
including Fritz Lang’s Western Union (1941) and the
lesser-known but well-done Relentless (1948), directed by
George Sherman. Young was 91 when he passed away and is buried at Forest Lawn
Glendale.
Robert Young
Natalie Wood only made a couple of Westerns, but she was in one of the very greatest of them all, playing Debbie in John Ford’s The Searchers (1956). I recently wrote here about revisiting that film via a new restoration at the 2024 TCM Classic Film Festival; it had a huge emotional impact. The same year The Searchers was released, Wood appeared in The Burning Hills (1956). She was buried at Westwood Memorial Park following her tragic death in 1981.
Natalie Wood
Another actress who worked with John Ford was Anna Lee, who over the years became a good personal friend of the director. Lee played supporting roles in Ford’s Westerns Fort Apache (1948) and The Horse Soldiers (1959); she also worked with Ford on non-Western films, most notably How Green Was My Valley (1941). As a side note, Lee’s daughter, Venetia Stevenson, appeared opposite Audie Murphy in Seven Ways From Sundown (1960), which I wrote about here in 2020. Like Natalie Wood, Lee is buried at Westwood Memorial Park; she’s interred with her last husband, writer Robert Nathan (Portrait of Jennie).
Anna Lee
Noah Beery Jr. came from an acting family; he was the son of Noah Beery (Sr.) and the nephew of Wallace Beery. While he’s perhaps best remembered today as James Garner’s father “Rocky” on TV’s The Rockford Files (1974-80), Beery made a number of “B” Westerns over his long career. Among his Westerns were The Carson City Kid (1940) with Roy Rogers, Riders of Death Valley (1941) with Dick Foran and Buck Jones, Under Western Skies (1945) opposite Martha O’Driscoll, and the Tim Holt film Indian Agent (1948). He also appeared in the classic Red River (1948), in Randolph Scott and Budd Boetticher’s Decision at Sundown (1957), and in numerous other Westerns. Beery passed away in 1994 at the age of 81 and is buried at Forest Lawn Hollywood Hills.
Noah Beery Jr.
We’ll
conclude this month’s column with a visit to the gravesite of Leo Carrillo at
Woodlawn Cemetery in Santa Monica. Carrillo appeared in several “B”
Westerns, including titles starring Noah Beery Jr., and is especially known for
playing Pancho in a series of Cisco Kid films released in 1949-50, followed by
the Cisco Kid TV series (1950-1956). Carrillo’s family had
deep roots in California, and his offscreen work on behalf of the state,
including two decades on the California Parks Commission, may be an even
greater legacy than his acting career. Among his achievements, Carrillo is
credited with the state acquiring Hearst Castle. Today a California beach and
two schools are named in his honor, and his Carlsbad Ranch is a tourist
attraction which is on the National Register of Historic Places.
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.
Charley Bowers, The Quirky Genius Of Stop-Motion Animation
You’ve heard of Chaplin, Keaton, and Lloyd.
You’ve even heard of Harry Langdon. Roscoe Arbuckle and Mabel Normand? Of
course you’re familiar with them! Heck, you’re no stranger to Charley Chase or
Marie Dressler–or even Monty Banks.
But what about Charley Bowers? “Wait, who?”
you say. In the rarified world of silent film fandom the Bowers name is finally
becoming more familiar, but this eccentric comedian and animation pioneer is
still an obscure figure overall. Considering he was virtually forgotten for
decades before several of his slapstick shorts were rediscovered in the
1960s–and it was still a challenge for historians to find out his name–he’s
enjoying a happier fate than some of his contemporaries thanks to his wildly
unique stop-motion visions.
Bowers was born in the small town of Cresco,
Iowa, and sources vary as to whether it was in 1899 or 1877. In fact, sources
vary about practically every aspect
of Bowers’ life, thanks to his love of telling tall tales about himself–the
more grandiose, the better. He would insist that his mother was a French
countess and his father an Irish doctor (well, they were French and Irish respectively) and that he became a talented
tightrope walker by the tender age of six. Supposedly a circus witnessed little
Bowers’ amazing talents and kidnapped him, not allowing him to return for two
years, and “the shock killed his father.” The rest of his youth was filled with
odd jobs and he claimed to have had experience in everything from painting
murals to acting in vaudeville to bucking broncos in the Wild West. What we do
know for sure is that Bowers was an undeniably talented artist and worked as a
newspaper cartoonist for the Jersey
Journal, Newark Evening News, and Chicago
Tribune in the 1900s and 1910s.
Somewhere along the way Bowers became
fascinated with hand-drawn animation, becoming one of the animators on the Katzenjammer Kids and Bringing Up Father series. In 1916 he
had worked his way up to being the head of the small Barré Studio churning out
the popular Mutt and Jeff shorts
under the wing of the Bud Fisher Film Corporation. Bud Fisher was the creator
of Mutt and Jeff and happily took
credit for writing and directing the films, but the plots came almost
exclusively from Bowers’ busy imagination.
Barré employees got used to their eccentric
boss’s endless tall tales–told in the most minute detail–and liking for
practical jokes. They also suspected that he was involved in more than a few
shady business deals behind the scenes. Sure enough, in 1919 he was fired from
the Barré Studio for padding the employee payrolls–although he quickly
resurfaced to direct another Mutt and
Jeff at a new flung-together studio.
Bowers’ work in hand-drawn animation was
supplemented by his growing obsession with stop-motion puppetry, which he
experimented with on the side. By the mid-1920s he had decided to enter the
realm of live-action slapstick comedy with cinematographer H.L. Muller as his
co-director and co-producer. Bowers would be the star of what was dubbed the
“Whirlwind Comedies” series, featuring the mysterious (and self-patented)
“Bowers Process,” a mysterious-sounding term for his stop-motion animation.
