Dorothy Jean LeVake was born on August
23, 1922, in Santa Monica, California, to Rollin Darling and Dorothy Hamilton. Her
name was changed to Jean Darling at five months old when her mother and father
separated. By the next month, she began appearing in films fulfilling baby
roles. In 1926, she performed in a screen test for the Our Gang series, working in 46 silent featurettes and five silent
featurettes for the series. Her tenure with the series ended in 1929.
As the years went on, Darling worked in
other film roles. She attended the Lawlor Professional School for young
performers in Los Angeles, California. Darling appeared uncredited in the Stan
Laurel and Oliver Hardy film Babes in
Toyland (1934) and as the young Jane Eyre in Jane Eyre (1934). She also maintained a rigorous schedule at the
age of 14, performing as many as seven shows a day on radio and the stage in
addition to keeping up with her studies.
Our Gang
In 1940, she studied voice and was
awarded a scholarship by the New York Municipal Opera Association. After
turning down a film role in MGM’s Andy
Hardy series, Darling debuted on Broadway as part of the 1942 production of
Count Me In. Her stage career thrived
when she appeared in the original Broadway production of Carousel in 1945 as Carrie Pipperidge, working in 850 performances
of the show.
In the 1950s, she was actively working on
radio and television, hosting an NBC New York City television show called A Date with Jean Darling. She also had a
show called The Singing Knit-Witch
which aired in Hollywood.
On June 14, 1954, she married Reuben
Bowen, who worked under the stage name of Kajar the Magician. Darling assisted
him with his magic act, singing songs and touring with him internationally. The
duo appeared in the May 23, 1955, issue of Look
Magazine with Kajar performing a levitation illusion with Darling. She was
also photographed visiting the set of the children’s television show Clubhouse Gang, where she is signing
autographs for children. She and Bowen had a son named Roy Hamilton-Bowen. She
and Bowen ultimately separated in the 1970s.
In 1974, Darling moved to Dublin,
Ireland. There, she wrote mystery stories, with over 50 of them published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine and Whispers. She also took on the persona
of “Aunt Poppy,” reading her stories on Irish public radio and television.
Additionally, she enjoyed writing radio plays and journalistic writing.
Over the years, Darling gave interviews
about her career and time working for Hal Roach and appeared in documentaries
on the subject, even attending conventions and film festivals as a special
guest. She published her first book of memoirs A Peek at the Past in 1994. Her second memoir, Buttercakes and Banana Oil, was released in 2008. Her final acting
role was in The Butler’s Tale (2013),
a silent comedy short.
Darling later moved with her son to
Rodgau, Germany. She passed away in a Rödermark, Germany, nursing home from a lung ailment on September 4,
2015, at age 93.
Darling was buried at Dudenhofen
Friedhof, located in Dudenhofen, Kreis Offenbach, Hessen, Germany. Her epitaph
translates to “A star so near and yet so far.”
Today, there are some extant point of
interest in relation to Darling’s life.
In 1930, she and her mother resided at
7196 Woodrow Wilson Dr., Los Angeles, California. The home remains.
7196 Woodrow Wilson Dr., Los Angeles, California
Her home in Ireland stands at 294 S.
Circular Rd., Dublin, Ireland.
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.
Even compared to his fellow stars, Buster
Keaton’s early life was uniquely colorful. Born to medicine show performers in
1895 and first appearing onstage when he was barely old enough to walk, he
became the star of his family’s vaudeville act when he was a child, made a
savvy move to films by his early twenties, and directed and starred in some of
the finest comedies of the 1920s. The story of why he left the stage for motion
pictures reminds us what a vast, busy, and colorful world of entertainment there
was in the early 20th century, and how it proved to be an invaluable training
ground.
An ad for The Three Keatons vaudeville act.
Keaton’s earliest days are a bit shrouded in
myths and legends–some that were admittedly helped along by his irrepressible
father Joe. Joe and Myra Keaton were both traveling performers and worked for
medicine shows like the Umatilla Indian Medicine Company, just managing to earn
a meager living. Joseph Frank “Buster” Keaton was born on a night they happened
to be stopping in little Piqua, Kansas for a week’s worth of shows. Various
stories have circulated about the“Buster” nickname (one even said it was bestowed
by Harry Houdini himself), but it likely came from an English comedian named
George A. Pardey, who saw baby Buster fall down a flight of stairs and
exclaimed, ”He’s a regular buster!”
