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.
One of the most interesting – and challenging – aspects of
classic film noir is the fact that it’s not a hard and fast, clear-cut genre.
There are countless films that are staunchly considered by some to fall in the
category of noir, and just as vehemently believed by others to be anything but
noir.
However!
There are some features that are undoubtedly, irrefutably,
unmistakably noir – they’ve got more femmes fatales and flashbacks than you can
shake a stick at – and this month’s Noir Nook kicks off a new limited series
that looks at these features, beginning with Double Indemnity. This
first-rate feature, released by Paramount Pictures in 1944, was directed by the
great Billy Wilder and co-written by Wilder and novelist Raymond Chandler.
Double Indemnity, directed by Billy Wilder and co-written by Wilder and novelist Raymond Chandler.
I may have mentioned this once or twice before, but in case
I haven’t, Double Indemnity is my favorite noir. In a very succinct
nutshell, it tells the story of a married woman who teams with her insurance salesman
lover to murder her husband – and might have gotten away with it if not for
said insurance salesman’s supervisor, who had the instincts and determination
of a bloodhound.
Insurance Agent, Walter Neff (Fred MacMurray)
Two archetypal noir characteristics are revealed in the
first few minutes of the film: voiceover narration and flashback. We see these after
the insurance agent, Walter Neff (Fred MacMurray), careens his way through the
deserted, early morning streets of Los Angeles, on his way to his office. Once
there, his Dictaphone – on which he records a letter to his boss, Barton Keyes
(Edward G. Robinson) – furnishes the means for the flashback that will last until
close to the film’s end. Similarly, that same recording to Keyes provides the
viewer with the thread that connects crucial scenes in the film, from Walter’s
first visit to the home of Phyllis Dietrichson (Barbara Stanwyck) and his introduction
– via photographs on the piano – to Mr. Dietrichson (Tom Powers) and his
daughter, Lola (Jean Heather); to the step-by-step plan that results in the
slaying of Phyllis’s spouse; to the paranoia, suspicion, and distrust that
ultimately leads to the downfall of both Phyllis and Walter.
In addition to the voiceover narration and flashback
device, Double Indemnity is rife with a painterly use of lights and
shadows, courtesy of seven-time Oscar-nominated cinematographer John Seitz. Seitz
achieved the film’s oppressively somber effect through the use of low-key
lighting which, unlike high-key lighting, places an emphasis on shadows, contrasted
with intense brights radiating from solitary sources. We see this throughout
the film, beginning in the opening scene; we see the dusky street of Los
Angeles, cloaked mostly in shadows, but with conspicuous lights coming from the
streetlights, safety lamps, traffic lights, and a railway maintenance sign. The
film’s shadowy look is omnipresent; one of the most notable comes in the scene
where Walter enters the Dietrichson living room as he’s waiting for Phyllis to
join him. (Even Walter notices; in his recording to Keyes, he recalls: “The
windows were closed and the sunshine coming through the Venetian blinds showed
up the dust in the air.” Seitz achieved this effect by mixing aluminum dust and
smoke into a shaft of light.) Other effects included shadows from the steel
railings in Walter’s office building, electric fans, floor lamps, hat racks, and
tree branches. The shadows in Double Indemnity are so prevalent and
pervasive that they all but represent another character.
The most significant prototypical noir trait in Double
Indemnity is the presence of the femme fatale, Phyllis. Before we see her,
we hear her voice calling for her housekeeper, Nettie (Betty Farrington), an
when she makes her appearance, she’s clad in a large towel – she’s been taking
a sun bath, and that’s the most innocent act that Phyllis will undertake for
the rest of the film. We get a few minor hints that Phyllis might be someone to
reckon with when we hear her sultry voice and see the lingering look she gives
Walter when she tells Nettie to show him into the living room. But our first concrete
clue to Phyllis’s persona is the gold anklet she wears and the way it
captivates Walter as she descends the stairs. And only scant minutes pass
before Phyllis is acknowledging Walter’s intelligence and asking him about
accident insurance. You can practically see the wheels turning in her head.
Early on, Walter is completely oblivious to Phyllis’s
machinations (he’s too captivated by that anklet) and, to his credit, when he
catches on that she’s interested in bumping off her husband, he beats a hasty
retreat. But Phyllis isn’t one to take “no” for an answer – when at first she
doesn’t succeed, she changes her tack (and her outfit); by the time she’s
finished, she’s got Walter eating out of her hand and single-handedly planning
Mr. Dietrichson’s murder. (And thinking it was all his own idea.)
Not only does Double Indemnity contain these emblematic film noir tropes, but it also serves up a perfect ending. Originally, the movie concluded with Walter’s execution in the San Quentin gas chamber, but (luckily) that ending was scrapped, in favor of the confrontation between Walter and Keyes in Walter’s office. Here, we’re able to witness the profound disappointment and pity on Keyes’s face and the way Walter can barely look his boss and friend squarely in the eye. We hear Walter’s pathetic last-ditch effort to escape, with plans to flee across the border, and Keyes’s accurate prediction that he wouldn’t make it as far as the elevator. And, finally, we experience Keyes providing the match to light Walter’s blood-soaked cigarette and Walter’s final words to close out the proceedings: “I love you, too.” Want to see a pure, unmistakable noir? Check out Double Indemnity. And join me here in the coming months as I take a look at more entries in this shadowy, distinctive category of films.