Usually revolving around Bowers as an
obsessive, excitable inventor coming up with Rube Goldberg-esque machines (and
clearly drawing inspiration from Buster Keaton and Harry Langdon), these
Whirlwind Comedies were breezily paced and full of bizarre animated imagery.
Their logic hovered somewhere between “cartoony” and “downright surreal.” In
his first Whirlwind, the wonderful Egged
On (1926), Charley hides a basket of eggs in a Model T’s engine space.
Later he sees the eggs hatching into miniature Model Ts, which zip all over the
floor before hiding under their “mother” automobile. In Now You Tell One (1926) Charley creates a potion that allows him to
grow any type of food using tree grafts. He successfully grows an eggplant
containing a hardboiled egg and a salt shaker, and a pussy willow graft results
in dozens of full-grown cats.
His “Bowers process” brought all this bizarre
imagery to life in painstaking detail, one hand cranked frame at a time. His
many unique stop-motion creatures, such ostriches made of broomsticks and
sentient oysters with pearl eyes, are given droll personalities and little gags
of their own–Bowers never shied away from adding little flourishes that
doubtless added hours of extra work. In A
Wild Roomer (1927), Charley invents a machine that can perform any
household task, from polishing a stove to giving the user an “egg shampoo.” At
one point the plot comes to a halt for a lengthy sequence showing the machine’s
robot arms carefully creating a rag doll and bringing it to life, clothing it,
feeding it a banana, and giving it a friend in the form of a walnut that
hatches into a squirrel. If this sounds like a Mad Lib brought to life, rest
assured that the visual experience is just as confounding.
Bowers and Muller made 20 Whirlwind Comedies,
the series ending with Goofy Birds (1928).
In the early talkie era a series of “Tall Stories” shorts was announced,
debuting with the charmingly weird It’s a
Bird (1930). The short featured Bowers in his first talkie role (wearing a
Stan Laurel-ish bowler hat), where he played a scrapyard worker who hears about
an exotic “metal-eating bird.” He captures the bird with the help of a
wise-talking worm and puts it to work. In one incredible sequence, the bird
lays an egg which hatches a hyperactive blob of metal. It expands and unfolds
into a full size Model T.
While his imaginative shorts were generally
well-received Bowers was always a minor figure, and his whereabouts grew dimmer
as the 1930s wore on. The Tall Stories series didn’t seem to get off the
ground, and he worked sporadically on small shorts starring stop-motion
oysters, mice and other animals. He also animated the film Pete Roleum and His Cousins (1939) for an exhibit at the 1939
World’s Fair, which starred singing, dancing drops of petroleum. After
struggling with an unknown illness for several years, he passed away in 1947 in
New Jersey, survived by his wife Winifred.
Soon Charley Bowers’ work was forgotten, but
happily it wasn’t for too long. In the 1960s archivist Raymond Borde bought a
stash of film cans marked “Bricolo,” which turned out to be the French nickname
for Bowers. Thus began a slow revival of interest in this obscure, wildly
unique artist. Today his rediscovered work has been restored, enshrined in box
sets and played at film festivals, finally giving him the credit he always
deserved–and doubtless would’ve gloried in.
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.
More than a year ago, I
started a series, “Supportive Fellas of Film Noir,” which focused on . . . well . . . the supporting male characters
in film noir features. It’s been a while since I promised to shine the
spotlight on these gents, so I figured there was no time like the present to
take another deep dive into this shadowy, supportive pool. This month’s Noir
Nook will take a look at three more of my favorites: Jeff Hartnett, Whit
Sterling, and Wally Fay.
…..
Jeff Hartnett in Johnny Eager (1942)
Jeff Hartnett (Van Heflin) in Johnny Eager
Robert Taylor stars in
the title role of a smooth ex-con who drives a taxi to cover for a spate of criminal
enterprises, from operating an illegal dog racing track to committing stone-cold
murder. His circle of friends and lovers includes Garnet (Patricia Dane), his
sometime-girlfriend; Lisbeth Bard (Lana Turner), the stepdaughter of Johnny’s
nemesis in the D.A.’s office; and Jeff Hartnett, Johnny’s right-hand man
(played by Best Supporting Actor Oscar winner Van Heflin).
Shortly after we make
Jeff’s acquaintance, we learn three things about him: (1) he’s an intellectual,
with a sensitive soul and a penchant for quoting Shakespeare, (2) he’s
unutterably devoted to Johnny, and (3) he’s a functional alcoholic. We’re not
told in so many words, but we get the impression that his reliance on the
bottle is somehow tied in with the other two factoids about him – his
allegiance to Johnny and his ties to Johnny’s criminal activities seem to be in
direct conflict with his intelligence and his sense of right and wrong. In
fact, when once asked by Johnny why he drinks so much, Jeff responds, “Every
now and then I’ve got to look in a mirror.”
Don’t get me wrong – Jeff was Johnny’s closest friend and most loyal supporter, but he could also be unflinchingly honest when it came to Johnny’s actions and beliefs, regardless of the potential consequences. In the most extreme case of this, in one scene, Jeff makes a reference to Johnny’s self-centered nature and winds up on the floor with a sore jaw. But while Jeff departed that encounter with a final-sounding, “That broke it,” there was nothing Johnny could do to make Jeff truly abandon him. We could all do with a Jeff in our lives.
…..
Whit Sterling in Out
of the Past (1947)
Whit Sterling (Kirk Douglas) and Jeff Bailey (Robert Mitchum in Out of the Past
In this acclaimed noir
feature, Robert Mitchum is Jeff Bailey, a small-town service station owner
whose past as a private investigator (with a different last name) comes back to
bite him when he has a chance encounter with a former associate. His past
includes racketeer Whit Sterling (Kirk Douglas) and Kathie Moffat (Jane Greer),
the alluring dame who Sterling was desperate to find after she shot him and
stole a cool forty grand.