Practically since the day he was born, Buster
and his parents were on the move as the medicine shows traveled from town to
town throughout the Midwest. Joe and Myra specialized in song, dance and comic
routines, with rubber-limbed Joe also performing acrobatic tricks. Baby Buster
was a ball of energy, and it wasn’t long before he was crawling around on the
ramshackle wooden stages–often in the middle of his parents’ performances. By
the late 1890s, Joe had figured out how to make Buster part of the Keatons’
act, usually by dressing him in costumes that were a diminutive version of his
own. He quickly became a hit with audiences and Joe would claim he could do a
whole act by himself at only three years old.
Buster as a toddler.
With their precocious son in tow, the Keatons
worked their way up into the thriving world of vaudeville. Vaudeville shows
were the most popular form of family entertainment in America at the time and
featured a seemingly endless variety of acts that changed every week in
hundreds of busy theaters. Buster’s childhood was spent in a whirlwind of
singing, dancing, recitations, stage magic, trained animals, clowns,
contortionists, comedians–even guys who swallowed and regurgitated live
goldfish.
A typical vaudeville house.
The Three Keatons, as they called themselves,
were very popular, specializing in comedy with plenty of wild slapstick. Their
act usually capitalized on the common trope of the mischievous boy “pulling one
over” on his pa, with little Buster gleefully antagonizing Joe until he gets
punted like a football. (Handles were sewn into the back of his jackets to make
the tossing easier.) Buster not only had a natural knack for performing
pratfalls, but he quickly learned that audiences laughed the most when he kept
a straight face through all the mayhem–the famed “stoneface” he’s still known
for today.
By the time Buster was in his teens, the
Keatons had more of a general roughhouse act, with Buster and Joe squaring off
against each other (usually while wielding brooms) while Myra tended to play
the saxophone (a comically large instrument for the diminutive gal). By now
there were also two younger siblings, Harry and Louise, who sometimes appeared
in the act, although they were eventually put into boarding school during the
busy theater seasons. Buster would remember fondly how perfectly they all timed
their various gags and jokes, and how they knew exactly when the audience would
laugh.
A wonderful photo of the Keatons circa 1916, with Buster’s inscriptions.
This made it alarming when Joe’s temperament
began to change. He started drinking heavily, which Myra would explain as “Some
can take getting old, some can’t.” A feud with a theater owner led the Keatons
to doing three-a-day shows at a less prestigious chain. Once Joe starting
taking out his frustrations on Buster onstage, it was clear that the act
wouldn’t be able to continue much longer.
Fortunately other changes were in the air,
too. Motion pictures, which had frequently played as a part of vaudeville
programs, were now wildly popular and movie houses were beginning to take the
place of regular theaters. Charlie Chaplin was becoming the biggest star in the
world, and everyone was familiar with Mack Sennett’s zany Keystone comedies.
Buster himself was definitely a fan of the movies–he recalled seeing Tillie’s Punctured Romance (1914) and Intolerance (1916) multiple times.
Little did he know at the time that a new future was just over the horizon.
An early movie theater circa 1911.
By 1916 Buster officially broke up the act, a
difficult move for a family as close as the Keatons. Now the sole breadwinner,
he decided to find work on Broadway. He was signed for the extravagant revue The Passing Show of 1917, but as luck
would have it, he also got an opportunity to tour Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle’s
Comique film studio. Some sources say Buster ran into vaudevillian Lou Anger on
the street, others say it was manager Joe Schenck or even Arbuckle himself.
Whatever the case, he showed up at the bustling studio at East Forty-Eighth
Street and instantly took a liking to both the friendly Arbuckle and the
filmmaking process itself.
As Buster recalled, it was the mystery of the
camera itself that attracted him the most. Having taken in the wonder of moving
images his whole life, he was dying to know just how the machine worked, from
the turn of the crank right down to the editing process. Arbuckle not only took
a camera apart for him, but allowed him to take it to his hotel for further
tinkering.
Excited that he knew the secrets of that
camera at last, Buster was equally excited about its possibilities–how desert
scenes could be filmed in actual deserts, and seaside scenes at actual
seashores. The limitations of the stage were gone, and the infinite
possibilities of the motion picture camera were balanced by the stable nature
of the film studio itself. “One feature of the films did appeal to me,” Buster
remembered, “ and that was that it would mean staying in one place for awhile.”