…
– 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:
When Roger Corman died on May 9, 2024, at the
impressive age of 98, his passing marked the end of a brilliant cinematic career
that began in the 1950s and continued for more than 70 years. I’ve been a fan
of Corman’s Edgar Allan Poe films ever since I first discovered them, so this feels
like the perfect moment to revisit one of my favorites, The Pit and the
Pendulum (1961). It’s not the most faithful of Corman’s Poe series, but it
perfectly captures all of the defining elements of both the original author’s
works and the Corman films they inspired. It’s a vivid, violent fever dream of
a movie, from the swirling paint of the opening credits to that final
horrifying closeup, with especially memorable performances from horror icons
Vincent Price and Barbara Steele. Richard Matheson’s screenplay and Floyd
Crosby’s cinematography weave together all the quintessential sensations of
Poe’s Gothic horror, making the whole a truly sublime experience in the classic
Romantic sense.
In a flashback to happier times, Nicholas (Vincent Price) paints a portrait of his beloved Elizabeth (Barbara Steele).
Corman regular Vincent Price leads the cast as the 16th
century Spanish gentleman, Nicholas Medina, whose wife, Elizabeth (Barbara
Steele), has recently died under mysterious circumstances. When Elizabeth’s
brother, Francis (John Kerr), arrives from England looking for answers about
her demise, he finds Nicholas in a state of psychological distress caused by
Elizabeth’s death and his traumatic childhood as the son of a brutal
Inquisition torturer who killed his own wife and brother for their adulterous
affair while Nicholas watched. Nicholas’ sister, Catherine (Luana Anders) and
his physician, Charles (Antony Carbone), provide the persistent Francis with
details about the family’s history and Elizabeth’s fate, but Nicholas grows
increasingly certain that they have accidentally interred Elizabeth alive and
caused her vengeful ghost to haunt him.
Nicholas relies on his friend and physician Charles (Antony Carbone) after Elizabeth’s death unsettles his already traumatized psyche.
Poe’s original story is much too thin to serve as the
plot of a full-length feature film, so The Pit and the Pendulum builds a
narrative using most of the author’s favorite themes, including premature
burial, revenge, madness, and haunted protagonists. Several plot points echo
“The Fall of the House of Usher,” which had served as the source for Corman’s
first Poe picture in 1960, with a white-haired Price as the hypersensitive
Roderick, but the horror of being buried alive recurs in “The Cask of
Amontillado” and “The Premature Burial.” Guilt-stricken protagonists also come
unhinged in “The Black Cat” and “The Tell-Tale Heart,” while a dead wife’s
return marks the climax of both “Morella” and “Ligeia.” Many of these stories
would later get their own Corman adaptations, either as feature films or as
segments of the anthology picture, Tales of Terror (1962), but The
Pit and the Pendulum mixes a heady Gothic cocktail of phantasmagoria that’s
difficult to surpass. We see flashbacks to the gruesome vengeance of Nicholas’
father and the seemingly deranged wanderings of a haunted Elizabeth. We get the
dreadful sight of the corpse bricked up inside Elizabeth’s tomb and the eerie
sounds of her harpsichord echoing through the halls. Price’s performance
emphasizes the vulnerability of the psyche to repeated violent shocks; his
Nicholas is more victim than villain, even though his suffering eventually
drives him to reenact his father’s brutality. Like Price’s character in the
1953 film, House of Wax, Nicholas is a sensitive artist whose
monstrosity emerges from sadistic mistreatment. Although the breaking of the
mind through cruelty and suffering is presented very differently in the movie
than it is in Poe’s original story, it’s still the central theme and the
ultimate source of horror.
Catherine (Luana Anders) wants only to protect her fragile brother, but Francis (John Kerr) is determined to learn the truth about his sister’s mysterious, sudden death.
In general, Corman’s Poe pictures manage to look
lavish in spite of shoestring budgets and rapid-fire shooting schedules, and The
Pit and the Pendulum is a perfect example of this combination of economy
and extravagance. Although the movie was shot in just 15 days, it still looks
fantastic, with gorgeous sets by Daniel Heller and elaborate costumes that
heighten the Gothic atmosphere. Having Vincent Price as the star makes a huge
difference in all of their collaborations, but especially in a story like The
Pit and the Pendulum, where the actor must portray a sympathetic but
damaged protagonist whose collapse into madness strikes the audience as
profoundly tragic. Corman could trust a gifted veteran star like Price to lean
into whatever a role required, and of course the horror maestro excelled at
full-tilt villains, but I especially admire Price’s performance in The Pit
and the Pendulum for its pathos. If I have any real complaint about the
movie, it’s the brief screen time allowed for Barbara Steele, who embodies
malevolent loveliness so deftly as Elizabeth, but at least she gets some
flashback scenes to enhance our sense of the character. When she and Price
share the screen in the third act, the full horror of the tale at last becomes
apparent, much to our spine-tingling delight. The titular pit and pendulum that
follow can’t hope to compete with that lethal pair.
The sadistic Elizabeth taunts Nicholas once her evil plan has successfully driven him mad.
I’ve seen all of Corman’s Poe movies, and my favorites in addition to The Pit and the Pendulum are The Masque of the Red Death (1964) and The Tomb of Ligeia (1964), but they’re all worth watching if you enjoy the Gothic thrills of Corman’s contemporaries, particularly Hammer and Mario Bava. Speaking of Bava, the best place to appreciate Barbara Steele is Bava’s iconic Black Sunday (1960), but you can also see her in other Italian horror pictures like Castle of Blood (1964) and The Long Hair of Death (1964). Vincent Price’s other films during the Poe years include Twice-Told Tales (1963), The Comedy of Terrors (1963), and The Last Man on Earth (1964), each of which has its own merits. If you’ve never gotten around to watching Corman’s Poe films, I suggest starting with Tales of Terror (1962) for its anthology format and delightful performances by Price, Basil Rathbone, and Peter Lorre.
That was Roger Corman’s first film and everything about it, including that fun title, was a taste of what he would give us during his 60-plus years of filmmaking.