Whit is a fascinating
character – a refined gangster with a well-modulated voice and a pleasant smile.
But he’s scary, too. When we first meet him, in a flashback where he’s hiring
Jeff to track down Kathie, Whit is friendly, mild-mannered – he even doesn’t
seem to be angry at Kathie. He just wants her back in his life. But when Jeff asks him what he’ll do to
Kathie when she returns, Whit’s eyes grow cold as he responds, “I won’t touch
her.” It’s a chilling moment – and it’s not the last where Whit’s concerned.
In fact, almost every time we see Whit – and it’s not often – he has an air of affability that sets your teeth on edge. You never know what he’s going to say or do. You can ‘t figure him out. You don’t know if you should trust what he’s saying or head for the hills. Take the scene where he surprises Jeff by showing up in Mexico, where Jeff has found (and fallen for) Kathie. Whit doesn’t know that, but we’re not quite sure what he does know. Is he really just in Mexico to “see a man about a horse”? Is he in town to check up on his private dick investment? Or does he suspect that Jeff knows more than he’s telling? The suspense is lethal.
…..
Wally Fay in Mildred
Pierce (1945)
Wally Fay (Jack Carson) in Mildred Pierce
In this feature, Joan
Crawford stars in the title role of a single mother who will stop at almost
nothing to earn the regard of her impossibly supercilious daughter, Veda (Ann
Blyth). After the bust-up of her marriage to Bert (Bruce Bennett), Mildred
takes a waitressing job to make ends meet, but eventually hits the jackpot with
a chain of successful restaurants. She comes to learn, though, that money
doesn’t buy happiness. Or devotion. Or love. And sometimes, it leads to murder.
The cast is rounded out by Mildred’s cash-poor second husband Monte Beragon
(Zachary Scott); Mildred’s saucy best pal, Ida Corwin (Eve Arden); and Bert
Pierce’s former real estate partner, Wally Fay (Jack Carson).
On the surface, Wally
was a jokester, a good-time Charlie who was always quick with a quip. But like
Whit Sterling, his exterior was far different than what was underneath. We
learn this early on, when Mildred’s voiceover references the end of the
partnership between her husband and Wally: “One day they split up. Wally was in
and Bert was out. They weren’t partners anymore. That day when Bert came home,
he was out of a job.” We don’t find out any of the specifics, but we get the
distinct impression that loyalty was not one of Wally’s strong suits, and
self-preservation was.
We see this throughout
the film – Wally is always (and I mean always) looking out for number one. When
he finds out that Mildred and Bert are separated, he doesn’t waste any time trying
to replace his former friend (“I’ve always been soft in the head where you’re
concerned . . . maybe there’s a chance for me now.”). When Veda secretly
marries her well-to-do boyfriend, it’s Wally who brokers a hefty financial
settlement to end the union and, of course, plans to get his piece of the pie.
And when Mildred’s business faces a financial crisis, Wally is the one who
lands on his feet. And, yet, there’s something about Wally that prevents us
from being mad at him – it’s not his fault that he consistently puts himself
first. He does it with such charm! (Whaddya gonna do?)
——
Stay tuned for future Noir Nooks, where I’ll explore more first-rate supporting gents – and the ladies, too!
…
– 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:
Mothers give it to their children. Kids leave glasses for
Santa. A husband hands one to his wife to help her relax.
Wait. Take go back to that husband. If you’ve seen the Alfred Hitchcock thriller Suspicion, you’re probably feeling a bit uneasy.
In a famous scene from that 1941 film, shadows and darkness ominously move across the face of actor Cary Grant as he carries a glass of milk upstairs to his wife’s bedroom where she looks anxiously at the drink. Why is she hesitating?
Husbands with milk can be a dangerous proposition for wives as we’ve seen in Alfred Hitchcock’s Suspicion, left, and the ghost story House in Marsh Road.
Grant is Johnnie Aysgarth, husband to wealthy Lina McLaidlaw (played by Oscar winner Joan Fontaine). The film has raised the question of whether he’s married her for love or money and his new interest in poison isn’t helping quell Lina’s concerns. No wonder she looks at the milk like it’s on fire – or worse. Her expression mirrors our thoughts: Is there poison in the milk? Is he trying to kill her?
I couldn’t help thinking about that masterful scene after rewatching a similar one in a quiet little black and white horror film called House in Marsh Road(1960).
There’s a hubby, a glass of milk and a wife who also controls the money. But in Marsh Road, there’s no doubt what the husband is up to: Kill the wife, get the house, the money and his mistress. Despite his motives being perfectly clear, the film remains impressively effective and has a fantastic twist that takes it into Monsters and Matinees territory.
A glass of milk becomes a terrifying object in House in Marsh Road starring Patricia Dainton.
* * * * *
I first saw House in Marsh Road three ago after discovering a series of classic movies from a British distribution company called Renown Films. They were newly streaming on Amazon Prime Video (they also stream now on Tubi) and I had never seen or even heard of any of the films except The Trollenberg Terror (1958) which we know in the U.S. as The Crawling Eye.
The movies are low budget, of various genres and without stars. My expectations were low, but it turned out that there were a few gems with creative plots like House in Marsh Road.
The film was a compact 70 minutes and had a fun plot description that caught my interest: A loving wife inherits some property and hopes it will be the fresh start her and her husband need, but the house has other plans.
House in Marsh Road is part thriller, part ghost story. It’s even-tempered for most of its short running time, setting up the plot through its characters who are easy to know because they are who they say they are. And we learn that right away.