Buster on the right on his first day of filming.
And thus on the morning of March 19, 1917,
Buster Keaton returned to the Comique studio and filmed a lengthy comic
sequence with Arbuckle involving a can of gooey molasses. Thanks to his decades
of vaudeville experience, the sequence was flawless–and he was sold. He would
quit The Passing Show, sign on with
Arbuckle, act in over a dozen Comique shorts and finally make the leap to
having his own studio. In a sense, filmmaking would be an extension of the
comedic skills and timing he had perfected on the vaudeville stage, a training
ground the likes of which many performers may never see again.
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.
It has become my
tradition around these parts each year to celebrate the 75th anniversary
release of some of film noir’s many first-rate offerings. And this year is no different!
There were a number of
outstanding noirs released in 1949, including Act of Violence, House
of Strangers, and White Heat, but I’m shining the spotlight on four
films that are not only great features from that year, but some of my favorites
overall; each of these are films that I’ve seen over and over (and over) again
– and will doubtlessly continue to rewatch every chance I get.
Criss Cross
Yvonne DeCarlo and Burt Lancaster, Criss Cross
My list of favorite
noirs may vary as the years go by, but no matter how many lists I compile, Criss
Cross is a sure bet to make an appearance every time. It stars Burt
Lancaster as Steve Thompson, who proves that you can go home again – but
maybe you shouldn’t. When he does, he reunites with ex-wife Anna (Yvonne
DeCarlo), and finds himself embroiled in a variety of noirish behaviors, from
mendacity to larceny – and, of course, the betrayal referenced in the film’s
title. The cast also includes Dan Duryea as Slim Dundee, the coolest, scariest
hood you’ll ever want to encounter.
Criss Cross ticks off some of noir’s
most familiar boxes: femme fatale, hapless anti-hero, flashbacks, voiceover
narration, painterly use of light and shadow. And it has an absolutely perfect
ending. To me, it’s pretty perfect from start to finish.
Favorite quote:
“A man eats an apple. He gets a piece of the core stuck between his teeth. He tries to work it out with some cellophane from a cigarette pack. What happens? The cellophane gets stuck in there too. Anna? What was the use? I knew that somehow I’d wind up seeing her that night.” – Steve Thompson (Burt Lancaster)
…..
Tension
Richard Basehart Audrey Totter William Conrad Barry Sullivan, Tension
This feature serves up
a unique opening, with star Barry Sullivan, as police Lt. Detective Collier
Bonnabel (one of my all-time favorite noir monikers), demonstrating to viewers
with a rubber band his contention that tension is the “only thing that breaks
cases wide open.” The case in point involves Claire Quimby (Audrey Totter), a
two-timing dame if ever there was one, her unassuming pharmacist husband,
Warren (Richard Basehart), and Claire’s well-heeled boy-toy (Lloyd Gough), who
turns up very dead.
There’s a lot to love
about this film. First off, Totter turns in one of my favorite performances as
the oh-so-nasty Claire. The cast includes noir vet William Conrad as Bonnabel’s
crime-fighting partner, “Blackie” Gonsales, and in a rare non-dancing role, Cyd
Charisse. And, best of all, the plot features an unusual twist that’s different
from anything I’ve seen in noir.
Favorite quote:
“It was different in San Diego – you were kind of cute in your uniform. You were full of laughs then. Well, you’re all laughed-out now.” – Claire Quimby (Audrey Totter)
…..
Too Late for Tears
Lizabeth Scott and Arthur Kennedy, Two Late for Tears
Lizabeth Scott is Jane
Palmer, a middle-class housewife whose longing to “keep up with the Joneses”
becomes her undoing. The film’s action kicks off when a satchel full of cash is
mistakenly tossed into the Palmers’ car while Jane and her husband, Alan
(Arthur Kennedy), are driving through the Hollywood Hills. Alan insists on
turning in the money to the authorities, but Jane is just as insistent (actually,
more so) on keeping it. And there’s nothing she won’t do to make sure she does.
For my money, this was
the best role of Lizabeth Scott’s career – one minute, she’s vulnerable and sympathetic,
the next, she’s cold-bloodedly resolute. You won’t be able to take your eyes off
of her. And, once again, just to kick things into high gear, Dan Duryea is on
hand, playing the rightful owner of the money in the satchel and gifting us
with some of the film’s best lines. Like the one below . . .