When Corman died May 9 at the age of 98, he left behind an amazing legacy of nearly 400 films (he often worked uncredited, so it’s hard to get the full tally), directing 50 and producing the others. And while his low-budget independent movies earned him the title of the King of the B-movies, he also played a large role in launching the careers of many A-listers.
For his first film, Roger Corman produced Monster from the Ocean Floor in 1954.
Corman’s remarkable life and career have been documented in the many books written about him – and by him – so it seems almost ridiculous to try and sum up his career in a 1,500-word story. Yet I try. Why? Because he stirred my sense of wonder.
Just reading those titles sparks my imagination again, as the films did the first time I saw them. Even today, when I see Corman’s name in the opening credits, it’s a reassurance that I will be entertained.
Right from Monster from the Ocean Floor, Corman had creative ideas on how to make movies despite lacking resources and budget. His ingenuity was his gift as a filmmaker, and he shared it with us.
Here’s how he did it.
Roger Corman’s first film credit was as producer of Monster from the Ocean Floor. What evil lurks in the nearby sea cove?
Pay it forward.
Corman took the money he made from one film, and paid it forward to finance his
next project. He used the meager proceeds from his first script called House
in the Sea to make Monster from the Ocean Floor. (The script became
the 1954 film Highway Dragnet starring Richard Conte and Joan Bennett.
Oh, and Corman added to his experience by working as an associate producer on
the film for free.) He was proud that he made his first film with $12,000 in
cash from selling the script, with a $5,000 deferment for lab costs. Monster
made a profit of $100,000, which went toward financing the next film, and so it
went. A legacy was created.
Hide the monster. Working with low budgets meant there wasn’t money for special effects so creatures were shrouded in darkness or only partially shown. Seeing only the giant claw in Attack of the Crab Monsters was much scarier than the full plodding creature.
Roger Corman’s The Wasp Woman was ahead of its time in its statement about women and the business of beauty. But it was one of the films when the creature was best kept under low light.
Keep talking.
You’ll notice Corman’s films can be talkative (with lots of scientific
mumbo-jumbo in his horror/sci-fi films) and they utilize narration, sometimes
in odd spots. It was to help tell the story and fill in blanks when there
wasn’t money for additional scenes or special effects.
Blame radiation.
Raise a glass of cheer when you hear the word “radiation” in his films, because
it helps make any creature you can imagine come alive. A giant, talking crab?
Blame radioactive underwater tests. A huge devil-like sea creature with a
glaring red eye? Ditto. The mutant walking around a post-apocalyptic world? Just
a poor guy suffering from radiation poison.
Cheap & quick. That’s how Corman was able to make nearly 400 movies. Little Shop of Horrors, starring Jack Nicholson, was filmed in two days for $35,000. The Wasp Woman in about five days for $50,000.
When he had a “fortune” to spend – like the $350,000 on The Raven, he still directed it in only two weeks. And that brings me to my favorite Corman story: how he made The Terror.
Roger Corman not only reused sets and actors for The Terror, Jack Nicholson (at left) wore the coat originally worn by Marlon Brando in Désirée.
The Raven was the fifth in Corman’s eight-film “Poe Cycle” (1960-64). By that time, he wanted to “out-Poe” the author and “create a Gothic tale from scratch,” Corman is quoted in his indispensable and entertaining book How I Made Hundred Movies in Hollywood and Never Lost a Dime. Boris Karloff had two days left on his contract for The Raven so Corman, not one to waste good talent or money, kept the actor on the set for the weekend and used the footage as a base for another movie that still needed a script. That would become The Terror.
Corman’s three-day wonder, as it has since been called, was cobbled together like Frankenstein’s monster using bit and pieces from other films and sets, and at times it looks as patchwork as that sounds.
Even the uniform that Nicholson wears was recycled: It was originally used by Marlon Brando in Désirée.
A studio system.
Corman worked with people like he ran an old-time film studio as he used a
stable of young, undiscovered talent both in front of and behind the camera.
Jack Nicholson made his film debut as The Cry Baby Killer (1958). It was one of eight films he starred in for Corman, who also produced three of his screenplays all before Nicholson became a star with Easy Rider.
Then there’s a guy
named Vincent Price who starred in seven films in Corman’s “Poe Cycle.”
That’s a fresh-faced Roger Corman at left playing Jimmy the deck hand in a scene from the first film he made,Monster from the Ocean Floor.
And who is that handsome young deckhand in his first film? That’s Corman, offering a towel to the scuba-diving tourist played by Anne Kimbell in Monster from the Ocean Floor. Though he didn’t make a cameo in every film he made like Hitchcock, you can catch him now and again.
This brings us to
the people behind the camera and the …
Roger Corman
Film School. We’ve all watched movies from the filmmakers who were part of
what was affectionately called “The Roger Corman Film School.”
James Cameron, Gale
Anne Herd, Joe Dante, Francis Ford Coppola, Peter Bogdanovich, Curtis Hanson
and Ron Howard are among some of the many filmmakers who started out working
with Corman in various ways. Additionally, composer James Horner and
cinematographer Janusz Kaminski, both Oscar winners, worked early with Corman.
Oscar-winning
director James Cameron has frequently spoken about Corman, proclaiming that he “came
from the Roger Corman film school.”
Corman gave Cameron his first film work as art director and visual effects on Battle Beyond the Stars (1980) and he produced Cameron’s first full-length feature Piranha II: The Spawning (1982). Two years later, Cameron blew the doors off the film industry with The Terminator.
And there’s more
With nearly 400
films in his career, Corman wasn’t exclusively making horror and sci-fi films.
You’ll find racing films, westerns, rock ‘n roll quickies, “teen girl noirs”
and his, ahem, “nurse cycle” which included Night Call Nurses.