* * * * *
The film opens by introducing us to married couple Jean
(played by Patricia Dainton) and David Linton (Tony Wright) as they’re
inspecting a shabby boarding house room. The writing in this scene does a very
good job in quickly telling us about them. David is a struggling author, hard
drinker, a bit of a con man and a player (watch when he walks by a pretty woman)
who lives off his wife. He drinks away the little money she makes at a dress shop,
so they run from rooming house to rooming house when the rent is overdue. “What
a way of living,” she says, clearly losing her patience with him and their way
of life.
In this initial scene, David offers to pay the new landlady upfront,
but she is so impressed by the fact he’s an author and his thick wad of bills,
she says there’s no need to pay now. His fake money works every time.
“Everyone is willing to give you credit, if they think you’ve
got money,” the cocky David says to Jean who isn’t amused.
You can cut the tension with a knife in the opening scene of House in Marsh Road where we meet a married couple played by Patricia Dainton and Tony Wright.
Luckily their housing situation is about to improve as Jean inherits
a house in the British countryside by the whimsical name of Four Winds, Witherley. She has a few childhood memories of it, so she
immediately feels at home. In true David fashion, he sees it in terms of dollar
signs yet makes disparaging comments about the old-fashioned place. That’s strike
one, David.
As the happy Jean explores the house, a door slams in
David’s face. Boom.
Say hello to Patrick, David. That’s what the Irish housekeeper
Mrs. O’Brien calls the ghost who comes with the house (he’s named after her
husband because he’s also “invisible”).
Patrick doesn’t take kindly to humans who put down his home,
nor does he like how David speaks to Jean. As the talkative Mrs. O’Brien shares,
Jean’s aunt called Patrick a poltergeist which suggests he’s a malevolent
spirit, yet she also believed Patrick would never harm her, nor “anyone
belonging to her” which would include Jean. (I wonder why? I would love to see
the prequel to this film.) Patrick will leave others alone – if they don’t make
him angry. (We’re looking at you David.)
For much of the film you can call Patrick a protective
poltergeist or even the playful poltergeist, though I know that’s a
contradiction in terms. Patrick likes to tease Jean by doing things like moving
chairs in hopes she’ll play with him (she does). “Dear Patrick, I do wish you
could stop playing jokes,” she smiles while moving a chair back in place.
With David he’s more like a nasty prankster making a plate
fall off the wall near David when he dismisses the idea that Patrick exists.
(Strike 2, David.)
* * * * *
Jean takes care of the house and the garden. She’s happy. “Four Winds means something to me,” she says and she won’t part with it.
David is miserable, spending his days at the local pub called
The Plough. That’s where an estate agent offers him a hefty sum for the house and
provides the name of a typist to help with his book. Bonus: Mrs. Valerie
Stockley is “quite a dish,” David is told.
And that she is – as well as a soon-to-be-divorcee. Yes, there’s an immediate attraction between the two and if a horror film can have a femme fatale, she’s it. Valerie (played by Sandra Dorne) seems nice enough and is drawn to David, but she’s also tempting, teasing and sees him as a means to an end.
Valerie (Sandra Dorne) asks for money from her married boyfriend David (Tony Wright) to help her get a divorce in House in Marsh Road. No problem, he’ll just steal it from his wife.
But she has standards. She won’t be
David’s mistress. She also wants to remarry after her divorce and that takes David
out of the running for her affection because he is married. (Sounds like she’s
implying he should do something about that pesky wife.) Oh, and there’s the
issue of money, too.
With Valerie, David says he’s
drawn like a moth to the flame while the selfish cad bemoans his marriage. If only
Jean wasn’t around, he would have money and Valerie.
Be careful, David, Patrick knows
all. (Is this strike 3? I’ve lost count.)
This all plays out in a
straightforward way without filler material, allowing the film to mosey along in
a way that feels a bit unexciting despite the greed and infidelity, but gets us
to where we want to go. (It is a haunted house movie after all.)
For example, ghosts in movies are
usually seen or heard even if it’s only as the whisper of the wind or a shadow
on the wall. Not Patrick. Oh, we see objects move a few times but that’s about
all. Patrick isn’t much of a force in the film until that milk gets warmed up –
then look out. Our mundane little ghost story catapults into full-on
poltergeist mode.
David’s refusal to believe in
Patrick’s existence makes him blind to warning signs like that falling plate
and a mirror that violently breaks as Valerie gazes at her reflection. (The
fact that Valerie returns to the house after that is puzzling. I would run and
never look back.)
Meanwhile, Patrick looks out for
Jean. He throws one of David’s desk drawers and its contents on the floor where
Jean finds a letter signed “V.” It reads: “Darling. Thanks and thanks again for
the twenty pounds, now I know you love me.”
Twenty pounds? The look on Jean’s
face is priceless – she knows David stole it from her and she finds proof that
he did.
A friendly poltergeist helps Jean (played by Patricia Dainton) find a letter from her husband’s mistress in House in Marsh Road.
There is a great scene when the two
women finally meet while wimpy David hides. We love Jean as she stands up for
herself and demands what has been stolen from her – and it ain’t David. Keep
the hubby and give me back my money, she tells Valerie. Valerie learns what we already
knew: Loverboy is broke and a liar.
But Valerie, it turns out, is in
love and David’s response is to blame Jean for telling the truth.
“I could have murdered her,” he
says.
“Why don’t you,” the angry Valerie
screams at him. “Why don’t you break her silly little neck?”
If we thought Patrick was mad
before, just wait.
* * * * *
Ah, back to that glass of milk. Stir in an overdose of
sleeping pills and it still looks pure and white. No one will know, David
thinks.
The tension builds as David carries the glass upstairs in a darkened hallway and into the room where his wife is resting. Jean’s nerves are on edge by an earlier “near accident” and David urges her to drink the milk and “aspirin.” Her intuition tells her something is off but he’s persistent.