Favorite quote:
“You know, honey, you’ve got quite a flair. I like you. Too bad you’re a chiseler.” – Danny Fuller (Dan Duryea)
…..
The Set-Up
Audrey Totter and Robert Ryan, The Set-Up
A noir centered around
the world of boxing, The Set-Up stars Robert Ryan as Stoker Thompson, an
aging boxer who is – according to his devoted but increasingly disillusioned
wife, Julie (Audrey Totter) – always “just one punch away” from getting a shot
at the title. The film takes place in real time, depicting a single night at
the Paradise City boxing arena, where Stoker is preparing for a bout that he
feels certain to win. What he doesn’t know is that his manager (Geroge Tobias)
has accepted a payoff from a local gangster to ensure that Stoker will take a
dive.
There are several
first-rate boxing noirs, but The Set-Up is at the top of the list for
me. The film’s examination of the various characters is simply outstanding – we
see Stoker’s unflagging self-confidence and refusal to concede defeat; Julie’s struggle
to continue supporting her husband; the disloyalty of Stoker’s manager; and the
varying experiences of Stoker’s fellow boxers, including a nervous newcomer
preparing for his first fight and a past-his-prime old-timer who is knocked
unconscious during his bout. We even, however briefly, get to know several members
of the crowd, from the blind man who has a friend describing each fight, to the
woman who at first claims to be squeamish but is later seen screaming, “Let’s
have some action!”
Favorite quote:
“It ain’t I want to hurt you, but what kind of life is this? How many more beatings do you have to take?” – Julie Thompson (Audrey Totter)
What are some of your favorite noirs from 75 years ago? Leave a comment and let me know!
…
– 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:
As someone always looking to find new classic horror films to watch, I like to take time early in the year to look back at what our favorite genre was like in the early days of cinema. Going back 100 years is always a good place to look.
Overall, the 1920s gave us timeless horror films from Germany like The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920), The Golem(1920) and Nosferatu(1922); along with John Barrymore and his amazing facial contortions as Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1920).
The year 1924, however, was a bit lacking. Films labeled horror often came in tandem with the word “comedy” like The Speed Spook, an 85-minute film with a corrupt election, a mystery to solve and a driverless ghost car.
Lon Chaney’sHe Who Gets Slappedis also labeled a horror film, but I disagree. I find the story of a heartbroken man who buries his emotions as a circus clown is a tragedy not a horror film. (The Victor Seastrom silent also stars Norma Shearer and John Gilbert and is well worth watching.)
But all is not lost, horror fans. What 1924 cinema lacked in monsters and creatures, it made up for in two excellent films starring German actor Conrad Veidt, Waxworks and The Hands of Orlac.
Conrad Veidt in a detail from the poster of the 1924 silent film The Hands of Orlac.
Hands of Orlac is an exceptional film that reunites Veidt with his Cabinet of Dr. Caligari director Robert Wiene. While the title lets the imagination run wild on what horrific things those “hands” can do, this is a complicated horror movie with romance, anguish, tragedy, murder and terror.
It begins sweetly as a wife reads a love letter sent from her husband, world-renowned concert pianist Paul Orlac (Veidt) who is counting the hours until they are together again. “Dearest! I will embrace you … my hands will glide over your hair,,” his note partly reads with multiple references to his touch and hands a bad harbinger of what’s to come.
A deadly train accident nearly takes his life and disfigures his hands, something his loving wife focuses on with great melodrama. “Holy God! Save his hands. His hands are his life!” the intertitles exclaim. “His hands are more important than his life!”
Paul Orlac (Conrad Veidt, left), is horrified to learn the truth about his hands in The Hands of Orlac.
In desperation, the doctor grafts the hands of the executed murderer Vasseur on Orlac who then begins to have strange visions and nightmares. Orlac can feel something is off and when he learns the truth about his hands, it’s more than he can bear. He once brought joy to people with music through his hands; now they are those of a killer.
“Take away my hands – I don’t want these terrible hands,” he
begs the doctor.
In the most painful sequences, he pulls back his outstretched hands from touching his wife and can’t put his wedding ring on his finger.
An anguished Paul Orlac (Conrad Veidt) can’t touch his wife in The Hands of Orlac.
Orlac’s agony manifests itself on Veidt’s expressive face and through his entire body. The lanky actor uses his long arms and hands to his advantage, holding them tautly away from his body as if he is fighting them off. (The movements will remind you of Veidt’s portrayal of Cesare in Caligari.)