Perhaps the most underrated part of his career was how used his New World distribution and production company to release an impressive array of prestigious foreign films into U.S. theaters including Ingmar Bergman’s Crimes and Whispers, Francois Truffaut‘s Story of Adele H and Small Changes, and Federico Fellini’s Amarcord, which won an Academy Award as best foreign language film.
If you haven’t seen Sharktopus, you should. Corman was executive producer and made a cameo in the 2010 made-for-TV sci-fi film.
Let’s watch
So where do you even start if you want to become familiar with Corman films or revisit them? Since this column is called Monsters and Matinees, we’ll stick with Corman’s horror and sci-fi films, many that I’ve already mentioned.
In the mood for
undersea creatures? Start at the beginning with Monster from the Ocean
Floor then head toward the end of his career with one of my favorite films
ever – the miraculously titled Sharktopus.
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 also 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.
I’ve seen High Noon (1952) multiple times over the years, including a memorable theatrical screening at the FilmEx festival when I was in my teens. The FilmEx screening, which took place in Century City, California, was part of a 50-hour movie marathon honoring the 50th anniversary of the Oscars!
That
said, despite my love for Westerns and its vaunted reputation, High
Noon has never been a favorite of mine and consequently I hadn’t seen
it for roughly two decades. I was thus very interested to take a fresh look at
the film via the new Special Edition Blu-ray just released by Kino Lorber. I find
that sometimes seeing a film in a new context, including having viewed many
more movies in the intervening years, provides an interesting new perspective.
As many will already be aware, High Noon tells the tale of Will Kane (Gary Cooper), who has just married a young bride, Amy (Grace Kelly), and retired as the marshal of Hadleyville, New Mexico.
Will and Amy are on the point of leaving town when Will
learns that Frank Miller (Ian MacDonald), who Will sent to prison, has been
inexplicably pardoned and is on his way to town to exact his revenge on Will.
Members of Frank’s gang (Robert J. Wilke, Lee van Cleef, and Sheb Wooley) are
already waiting for Frank at the train station.
Gary Cooper and Grace Kelly
The town judge (Otto Kruger) immediately hightails it out of town, and Will initially agrees to leave with Amy as planned. However, he feels that dealing with Frank is his responsibility and heads back to town, despite Amy threatening to leave him. Will’s concern that they would forever be looking over their shoulders for Frank to show up in their new town also fails to move Amy.
Amy, we learn, became a Quaker pacifist after her father
and brother were gunned down, but she eventually has second thoughts about
abandoning her new husband after a heartfelt discussion with Will’s former
lover, Helen Ramirez (Katy Jurado).
Meanwhile Will is shocked when no one in town will help
him, as the clock ticks ever closer to noon…
High Noon received six Academy Award nominations, including Best Picture and Best Director (Fred Zinnemann). Cooper won the Best Actor trophy, and the film also won its Editing nomination, with Elmo Williams and Harry Gerstad taking home Oscars.
As implied by its Oscar nominations and wins, the film is nicely crafted, running a well-paced 85 minutes; a running time under an hour and a half is always a plus for me. I’ve enjoyed the film enough to go back to it every now and then — always hoping that this time I’ll end up loving it, yet it never quite happens. I wouldn’t precisely say I dislike it, as it has a few positive aspects, but my issues with it if anything have become more strongly felt with the passage of time.
It’s been said in many quarters that High Noon is
a film for people who don’t like Westerns; being a Western fan I can’t say if
that’s true, but I did feel that, other than the actors, it may have been made
by people who don’t like Westerns.
The film is curiously lacking in joy, with a sour, negative
tone. I revisited this film exactly a week after seeing the new restoration of
John Ford’s masterpiece, The Searchers (1956), and was struck
that although the Ford film is about a very, shall we say, complicated man and
the film goes to some very dark places, it’s also awe-inspiring; The
Searchers deeply moves the viewer with its powerful story and great
beauty.
I never get those feelings from High Noon,
despite being prepared to love it because of its great cast of familiar faces.
As I’ve analyzed it, I feel that it’s actually kind of a self-consciously,
deliberately nasty movie, and a key flaw is that not one male character in it
is admirable.
I include Will Kane in that assessment. On the one hand I
do appreciate his sense of responsibility to the town, but I felt he didn’t
simultaneously show enough responsibility and concern for his wife. One might
blame his not taking time to hash things out with her at length due to the
ticking clock — indeed, “I don’t have time” becomes his somewhat
whiny refrain over the course of the film — but he showed far too little
concern for his brand-new wife’s feelings.
And as the film goes on, Kane’s character begins to seem
negative right alongside the townspeople hiding in their homes. It certainly
seems that Kane has never actually been a leader, because not one person will
follow him, least of all his feckless former deputy, Harvey (Lloyd Bridges).
The movie expands on a theme seen in at least one film on Wyatt Earp, that once a town has been cleaned up, the citizens begin to resent it, including sometimes the negative financial impacts. That discomfort seems to be part of the explanation here, but it’s not explored in enough depth to help us understand what’s going on, and it becomes tiresome simply watching people turn down helping their former marshal.
The ladies are a different story and part of what makes the movie worthwhile, despite its deficiencies. Although the movie starting at the moment of Will and Amy’s wedding robs us of much background and character development for the relationship of Will and his (much) younger bride, Amy’s reactions are reasonable and understandable, especially after she explains her pacifism to Helen. And after she struggles over what to do, I find Amy’s ultimate decisions admirable.
Katy Jurado, I commented on Twitter recently, is a “goddess” in this film, so compelling that I honestly find her the main reason to watch; indeed, I think she deserved a Best Supporting Actress nomination. Whether she’s sharing scenes with Cooper, Kelly, or Bridges, she commands attention.
Though one might question why such a smart woman has been
having an affair with Harvey, the overall picture of Helen is of an
intelligent, ethical woman. Her discussions with Amy are for my money the best
scenes in the film, and I also really love the small, almost throwaway scene in
which Helen decides to sell out and leave town, as it illustrates her business
savvy.