Each time she raises the glass to her lips, strange things
happen in a most unique way. Something is setting off warning bells but is
anyone listening?
It’s a taut, thrilling and clever sequence but it’s not the film’s ending. As strong as it is – I remember sitting on the edge of my seat when I first watched it – it’s not the most fiery and intense scene in the film either.
The true nature of ghosts, like people, eventually comes out. Even the odd poltergeist with a nice side has his limits.
* * * * *
Trivia notes
Actor Tony Wright who plays David was married to actress Janet Munro (Trollenberg Terror, Darby O’Gill and the Little People).
Director Marshall Tully didn’t do many genre movies, but his last two films were The Terronauts with Simon Oakland and Terror Beneath the Earth, both made in 1967.
House in Marsh Road was not theatrically released in the United States, but it was part of the Amazing ’65 syndicated television package released in 1964 by American International Television.
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 writer
and board member of the Classic
Movie Blog Association. Toni was the president of the former Buffalo
chapter of TCM Backlot and led 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.
Like most Gen Xers, I grew up associating Sir Alec
Guinness with his role as Obi Wan-Kenobi in the original Star Wars
trilogy. Only as an adult did I discover his earlier work and his tremendous
talent for comedy as showcased by his series of films in the 1950s with Ealing
Studios, the first of which, Kind Hearts and Coronets (1949), started
the collaboration by having Guinness play eight different members of the same
family. Guinness and Ealing continued from there with A Run for Your Money
(1949), The Lavender Hill Mob (1951), The Man in the White Suit
(1951), and The Captain’s Paradise (1953) before coming to the delightfully
nutty caper comedy, The Ladykillers (1955). Unlike Kind Hearts and
Coronets, The Ladykillers casts Guinness as just one character, but
it’s still one of his funniest roles, and more laughs roll in thanks to supporting
performances from Peter Sellers, Herbert Lom, Cecil Parker, Danny Green, and
the absolutely fantastic Katie Johnson as the endangered elderly lady of the
title.
Professor Marcus (Alec Guinness) rents a room from Mrs. Wilberforce as part of his elaborate robbery plan.
Guinness leads as the weirdly toothy Professor Marcus,
who has planned an elaborate robbery that his gang will execute with the
unwitting assistance of his newly acquired landlady, Mrs. Wilberforce (Katie
Johnson). The criminals present themselves to Mrs. Wilberforce as amateur
musicians, which causes problems when the music loving landlady frequently interrupts
or comments on their “rehearsals.” The ruse fools her until after the heist,
when their instrument cases are revealed to be stuffed with stolen cash. The
indignant Mrs. Wilberforce demands that the money be returned, but the gang
decides to murder her instead, even though none of them is keen to commit the
act himself.
Mrs. Wilberforce (Katie Johnson) exudes Victorian propriety, but the gang convinces her that the police will think she is part of their gang.
With his oversized teeth, limp hair, and sly
expressions, Guinness’ felonious Professor is such an odd duck that it’s a
wonder Mrs. Wilberforce lets him in the door at all, but the plot cleverly pits
her geriatric Victorian innocence against the machinations of a devious modern
age as embodied by Marcus’ ragtag gang of criminals. There’s never much doubt
about which team is likely to carry the day; the thieves don’t stand a chance
against the chaos that sweet, oblivious Mrs. Wilberforce throws into their schemes.
Guinness and his costars suffer cartoonish misery thanks to the dear old lady,
with runaway parrots, forgotten umbrellas, tea parties, and an unrelenting
gaggle of elderly women all working to thwart them at every turn. The familiar
heist montage – a staple of the genre – goes off the rails as Mrs. Wilberforce
upsets Marcus’ precisely set plans, and riotous comedy ensues as she accosts
strangers, starts fights, and eventually enlists the aid of the police to carry
a large trunk full of stolen money right to the door of her house.
Professor Marcus and Louis (Herbert Lom) don’t look much like classical musicians, but Mrs. Wilberforce falls for the ruse.
Most of the best scenes feature Guinness and/or
Johnson, but each of the supporting actors is perfect in his own way. A
baby-faced Peter Sellers makes an important early appearance as Harry, one of
the younger and less experienced members of the gang, while Herbert Lom
radiates noirish menace as Louis. This first pairing would eventually lead to
the two actors appearing together in A Shot in the Dark (1964) and many
of the ensuing Pink Panther films, which Lom continued to appear in even after
Sellers’ death in 1980. Cecil Parker makes for a delightfully stuffy and
fastidious Major Courtney, while Danny Green plays the surprisingly
kind-hearted muscle, One-Round. With the exception of Green, whose lumbering
boxer exhibits a protective fondness for Mrs. Wilberforce that is perhaps too
touching, the gang actors manage to be funny, inept, and human enough to flinch
at murdering an innocent woman without being so likable that we grieve when
karma comes calling. The third act of the picture dishes out just deserts left
and right, but the scenes in which Mrs. Wilberforce adopts the criminal jargon
of her new associates are really just as funny as the physical comedy of the
gang’s fatal mishaps.
Harry (Peter Sellers) and One-Round (Danny Green) take their orders from Professor Marcus, but neither is cold-blooded enough to kill Mrs. Wilberforce.
After The Ladykillers, Guinness made a final bow with Ealing in All at Sea (1957), but 1957 also brought him dramatic success with The Bridge on the River Kwai, for which he won the Academy Award for Best Actor. If you want to see him in more serious films, try Great Expectations (1946), Oliver Twist (1948), Lawrence of Arabia (1962), and Doctor Zhivago (1965), all of which helped to establish his gravitas as an actor before he donned the Jedi robes of Obi Wan-Kenobi. Katie Johnson, who died in 1957, only appeared in two more films after The Ladykillers, and many of her earlier roles were small, uncredited parts, so it’s especially wonderful that we have her performance as Mrs. Wilberforce to showcase her talent. In 2004, the Coen brothers remade The Ladykillers with Tom Hanks in Guinness’ role, but it just can’t compare with the brilliance of the original Ealing version.