He looks at his hands with equal parts horror and hate, fearful of what they will do. As viewers, we don’t know what evil they carry because we’re not sure what’s real or imagined.
Actor Conrad Veidt uses his expressive body to illustrate the pain felt by his character over not being able to play piano anymore in The Hands of Orlac.
Adding to the story is the unease caused by mysterious man in black whose face, when we finally see it, is terrifyingly familiar and begs more questions.
The story makes a sudden shift from focusing on Orlac and his hands to a broader scope. The maid is mighty jumpy and is clearly caught up in something bad. Creditors are calling. There is talk of Orlac’s father who hates him with passion. (How much he hates him is the first logical question.) When a knife Vasseur used in a murder – it has a distinct X carved in the handle – is found stuck to a door in Orlac’s house, it sends him spiraling even more. There is murder, blackmail, confessions and the police.
All the while, my mind was searching for explanations from the human or spirit worlds, and I wavered between the two as the film was becoming increasingly tense and horrifying. I was literally on the edge of my couch for the last 20 minutes and felt spent by the time we learned everything. I was surprised by my strong reaction to the film, but perhaps I shouldn’t have been since Hands of Orlac is deeply emotional and heartfelt even at its darkest. Much of that is owed to Veidt who can say more with his face and body than many actors can with their voice.
Conrad Veidt is terrifying as the sadistic Ivan the Terrible in Waxworks.
Waxworks
Waxworks is a title that conjures all types of great
horror ideas. But again, horror meant something different in this era, so we
get comedy, tension and horror (via sadism) in this anthology about a young
writer creating stories about characters in a carnival’s wax museum.
It was directed by Paul Leni (his last film made in Germany), with some accounts giving co-directing credits to Leo Birinsky. The original German print is considered lost, but there have been restorations that are accessible online and on home video by Kino Lorber and Masters of Cinema/Eureka Entertainment. I was able to stream a 2019 restoration from L’Immagine Ritrovata that is missing about 25 minutes from the original version, but it did not feel lacking, and it looked great.
Veidt, playing the brutal Ivan the Terrible, is joined in the film by two other top German actors: Emil Jennings as Haroun-Al-Rashid and Werner Krauss as the murderous Spring-Heeled Jack (who is meant to be Jack the Ripper). Our romantic poet (actor Wilhelm/William Dieterle, who would later become a well-known director) who write stories about the three characters, puts himself and the lovely daughter of the museum owner in each story as – of course – young lovers.
The first story about Harun-Al-Rashid (from A Thousand and One Nights) is the longest segment and a humorous tale about the “most romantic and mischievous king,” as our poet writes. He is extra-large and jovial, until the black smoke from a baker’s oven causes him to lose a chess game and he orders the baker beheaded (because that punishment certainly fits the crime). But the baker has a beautiful and flirtatious wife who is hard to ignore. While Al-Rashid is ogling the wife, the baker is at the palace where he hopes to steal Al-Rashid’s wishing ring to prove his manhood. The story has a clever ending.
Now we’re on to Ivan the Terrible described as a
“blood-crazed monster” who likes to torture people as he turns “cities into
cemeteries.” He poisons people indiscriminately, taunting them with an
hourglass counting down to their death. But Ivan is paranoid and switches
places with a nobleman who then takes a deadly arrow meant for the czar. The
tone of this section is much more somber with Veidt and those expressive eyes revealing
the madness of Ivan the Terrible.
In the much too short final segment, the poet falls asleep
just as he’s writing about Spring-heeled Jack. A nightmarish, expressionist and
quite effective dream sequence finds the writer and his girl being stalked
through the amusement park by the cold-blooded killer.
Alice’s Spooky Adventure is a 1924 comedy horror short by Walt Disney.
Also from 1924
Here are short looks at three not-so-scary horror films from 1924.
Alice’s Spooky Adventure, a short film notable for being directed by Walt Disney (the Disney touch is easily identifiable), is about a girl (“Little” Virginia Davis) who is the only one brave enough to go into a “haunted” house to retrieve a baseball. Falling plaster knocks her out and she dreams of Spookville where she helps a black cat and fights musical ghosts before she wakes up. I’m sure this both delighted and scared children in 1924.
A headless staffer greets a man (played by Max Linder) who accepts a bet to spend an hour in a haunted castle in the French film Au Secours! (Help!).