Left unanswered for the viewer is why Helen and Will broke
up, though one might infer she was not the “kind” of woman a man like
Will married in that era, whether due to her business or even her ethnicity.
Their brief exchange in Spanish — which I was able to understand due to many
months of Duolingo — was moving.
Among the female characters, let us also not forget the
wonderful character actress Virginia Christine, who has a scene in which she
tries but fails to rally fellow churchgoers to Kane’s side.
The screenplay by Carl Foreman was based on the story “The Tin Star” by John W. Cunningham. Much has been written over the years analyzing High Noon and its screenplay as political allegory, but I choose not to go there in this piece; that’s a complicated discussion which deserves more words than I have room for here. I find it sufficient to judge High Noon simply as a Western among other Westerns and say that for me it comes up short.
The musical score is by Dimitri Tiomkin, with lyrics for the title song by Ned Washington; Tex Ritter is the singer. Days later the music is still reverberating in my head!
The black and white cinematography was by Floyd Crosby. A
fun bit of trivia is that he was the father of David Crosby of Crosby, Stills
and Nash.
Supporting cast members not already mentioned above include Thomas Mitchell, James Millican, Lon Chaney Jr., Harry Morgan, Eve McVeagh, Ralph Reed, Lee Aaker, Jack Elam, and John Doucette.
Lon Chaney Jr. and Gary Cooper
Kino Lorber’s fine print is from a new HD master from a 4K scan of the original 35mm camera negative. In addition to the Blu-ray I reviewed, it’s also being released by Kino Lorber in a 4K edition.
This Special Edition Blu-ray release comes with a
reversible cover and cardboard slipcase. The nice selection of extras includes
not one but two separate commentary tracks, one by Alan K. Rode and the other
by Julie Kirgo. Although I haven’t yet listened to these tracks, I’ve heard
many other tracks over the years by both Rode and Kirgo so am confident saying
they will each be worthwhile.
The disc also includes half a dozen featurettes; the
trailer; and a gallery of trailers for seven other films available from Kino
Lorber. Kino Lorber has done its usual stellar job, and this is an excellent
way to see High Noon.
If nothing else, High Noon is a
thought-provoking film, and I welcome discussion pro and con in the comments.
Thanks to Kino Lorber for providing a review copy of this Blu-ray.
…
– Laura Grieve for Classic Movie Hub
Laura can be found at her blog, Laura’s Miscellaneous Musings, where she’s been writing about movies since 2005, and on Twitter at @LaurasMiscMovie. A lifelong film fan, Laura loves the classics including Disney, Film Noir, Musicals, and Westerns. She regularly covers Southern California classic film festivals. Laura will scribe on all things western at the ‘Western RoundUp’ for CMH.
By the mid-1920s, cinema had reached incredible heights. Lighting and cinematography had evolved into fine art. The camera itself was liberated from the stagnant wooden tripods, made to float along elaborate tracks and swing from ceilings. The screen captured epic war stories, romance in distant lands, and chapters from history. It could also bring striking feats of imagination to life in a way no other medium could. The timing was just right for a grand, strange, artistic sci-fi epic like the German mega-production Metropolis.
Based on a book by screenwriter and novelist Thea von Harbou, the wife of renowned director Fritz Lang, Metropolis would have a futuristic setting with universal themes. Von Harbou wrote the book specifically with a film version in mind, and Lang, an imperious personality already known for Destiny (1921) and Dr. Mabuse, the Gambler (1922), agreed to collaborate with her to bring it to life. Since it would be produced by UFA, the German media conglomerate, the budget would be considerable – around 5 million Reichsmarks.
The story was set in a dystopian future where
society is divided by the wealthy elite living in vast skyscrapers and the
workers who toil underground on huge machines. Thousands of extras would be
enlisted and filming would take a year and a half to complete. Eugen Schüfftan
was put in charge of the special effects, including the elaborate miniatures of
the Expressionist city and its stop motion cars and planes. His “Schüfftan
process” used mirrors to capture live actors and miniatures in the same smooth
shots. Supposedly the look of the metropolis was also inspired by Lang’s trip
to New York City in 1924, when he gazed at the cityscape from the deck of the
S.S. Deutschland.
A film with Metropolis’s scale needed a stellar cast, and fortunately fate
played a hand. The story goes that Lang was working on his mythological epic Die Nibelungen (1924) when von Harbou
received a letter from Gretchen Schittenhelm with an enclosed photo of her
teenaged daughter Brigitte. While Brigitte only had experience in school plays,
Gretchen was hoping to get her some work in the movies. Von Harbou liked Brigitte’s
looks and Lang agreed to have her come in for an audition. The teenager
recalled that she was asked to put on screen makeup and simply read from a
letter as a motion picture camera cranked away. As she was reading, an actor
suddenly stormed the stage and started shouting at her. Startled, she shrank
back–and Lang called for the cameraman to cut, having gotten the authentic
reaction he had hoped for. Brigitte Helm had unwittingly nabbed what turned out
to be the role of a lifetime, the saintly Maria in Metropolis–and her evil doppelganger, the robot who unleashes
violence on the city.
Brigitte Helm
Initially, a different actor was cast in the role of Freder, the son of the city ruler. During a shoot with a number of extras, von Harbou noticed Gustav Fröhlich in the background and thought he looked suitable for the part. After shooting lackluster scenes with the original Freder, Lang listened to von Harbou and gave Fröhlich the role. It was his first breakthrough role on film, having mostly played bit parts in the past. The city ruler would be played by theater actor Alfred Abel (it would be his best-known role) and the mad scientist Rotwang was portrayed by Rudolf Klein-Rogge – von Harbou’s previous husband.