Mabel Todd was born on August 13, 1907, in Los Angeles,
California, to Richard and Helen Todd, and grew up in Glendale, California. Her
father worked as a salesman.
At an early age, Mabel and her sister, Marcia, performed as
a singing duo in vaudeville. Mabel later sang on the radio regularly and was
dubbed “The Little Ray of Sunshine.”
In 1933, she and comedian Morey Amsterdam married and worked
together on The Laff and Swing Club radio
show.
Todd made her film debut in Varsity Show (1933) and signed a contract with Warner Brothers. She
appeared in supporting roles in films such as Hollywood Hotel (1937) and Gold
Diggers in Paris (1938), typically in comedic roles that allowed her to
express a zany persona and a high-pitched voice. Off-screen, she could
typically be seen riding her scooter on the Warner Brothers lot.
Additionally, she provided the singing voice in the cartoon Katnip Kollege (1938).
In 1942, Todd made an appearance on television, performing
on one of the first televised talent shows of the day.
By 1943, she took on a starring role in The Ghost and the Guest (1943), written by Amsterdam. She also
traveled the country during World War II to perform as part of the USO and
boost troop morale.
In 1945, Todd and Amsterdam divorced. The end of their
relationship was particularly bitter, with Amsterdam refusing to speak about
her from that point on. At around the same time, her film career plateaued; she
was only able to secure small roles. Her final film role would occur as a
florist in Wife Wanted (1946).
Todd continued to work on radio and on the stage over the
years. She eventually married Matthew Santino, roughly 15 years her junior, in November
1947 and separated in February 1948. The relationship also ended in a highly
publicized divorce by 1950. In court, she testified that Santino was verbally
and physically abusive during their short marriage.
Soon after, she retired from the entertainment industry
altogether. She passed away on June 2, 1977, in Los Angeles. She was 69 years
old.
Todd was cremated and interred at Queen of Heaven Cemetery
in Los Angeles, California.
Today, some of Todd’s former residences remain. In 1910,
Todd and her family resided at 6510 Denver Ave., Los Angeles, California. The
home stands.
6510 Denver Ave., Los Angeles
In 1920, Todd and her family lived at 1208 S. Glendale Ave.,
Glendale, California. This home no longer stands.
By 1930, Todd’s mother passed away. Todd lived with her
father and boarders at 416 N. Maryland Ave., Glendale, California. This home
remains.
416 N. Maryland Ave., Glendale
In 1940, Todd and Amsterdam lived at 269 W. 72nd
St., New York, New York. Both were radio singers and this point. This building
stands.
269 W. 72nd St., New York City
They also rented an apartment at 801 Filmore St., San
Francisco, California, which stands.
Todd and Amsterdam also resided at 11616 Otsego St., Los
Angeles, California, which stands.
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.
Over the years the TCM Classic Film Festival has typically included a couple of Westerns on the schedule, such as Winchester ’73 (1950), which I wrote about here back in 2019, or last year’s opening night premiere of the restored Rio Bravo (1959).
That said, Westerns have historically tended to be represented in fewer numbers than other genres at the festival, so it was very exciting that Westerns were front and center in a big way at this year’s fest.
This was my 11th time covering the 15-year-old festival,
held in Hollywood this year from April 18th to 21st. It always seems as though
each year’s festival is the best ever, only to be surpassed by the following
year, and the 2024 festival was no exception. It was a remarkable experience
start to finish, and I felt lucky to attend.
On Saturday, April 20th, revered film historian Jeanine
Basinger was honored with this year’s Robert Osborne Award, following in the
footsteps of honorees such as Leonard Maltin and Kevin Brownlow.
Jeanine Basinger accepts the Robert Osborne Award onstage at the “Westward the Women” screening during the 2024 TCM Classic Film Festival at the Egyptian Theatre on April 20, 2024, in Hollywood, California. [Photo courtesy of Turner Classic Movies]
It was a deeply deserved honor for one of my all-time
favorite writers on film, and it was all the more special as the film she chose
to accompany her award ceremony was Westward the Women (1951).
Westward the Women was directed by
William A. Wellman and stars Robert Taylor and a large cast of women, headed by
Denise Darcel, Hope Emerson, Julie Bishop, and Lenore Lonergan. The screening,
which took place at the recently remodeled Egyptian Theatre, was a lovely 35mm
print.
In explaining her selection, Basinger recounted working as
a movie theater usher in her teens and that the reaction to the film was
striking; instead of getting up to leave as soon as the movie ended, audiences
stayed and applauded the cast credits, which was very unusual in that place and
time.
Basinger also commented that she liked that the film
demonstrates the women’s toughness and determination, while they also retain
their essential femininity, as seen in the film’s final scenes.
Westward the Women
Westward the Women is one of my all-time favorite films, but I was curious what the audience reaction would be, given that Robert Taylor’s character makes some statements which could be perceived as misogynistic, plus there’s quite of bit of slapping which occurs in the film.
While I noted at least one Twitter reaction complaining
about the above, as well as the women marrying strangers, I was gratified that
many in the audience appreciated the growth of Taylor’s character as the film
went on and were profoundly moved by the film. I gathered from overheard
conversations that viewers loved the characters and were surprised by the
movie’s gritty tone.
Westward the Women
A smattering of appreciative Twitter responses by different
audience members:
“All I can say is WOW! One of my favorite fest
discoveries ever. Thank you Jeanine Basinger for picking this movie to screen
at #TCMFF.”