Au Secours! (Help!)is an early entry in the “bet you can’t stay overnight in a haunted house” genre, except here, the bet is to stay for just one hour (11 p.m. to midnight). This French comedy/horror short is from director Abel Gance who would spend much of the next three years on his epic Napoleon.
A room of tuxedo-clad gentlemen, talking about the “strange and unnatural things” at fellow club member Count Maulette’s castle, recall the night they visited and six of them fainted within 10 minutes from the horror(!). The count offers money to the man who can stay in the castle for an hour, but the cowards want no part of it. Arriving late is singer Max (international star Max Linder) who for some reason leaves his honeymoon bed to join the guys at the club. In need of money, he’s willing to do it.
At the castle, things happen very fast. Pillars move. Lions,
tigers and snakes attack. Skeletons and ghostly figures of all sizes (one is
even on stilts) emerge. This haunted castle looks more like a fun house by the
minute. While it’s humorous and silly at times, it does build tension
especially once Max’s wife calls the castle begging him to hurry home because
there is a man threatening her in her room.
Unseen Hands is a thriller starring Wallace Beery as a drifter who commits murder and fraud, among other transgressions, leading him to have supernatural visions of the man he killed.
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 now leads the offshoot group, Buffalo Classic Movie
Buffs. She is proud to have put Buffalo and its glorious old movie palaces in
the spotlight as the inaugural winner of the TCM in Your Hometown contest. You
can find Toni on Twitter at @toniruberto.
I always say that a splashy Technicolor musical is the
best remedy for the dreary days of winter, and The Pirate (1948)
certainly makes waves with its lively comedy and energetic dance numbers, even
though it proved a box office flop when it first appeared in theaters in 1948.
Maybe it was too silly for audiences then, or maybe, as Gene Kelly later
opined, viewers didn’t appreciate his hammy parody of silent stars Douglas
Fairbanks and John Barrymore, but I find it absolutely delightful in spite (or
maybe because) of its quirks. The Pirate is sometimes referred to as
Judy Garland’s “cult” film because it initially bombed, it’s an undeniably
weird movie, and it attracts both ardent admiration and loathing. Compared to
later cult musicals like Phantom of the Paradise (1974), The Rocky
Horror Picture Show (1975), and Hairspray (1988), however, I think
most modern film fans will find it very tame. If you haven’t seen The Pirate
before, I can’t promise that you’ll love it as I do, but it’s worth seeing at
least once for stars Garland and Kelly, director Vincente Minnelli, and the
musical contributions of Cole Porter.
Instantly smitten, Serafin (Gene Kelly) tries to woo Manuela (Judy Garland), even though she’s about to be married.
Judy Garland plays Manuela, a young woman in a
Caribbean town whose Aunt Inez (Gladys Cooper) has arranged her marriage to the
much older and very rich mayor, Don Pedro (Walter Slezak). Manuela harbors a
deep yearning for adventure and romance, embodied in her fantasies about the
legendary pirate, “Mack the Black” Macoco, but she resigns herself to her fate
until she meets strolling player Serafin (Gene Kelly), who attempts to win her
by pretending that he is, in fact, the infamous buccaneer. Unfortunately for
Serafin, Macoco is a wanted man, and playing the pirate might prove to be his
final role.
Don Pedro (Walter Slezak) and Serafin are rivals for Manuela’s hand, but Serafin knows the truth about Don Pedro’s past and uses it to his advantage.
The Pirate
is a movie about make-believe, with an image of piracy rooted in romantic
fantasy rather than fact. It intentionally recalls Douglas Fairbanks in The
Black Pirate (1926) and Errol Flynn in Captain Blood (1935), sits
alongside pirate adventures like The Sea Hawk (1940), The Black Swan
(1942) and The Spanish Main (1945), and predates The Crimson Pirate
(1952) and all those Disney movies starring Johnny Depp. While most pirate
movies are actually about the titular pirate and masculine derring-do, The
Pirate digs into the figure’s symbolic value to a sheltered young woman
facing a life of perpetual submission, obedience, and dull routine. Manuela,
our protagonist, fantasizes about being carried away by a pirate because
pirates represent excitement, adventure, and sexual experience. Although the
deleted number “Voodoo” might have made the sex angle too explicit for Louis B.