Alfred Abel, Brigitte Helm and Rudolf Klein-Rogge
The frosty Lang was already legendary for his high expectations and obsessive work ethic, and both actors and extras were expected to spend long hours in a studio that was routinely too hot or too cold. Endless retakes were demanded for the simplest scenes. The weak economy of Weimar Germany made it easy to hire extras – even when Lang required a thousand to shave their heads for the Tower of Babel sequence. 500 children were hired for the flood scenes, which dragged on for two weeks. Von Harbou later said they were fed well, housed comfortably, and glad to earn some money – although Lang did keep the water unreasonably cold.
Helm had an especially difficult time wearing
the robot costume, which could be very hot and also caused cuts and bruises. It
was created from a plaster cast of her body and sculpted from a type of wood
filler that had a bit of flexibility while still appearing metallic. Some shots
didn’t even show her actual face, but Lang insisted no double could be used,
claiming he needed to “sense” her presence in the costume.
Brigitte Helm in costume
By the time Metropolis was in the can it was 150 minutes long and well over
budget, but promised to be a spectacle like no other. It also featured a
dramatic orchestral score by Gottfried Huppertz, who drew inspiration from
Wagner, “La Marseillaise” and “Dies Irae.” Its world premiere was held in
Berlin at the UFA-Palast am Zoo on January 10, 1927. Some reports claimed the
film had a tepid reception, while others mentioned audiences cheering at some
of the showstopper scenes. All in all the film seems to have had mixed reviews,
with many finding it silly or merely weird, although the special effects were
widely praised. It would be heavily edited for its U.S. release, much to Lang’s
fury, who swore: “I love films, so I shall never go to America. Their
experts have slashed my best film, Metropolis,
so cruelly that I dare not see it…”
Gustav Fröhlich
It took decades, but in time Metropolis was reassessed by critics and
historians and proclaimed a masterpiece, one of the silent era’s greatest
achievements. Its reputation was further cemented by careful restorations,
especially the 2010 “definitive” restoration using footage discovered in Argentina
in 2008. Today we can see that it’s not only the great-grandfather of our many
sci-fi films, but a unique work of art that was somehow both “of its time” and
very much ahead of its time.
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.
Spring Trivia – Laraine Day, Van Heflin, Robert Taylor and More
Classic movie
trivia and the budding of spring – two things that go great together . . . at
least, they do here at the Noir Nook! This month’s Nook celebrates the new
season with some tasty tidbits about six great performers and some of their noir
roles. Enjoy!
Laraine Day
Laraine Day
In 1946, Laraine Day starred in RKO’s The Locket, which she would later call her favorite film. In it, she plays a kleptomaniac who destroys the lives of every man who is unlucky enough to fall for her beauty and charm. The story, originally called What Nancy Wanted, unfolds through a series of flashbacks – in fact, the film serves up flashbacks within flashbacks within flashbacks. According to Day, she almost didn’t get the role; after she’d expressed interest in the film, William Dozier, who was in charge of RKO at the time, decided he wanted the film to star his then-wife, Joan Fontaine. Day said that she and her agent “put up such a battle that we finally got it.”
…..
Barry
Sullivan
Barry Sullivan
Speaking of
favorite films, The Gangster (1947) was one of Barry Sullivan’s. He
starred in the feature as Shubunka, a neurotic, scar-faced mobster. Critics of
the day weren’t impressed by the film; the critic for the New York Times
described Sullivan as “stern and tight-lipped” and Viriginia Wright of the Los
Angeles Daily News opined that the film suffered from a “confused and
over-written script.” Sullivan disagreed, however. He appreciated the “rather
artsy” look of the film, provided by director Gordon Wiles, who was an Academy
Award-winning art director, and he found the screenplay to be the best part of
the picture: “[Screenwriter] Daniel Fuchs had been a teacher in New York, knew
the milieu and really had a handle on the sort of small-time gangster the
picture portrayed.”
…..
Signe Hasso
Signe Hasso
The House on
92nd Street (1945), based on actual FBI files, started a trend for crime
films shot entirely on location, according to the picture’s star, Signe Hasso.
She played the owner of a dress shop who ran a Nazi spy ring in New York,
masquerading as a man known only as “Mr. Christopher.” Hasso explained that the
real-life head of the spy ring was a man masquerading as a woman, “but the
censors wouldn’t allow that. [But] a woman posing as a man was all right.” She
recalled once arriving on set dressed as Mr. Christopher: “Someone came up to
me and said, ‘No visitors on this set!’ I said, ‘It’s me!’ No one had
recognized me as a man.”
…..
Van Heflin
Van Heflin and Joan Crawford
Van Heflin starred in 1947 opposite Joan Crawford in Possessed, in which she played a mentally ill nurse obsessed with Heflin’s engineer. When he first met the actress in the early 1940s, Heflin recalled that he was “very snooty,” dismissing Crawford as “just a movie star.” He changed his tune when the two appeared together in Possessed, stating that he “found in her a tremendous knowledge of acting. She knew everything about the camera. She knew everything about those lights. She knew everything about the psychopathic girl she was playing. She knew everything, period.”
…..
Ann Savage
Ann Savage
Although Ann
Savage enjoyed a screen career that spanned six decades, she is best known
today for her role as the snarling, hard-boiled, take-no-prisoners femme fatale
in Detour (1945). She recalled that it took less than four days to film
her role but added that Edgar Ulmer was the best director she’d ever worked
with. “He gave me a click-click-click tempo that he wanted me to use as the
character, and I kept that approach throughout the part,” Savage said. She also
said that Ulmer combed cold cream through her hair “to make me look a
believable wreck. Remember, this was still the period in Hollywood when
everyone was looking their best, when your face never got messed up when you
cried, when you awoke in the morning with a fresh make-up job.”