“Out of all the films so far, the one that affected me
the most so far is Westward the Women (1951). William A.
Wellman knows how to mess with my emotions.”
“Was overwhelmed. So happy it more than lived up to
the reputation…right up there with the best westerns every made and that’s
not hyperbole.”
“…I wonder how it’s not already a contender for
every list. Maybe new favorite Wellman?”
The next morning was another special Western screening,
this time the world premiere restoration of Law and Order (1932).
The restoration was by Universal Studios in collaboration with the Film
Foundation; it was shown via DCP in the Chinese Multiplex 6, introduced by
Brendan Connell Jr. of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. The
Academy was listed as a “co-presenter” of the film on the festival
website.
Law and Order was directed by
Edward L. Cahn from a script by Tom Reed, based on a John Huston adaptation of
W.R. Burnett’s novel Saint Johnson. The film is also known by the
alternate title Guns A’Blazin.
Law and Order had been shown at
the festival at 2016, but I missed it that year. It’s said to be the first
cinematic spin on the tale of Wyatt Earp, as Huston and company try to tame
Tombstone, Arizona. The Earp story has, of course, been filmed many times since,
and I’ve written about several versions in past Western RoundUp posts.
Law and Order
Writer John Huston’s father Walter stars as the
Earp-inspired Frame “Saint” Johnson, the “killingest peace
officer that ever lived.”
Huston is backed by Harry Carey Sr., Raymond Hatton, and
Russell Hopton. Huston and Carey, in particular, are exceptionally good in the
film.
Law and Order
Law and Order has a decidedly
gritty tone and feels authentic, whether it’s the costumes or the climactic,
fast-paced shootout with the “Northrups” (Clantons) at the OK Corral.
The film’s humor is notably dark, particularly when it comes to Andy Devine as
a dim-witted fellow headed for the gallows, who’s happy to be going out as the
first man “hung legal” in Tombstone.
It’s a movie very much worth seeing and provides
fascinating historical context for those interested in the legend of Wyatt Earp
on film.
The highlight of this year’s TCM Classic Film Festival came
on Sunday afternoon at the Egyptian, with a sold-out 70mm world premiere
restoration of John Ford’s The Searchers (1956). The movie
stars John Wayne and many members of what we today refer to as the “John
Ford Stock Company.”
The restoration by Warner Bros. scanned the original
VistaVision camera negative in 13K, with the restoration work done in 6.5K. The
Film Foundation gave its approval to the newly restored 70mm print.
The movie was introduced by noted director Alexander Payne.
Cast member Patrick Wayne, son of the film’s star, was in the audience and
received a nice round of applause.
Alexander Payne speaks onstage before the “The Searchers” screening during the 2024 TCM Classic Film Festival at the Egyptian Theatre on April 21, 2024, in Hollywood, California. [Photo courtesy of Turner Classic Movies.]
The Searchers is a favorite film, but I don’t watch it too often as, to borrow a comment above, it really messes with my emotions. I briefly toyed with the idea of going to see Eddie Muller introduce Chinatown (1974) in the same time slot, since I hadn’t seen that one since college, but ultimately the lure of John Ford in 70mm could not be ignored.
I can’t say how grateful I am that I chose The
Searchers that day; as I wrote at my personal blog, it was “one
of the best festival decisions I’ve ever made…a majestic, profound experience
which left me awed and deeply moved.”
I had seen the film twice before on a big screen – one
print I saw as a teenager I particularly remember being quite scratched – but
this screening made an exceptional impact. My eyes watered with emotion
throughout. For anyone who has the chance to see this 70mm restoration, I
emphatically recommend the experience!
All in all, it was a wonderful year for Westerns at the TCM
Classic Film Festival. I hope some of my readers who have not yet attended the
festival will be able to be there in 2025.
With this column I mark my sixth anniversary writing the Western RoundUp column. Thanks to all for reading!
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.
2024 marks the 100th anniversary of one of
Buster Keaton’s most beloved films: his third feature, Sherlock Jr. (1924). Still every bit as funny and fresh as it was
in the early 20th century, its sophisticated special effects have also aged
remarkably well–even to today’s CGI-accustomed audiences.
Compared to the two Keaton features that it
was sandwiched between, the period piece Our
Hospitality (1923) and the lost-at-sea adventure The Navigator (1924), Sherlock
Jr. was a much smaller-scale film. Keaton had originally envisioned
adapting the popular 1922 play Merton of
the Movies, about a young man from a small town who dreams of becoming a
Hollywood star. However, Famous Players-Lasky had snapped up the rights and
were planning on making a version starring Glenn Hunter. Keaton decided to use
a similar story revolving around a small town theater projectionist, who in
this case dreams of becoming a famous detective.
Keaton would later credit his cameraman, Elgin
Lessley, for coming up with the idea of having much of the film take place in a
dream. Lessley insisted that many of the surreal movie-themed gags Keaton had
in mind wouldn’t work in a “legitimate” story, and that audiences were more
likely to accept the topsy-turvy logic of the dream world. This turned out to
be an excellent idea, freeing them to create the memorable scenes of Keaton
jumping in and out of a movie screen that are still admired today.
The studio started filming in November of 1923
under the working title of The Misfit. The
leading lady was initially played by Marion Harlan, who apparently had to drop
out after falling ill. She was replaced by Kathryn McGuire, a petite former
Mack Sennett comedienne who paired well with the 5’6” Keaton. Ward Crane was
cast as the intimidating rival for McGuire’s hand, and Keaton’s father Joe
would also make an appearance as the girl’s father.