Mayer, the theme is omnipresent. The whole movie is basically a bedroom fantasy
in which Manuela and Serafin play at being victim and ravisher but are, in
reality, all the while working toward a partnership built on mutual love and
equality. Manuela relishes playing the martyr to the villagers while she
eagerly prepares to meet “Macoco” as a human sacrifice, but the tables – and
all the rest of the furniture – turn when she punishes Serafin for his
deception, even though she loves him all the same. The fact that Serafin is an
actor only adds to the make-believe theme, but, as it turns out, Manuela is
quite the ham herself, a quality Serafin recognizes and appreciates.
A musical highlight of the movie features Gene Kelly teaming up with the Nicholas Brothers for the first performance of “Be a Clown.”
The comedic sexual fantasy is heightened by the bright
colors, elaborate costumes, catchy songs, and relentless energy exhibited
throughout the film. You can find plenty of accounts detailing the production
problems caused by Garland’s illness and addiction, but in the final film none
of that shows. She looks beautiful, sounds great, and has real chemistry with
Kelly in the second of their three onscreen collaborations, following For Me
and My Gal (1942) and concluding with Summer Stock (1950). Kelly is
clearly having a ball with his Barrymore impression and chews the scenery with
enthusiasm, but that doesn’t detract from the real skill in his dance numbers,
especially the delightful version of “Be a Clown” performed with the Nicholas Brothers.
“Mack the Black” is the earworm of the lot, but all of the songs are fun, and
Kelly gets to lean into his classical dance abilities for the “Pirate Ballet”
number. Garland sports some eye-popping gowns, including a gorgeous wedding
dress decked with lace and pearls, but I’m usually more distracted by the
series of tight pants worn by Kelly, which show off his athletic figure to
great effect. Although the leads rightly dominate our attention, the supporting
players also merit mention for their contributions. Walter Slezak makes an
amusing and effective antagonist to the couple, alternately menacing and sly or
craven and flustered depending on the situation. He ironically gets to embody
both the tedium of respectability and the unsavory reality of piracy. Gladys
Cooper is less duplicitous as the domineering Aunt Inez, but she also balances
seeming propriety and mercenary aims in her determination to marry her niece
off to her own financial advantage, and Cooper is fun to watch in the scenes
where she takes command over both her husband and her contracted nephew-in-law.
United in love, Serafin and Manuela perform a reprise of “Be a Clown” together in the film’s finale.
While it’s not the most iconic film for either star, I think The Pirate offers plenty of entertainment, and I’m definitely in the “love it” camp. Granted, I also love that urtext of silly pirate musicals, Gilbert and Sullivan’s The Pirates of Penzance (as well as its 1983 film adaptation starring Kevin Kline, Linda Ronstadt, and Angela Lansbury). For more of Garland’s work in the late 1940s, see The Harvey Girls (1946), Easter Parade (1948), and In the Good Old Summertime (1949). Gene Kelly’s other films from this period include The Three Musketeers (1948), Take Me Out to the Ballgame (1949), and On the Town (1949). Pirate movies must have suited Walter Slezak; you’ll also find him in The Princess and the Pirate (1944), The Spanish Main (1945), and the 1972 adaptation of Treasure Island, but he’s especially good in Hitchcock’s WWII thriller, Lifeboat (1944).
Harry Spear was born Harry Sherman Bonner on December 16,
1921, in Los Angeles, California, to Joseph Bonner and Louise Spear. He was
born at French Hospital in Los Angeles and initially resided at 5619 Fernwood
Ave., Hollywood, California. His father served in the Navy and his mother was a
homemaker. After his parents divorced, his last name was typically listed as
Spear.
Spear worked as a child actor and vaudevillian, appearing in
Educational Pictures shorts in the mid-1920s, including the Tuxedo Comedies and Smith Family shorts. His grandmother, Bertha Spear, managed his
career. He performed in Juvenile Comedies
as a character named Ginger, leading to his nicknames of “Ginger,” “Freckles,”
and “Hard-Boiled Harry.” He also acted in the Buck Jones western, The Flying Horseman (1925).
Spear’s most notable work was in the Our Gang series, making his appearance at age five in Chicken Feed. He initially worked as an
extra until he essentially replaced actor Scooter Lowry, taking over the tough
character’s former role. He typically wore an oversized bowler hat during the
silent era of the series and appeared as a gang leader. When the shorts started
to be produced in sound, actor Jackie Cooper took over the role of the leader,
ultimately replacing Spear. However, Spear did appear in some of the sound
shorts. His final Our Gang appearance
was in Bouncing Babies (1929).