…..
Robert
Taylor
Robert Taylor and Lana Turner
Robert Taylor was openly complimentary about his Johnny Eager (1941) co-star Lana Turner – and that’s putting it mildly. He recalled that her face was “delicate and beautiful” and said that he had “never seen lips like hers.” He added that her voice was like that of a breathless child: “I don’t think she knew how to talk without being sexy.” Although he was married to Barbara Stanwyck at the time, Taylor reportedly became romantically involved with Turner during shooting, telling reporters that he “was never known to run after blondes, [but] Lana was the exception.” For his performance on screen – which was one of Taylor’s first as a “heavy” – the actor earned raves from critics. The Variety reviewer labeled his performance “soundly socked and . . . very convincing,” and the critic for The Hollywood Reporter raved, “Robert Taylor is brilliant in projecting a relentless mobster, hard as nails and twice as sharp.”
…
– 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:
Some Like It Hot (1959) is widely celebrated as one of classic Hollywood’s greatest comedies, even though its cross-dressing plot roused conservative ire and caused the movie to be released without Hays Code approval in 1959. Thanks to the brilliant direction of co-writer and producer Billy Wilder and the outstanding performances of Tony Curtis,Jack Lemmon, and Marilyn Monroe, the movie went on to earn six Oscar nominations, which probably infuriated its detractors even more, and its success helped to nail shut the coffin of the waning Motion Picture Production Code. After 65 years, one might expect Some Like It Hot to have lost some of its relevance, especially in its depiction of gender identity, but the movie holds up surprisingly well. I think its continued appeal stems in part from the fact that it doesn’t just play the cross-dressing of its protagonists for laughs. Instead, the film treats the experience as transformative, allowing its male characters to learn and grow as a result of their time inhabiting female identities.
Joe (Tony Curtis) and Jerry (Jack Lemmon) go on the run after witnessing a gangland massacre.
Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon star as jazz musicians Joe and Jerry, who find it tough to make a living in Chicago during Prohibition. Living becomes even tougher after the pair accidentally witness a gangland massacre carried out by Spats Colombo (George Raft) and his henchmen, so Joe and Jerry disguise themselves as women in order to leave town with an all-female band. Presenting themselves as Josephine and Daphne, the two make friends with fellow performer Sugar Kane (Marilyn Monroe) and arrive in sunny Florida, where surprising romances develop for both of them even as Spats and his fellow gangsters arrive at the same hotel for a gathering of organized criminal groups.
As Josephine and Daphne, Joe and Jerry join an all-female band on a train headed to Florida.
Each of the two men starts out behaving like a
stereotypical heterosexual male in the most negative sense. Joe manipulates the
women around him for his own benefit; he flatters them and pretends to care
until he gets whatever he wants out of them. We see Joe’s success with these
tactics at the agent’s office, but we also see the secretary’s resentment of
this behavior, which we understand to be habitual. Before their speakeasy gets
raided, Jerry mentions that the two have borrowed money from every woman working
there, so we know that they have a long history of taking advantage of women
(most of whom get arrested during the raid while Joe and Jerry slip away). If
Joe is a heel, Jerry turns out to be more of a wolf, a trait we first see after
they board the train in Chicago as Josephine and Daphne. Jerry/Daphne gleefully
imagines himself enjoying the female bandmates like a kid set loose in a pastry
shop, suggestively comparing them to jelly rolls, cream pies, and cherry tarts.
Both men are sexually attracted to Sugar Kane but are initially frustrated by
their inability to pursue her due to their disguises, which lead Sugar to think
of them as sympathetic girlfriends.
Joe and Jerry both find Sugar (Marilyn Monroe) extremely attractive, but their female identities force them to behave as friends instead of suitors.
Joe and Jerry have unique transformative experiences
thanks to their cross-dressing, which introduces them to situations they have
never had to consider as men. As Josephine, Joe learns how Sugar has been hurt
in the past by men just like him; he transforms himself into a fake millionaire
because that’s the kind of man Sugar says she has decided to pursue. Although
he lies to her about his background and wealth, Sugar also lies to Joe, and Joe
cares enough that he tries to comfort her when it looks like he’ll have to
abandon her to avoid being murdered by the gangsters. Instead of trying to
sweet talk her out of her money to aid his escape, Joe gives Sugar a valuable
diamond bracelet (which doesn’t belong to him, to be fair, but still represents
money he and Jerry badly need for themselves). Being Josephine gives Joe the
opportunity to form a different kind of relationship with a woman and become a
better man as a result.
Osgood (Joe E. Brown) wins Daphne over with a night of romantic tango dancing.
While Joe spends a lot of time in his Cary Grant millionaire persona, Jerry commits more fully to his feminine identity as Daphne, which leads to a more dramatic blurring of gender roles. Jerry/Daphne is initially flummoxed by the romantic advances of wealthy wooer Osgood Fielding III (Joe E. Brown), but their passionate tango night marks a turning point in the relationship. Daphne accepts Osgood’s marriage proposal and worries more about the details of the wedding and the opinion of Osgood’s mother than the problem of revealing that Daphne is also Jerry. In the memorable finale, even that revelation fails to dissuade Osgood, who merely replies, “Well, nobody’s perfect!” Because the movie ends there, we don’t know how being Daphne will affect Jerry’s life going forward, but it has definitely altered his sense of himself and allowed him to question the very nature of his identity. Neither Jerry nor Joe will ever be perfect, but they both seem much improved as a result of their experiences as Daphne and Josephine.
In that famous final scene, Osgood is blissfully unphased by Jerry’s bombshell confession.