Another major addition to the film’s
production–at least temporarily–was Keaton’s old pal Roscoe Arbuckle, who was
brought on as a co-director. Arbuckle’s life had been upended in 1921 after
actress Virginia Rappe fell ill at a party he hosted in San Francisco, later
passing away. After several sensational trials for manslaughter he was
acquitted of all charges, but he had been relegated to working quietly behind
the camera ever since. It only took a few days for Keaton to realize that the
patient, genial comedian he had worked with in the past now had a hair-trigger
temper, his nerves still shattered from undergoing those trials. He gently
thanked Arbuckle for his help and told him he now felt comfortable directing
himself.
By now the story had evolved into Keaton
playing a humble projectionist moonlighting as a detective while also
contending with a rival for his girl’s hand. The rival steals a pocketwatch
belonging to the girl’s father and blames Buster for it. Disgraced, a dejected
Buster dreams that he is the famous, dashing detective Sherlock Jr., who
retrieves a stolen necklace of pearls. Apparently a 1922 John Barrymore film, Sherlock Holmes, inspired the change in
title.
Keaton performed numerous stunts for the film,
from riding alone on the handlebars of a fast-moving motorcycle to performing a
vaudeville trick where he appeared to disappear into a small case being held by
an assistant. The most dangerous stunt showed him running along the top of a
moving train as it rumbled past a water tower. He grabbed a rope hanging from
the tower’s spout and the resulting torrent of water pushed him down onto the
tracks below. He hit one of the rails directly on his neck. The film shows him
springing up and running off unscathed, but after the cameras stopped rolling
he had a lingering headache that he “cured” with a couple of stiff drinks.
Decades later, an x-ray taken during a routine checkup revealed he’d gotten a
neck fracture–in such a precise spot that it healed without him being aware of
it.
Other feats performed by Keaton included doing
all the billiard ball tricks during the pool room sequence, which took several
months of lessons from an expert pool player, and of course the wonderful “film
within a film” sequence. Buster, having fallen asleep, is dreaming that he’s
watching the film Hearts and Pearls and
he jumps into the movie screen. While he’s onscreen the scenes suddenly change
around him, depositing him into city streets, jungles of wildcats, snowy
landscapes, and so on. The effect was done by having Lessley measure the
precise distance from Keaton to the camera and to the edges of the
frame–precise down to the fraction of an inch–so he could get in the exact
right place for each shot.
Once Sherlock
finished production in February of 1924 Keaton had it previewed in Long
Beach, Glendale, and finally Los Angeles, tweaking the film after each audience
reaction. The finished product ran under five reels, or about 45 minutes,
making it shorter than the average comedy feature.
Sherlock
Jr. was generally well-received and did well at the
box office, although it didn’t perform as well as Our Hospitality and would be somewhat overshadowed by the
phenomenal success of Keaton’s next picture, The Navigator (1924). Yet its reputation has steadily grown over
time, and many fans consider it one of the great comedian’s best. Today, a full
100 years later, its centenary has been celebrated with public screenings at
several film festivals, and of course, plenty of love from fans online.
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.
Marjorie Ann Guthrie was born on July 22, 1904, in Winnipeg,
Manitoba, Canada, to Robert and Nettie Guthrie. Her father worked as a grain
merchant.
Guthrie entered into the entertainment industry as a child
performer, working as one of the dancing and singing Winnipeg Kiddies. Once she
became a teenager, she relocated to San Francisco, California, and performed
alongside actress Thelma Wolpa in vaudeville. They performed as a duo act titled
“Wolpa and Guthrie, Little Bits of Everything.” By the time they took the act
to New York, they were renamed as “The White Sisters,” with both actresses
keeping the surname White after the dissolution of their partnership.
In 1924, White married producer Edwin Tierney. She performed
in various Broadway musicals in the late 1920s before she and her husband
relocated to Hollywood. Once there, the year of her birth was modified by four
years to make her marketable to studios as a younger star. She was also
required to drop four pounds by Fox Film studios, though she was already 103
pounds and stood just under five feet tall. A specific role called for “a woman
who weighed less than 100 pounds.”
White’s early film roles included Happy Days (1929) and Sunny
Side Up (1929). She transitioned between Broadway and Hollywood once again
for the musical Hot-Cha before
returning to films and appearing in Charlie Chan films. One of her more
noticeable roles in this period was in The
Black Camel, performing as one of the suspects in the film. She also
appeared in the Bert Wheeler and Robert Woolsey film Diplomaniacs (1933) as a femme fatale.
Woman Haters
White worked alongside numerous stars of her day, including
an appearance with Joan Crawford in Possessed
(1931). However, her best-known appearance is her co-starring role in Woman Haters (1934), the first Three
Stooges short for Columbia Pictures. Sadly, this would be her final film role.
On August 20, 1935, White was involved in a car accident in
Santa Monica, California. Driver Marlow M. Lovell and White were in the open
car. At the last minute, White traded cars with Gloria Gould, who had forgotten
to wear her wrap that evening. As a result, Gould rode with White’s husband and
followed Lovell’s car. Lovell’s car sideswiped the car of a couple who had just
been married. The car overturned and White was the only one who suffered
serious injuries. She died from internal hemorrhaging the following day on
August 21, 1935, and a coroner’s jury ruled that Lovell’s reckless driving was
the cause of her death. She was 31 years old.
White was buried at Hollywood Forever Cemetery.
In 1911, White and her family resided at
350 Pacific Avenue in Manitoba. In 1921, White lived with her mother and father,
as well as four siblings, at 414 William Ave., Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada. This
home no longer stands.
In 1929, White and her husband lived at
1919 Argyle Ave., Los Angeles, California. This home stands.
1919 Argyle Ave., Los Angeles
By 1930, White and her husband resided at
5934 Manola Way, Los Angeles, California. At this point, he was working as a
producer and she was employed as an actress. The home also stands.
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.
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