Jack Lemmon’s performance as Jerry/Daphne earned him
an Academy Award nomination for Best Actor, and Billy Wilder picked up
nominations for both Director and Screenplay, but the film’s only win was for
Orry-Kelly’s costume design. For more of Wilder’s transgressive comedy, see The
Major and the Minor (1942), in which Ginger Rogers tries to romance Ray
Milland while pretending to be under the age of 12. Wilder also directed
Marilyn Monroe in The Seven Year Itch (1955) and Jack Lemmon in The
Apartment (1960), Irma la Douce (1963), The Fortune Cookie
(1966), and The Front Page (1974). If you want to explore the history of
drag in classic films, check out any version of Charley’s Aunt (the 1941
version stars Jack Benny), or look at silent and Pre-Code films in comparison
with those made after the collapse of the Hays Code. Some of the most memorable
Hollywood depictions of drag and cross-dressing include Queen Christina
(1933), Sylvia Scarlett (1935), Glen or Glenda (1953), Victor/Victoria
(1982), Tootsie (1982), To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie
Newmar (1995), and The Birdcage (1996), but there are plenty of
other noteworthy examples.
Pearl Beverly Bain was born on November
11, 1893, in Minneapolis, Minnesota, to Augustus and Jessie Bain. When she was
six years old, her family moved briefly to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, before
settling in Chicago, Illinois. There, she attended Hyde Park High School.
At the age of 16, she visited Chicago’s
Essanay Studios where she was discovered by a director and encouraged to work
at the studio because she had a “camera face” and brown eyes, preferable for
photography of the period. She ultimately adopted the stage name Beverly Bayne.
Her salary at the studio gradually increased, as did her popularity among
audiences.
Bayne made initial film appearances in The Rivals (1912) and The Loan Shark (1912). While Bayne was
under Essanay’s employ, so were actors Gloria Swanson and Francis X. Bushman.
Bushman often demanded that Bayne play alongside him as his leading lady. Soon
enough, they were a recognized romantic duo. The two stars appeared in Romeo and Juliet (1916) and married in
1918, three days after Bushman divorced his wife, Josephine Duval.
Bayne and Bushman’s marriage was largely
kept secret to prevent their popularity from diminishing. Nonetheless, they are
often credited as the first romantic team in films. The duo left Essanay
Chicago for Metro Pictures in Jacksonville, Florida. They appeared in Man and His Soul (1916), now considered
a lost film. Additionally, they starred in a play called The Master Thief from 1919-20. The couple had a son named Richard
before divorcing in 1925.
Francis X Bushman and Beverly Bayne, Modern Marriage
Bayne appeared in a silent adaptation of The Age of Innocence (1924) in a
starring role, but the film is also considered lost. Bayne’s final silent film
was Passionate Youth (1925).
After Bayne and Bushman divorced, Bayne’s
popularity declined sharply. Before long, both of them were no longer appearing
in films.
In 1937, Bayne married Charles Hvass and
the couple lived on a farm in Piscataway, New Jersey. They divorced in 1944.
At this point, Bayne turned to appearing
in stage productions throughout the 1930s and 1940s, in addition to performing
on radio. She also became involved in raising funds for British War Relief
during World War II.
Bayne’s sole sound feature film, The Naked City (1948), would also be her
last. She is uncredited for this performance.
Bayne retired from performing altogether
in 1950, and moved to Scottsdale, Arizona. She lived there with her son,
Richard, until his suicide in 1967. Bayne passed away from a heart attack on
August 18, 1982, at age 87. She was buried in Paradise Memorial Gardens, 9300
E. Shea Blvd., Scottsdale, Arizona.
Today, there are some remaining points of
relevance in relation to Bayne’s life and career.
The
former Chicago Essanay Studio is located at 1345 W. Argyle St., Chicago,
Illinois.
In 1920, Bayne resided at 435 Riverside
Dr., New York, New York with Francis X. Bushman. The building stands today.
435 Riverside Dr., New York
In 1922, she resided at the Majestic
Hotel, New York, New York. In 1930, she resided at 400 149th Pl.,
Queens, New York. Both locations no longer remain.
In 1940, she resided with Charles Hvass
at 414 E. 52nd St., New York, New York. This location remains today.
414 E. 52nd St., New York
In 1946, she lived at 127 E. 55th
St., New York, New York. In 1960, she resided at 2025 Watsonia Ter., Los
Angeles, California. Both of these locations no longer stand.
In 1967, Bayne and her son resided at
4917 N. 73rd St., Scottsdale, Arizona. The apartment building
remains.
4917 N. 73rd St., Scottsdale, Arizona
Bayne has a star on the Hollywood Walk of
Fame honoring her work in motion pictures. It is located at 1752 Vine St., Los
Angeles, California.
The documentary The Beautiful Lady (1977) celebrates her career and features Bayne
herself as a narrator.
Bayne’s papers are housed at Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah.
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.
Returning Robot Monster to its Comics-Inspired Roots
I’m very happy to share that there is a Kickstarter Campaign to help return sci-fi cult classic, Robot Monster, to its comics-inspired roots, spearheaded by film historian Bob Furmanek of the 3D Film Archive. The campaign is ending in about a week, so please check it out (info below), and if you can’t donate, please help us spread the word. Thanks so much!
Inspired by the classic 3-D film, ROBOT MONSTER, the exciting 64-page hardcover project, ROBOT MONSTER COMICS IN 3-D returns the film’s iconic characters to their comic book roots. Filled with “what if” tales that imagine what may have happened both before and after the events in the film, it’s filled with stories and art from luminaries from the worlds of comics, film, and pop culture… and of course, it’s printed in 3-D! Find out more at Robot Monster Kickstarter.
As a side note here, of all the film restorations done by the 3-D Film Archive since 2014, Robot Monster was the most successful — so I’ll end with a quote from Bob Furmanek taken from the Intro Video on Kickstarter: ‘There’s a lot of love for Ro-Man”. 🙂
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