Next, Spear worked in vaudeville and performed a dancing and
monologue routine. He traveled frequently and studied dance, even performing
anecdotes while on the circuit. Though he was offered a contract to work in a
series that paralleled Horatio Alger’s tales, the project did not come to
fruition. By the 1940s, he left the entertainment industry and did not stay in
touch with his Our Gang cohort
members.
Harry Spear, Our Gang
Spear’s whereabouts were a mystery to his peers and fans for
decades. In the mid-1990s, he was traced down as living in San Diego,
California, under his legal name of Harry Bonner. Nonetheless, he continually
denied being Harry Spear of Our Gang fame.
In between his time in entertainment and this rediscovery,
he served as a Chief Petty Officer in the U.S. Navy during World War II, the
Korean War, and the Vietnam War. He enlisted in the Navy in 1942 and was
discharged in 1947. In 1947, he married Roberta Althea Moseley, and the
marriage ultimately ended in divorce. According to the marriage certificate,
this was a second marriage for both him and Roberta. In 1957, he married Thelma May Yamamoto Boner.
He spent his later years freelance writing articles about fishing, a favorite
hobby of his.
Spear passed away from kidney cancer on September 22, 2006,
and consistently denied any connection with the entertainment industry. He was
84 years old. Spear and his wife are at rest in Fort Rosecrans National
Cemetery in San Diego, California. His epitaph initially read, “Forever in Our
Hearts.” Since his wife’s passing, the epitaph now reads, “Together Forever.”
Today, very few tributes to Spear remain, however his final residence stands at 5369 Vergara St., San Diego, California.
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.
Have you been watching the amazing new original documentary series on Turner Classic Movies called The Power of Film? This riveting six-part series explores some of the most popular and memorable American films of all time. New episodes will premiere every Thursday night through February 8. As someone who is obsessed with classic movies and TCM, I’m in heaven! The episodes are hosted and curated by renowned UCLA professor Howard Suber who organizes the episodes in such a unique way. The series is directed by accomplished documentarian Laura Gabbert, written by filmmaker Doug Pray and Howard Suber, and executive produced by Gabbert and Pray. I so enjoyed chatting with Howard, Laura, and Doug about this excellent series.
Danny Miller: I’m so thrilled that this series exists and that it’s on TCM, the lifeblood for all of us classic movie fanatics.
Laura Gabbert: They’ve been absolute heaven to work with.
Doug Pray: Yeah, they’ve really been great, and so supportive.
I love the organization of this series, centered around the human experience instead of following the chronology in the history of film. Is this the way you taught your courses at UCLA, Howard?
Howard Suber: Yes. I’ve been doing it like this for 50 years!
I wish I had been in your classes. Laura and Doug, I understand both of you were students of Howard’s at some point?
Doug: Yes, and we were actually TAs for Howard at different times. He was and continues to be our mentor so working on this series was kind of like returning home. He definitely had one of the most popular classes at UCLA grad school.
Laura: People would whisper to us, “Don’t even consider leaving school without taking that class!” It was just a different way to think about film.
The use of clips in this series is just masterful. I’d like the three of you to do all the montages from now on that appear on the Academy Awards, please!
(Laughs). Doug, how many clips do you think there are in the show?
Doug: Oh, there are clips from several hundred films, I think, all chosen very carefully by Howard.
What a labor of love! But so effective.
All of the ideas came from Howard. I think the biggest challenge was just trying to navigate 50 years of teaching and breaking it down to six different episodes. If you took all of his lectures, they could probably fill a large barn. So, the hardest process began when Howard started boiling down his themes and principles. It took a long time to say, okay, these are the six days, these are the major themes we’re going to include. There are a lot of great things we learned from Howard that we couldn’t include.
Season Two is writing itself! There were so many concepts I’d never thought of, even in the first two episodes, like the distinctions between fate and destiny and a new way of thinking about movie heroes. Howard, did you feel pressure to include certain movie because they’re universally regarded as “Important Films”?
Howard: I know there are certain films that people expect to see. If I could have, I would have gone all the way to the present and talked about movies like Oppenheimer which I think will probably win big at this year’s Academy Awards. That would have allowed me to go back to the Greeks and look at what so many of these Big Stories have in common: they follow a pattern of a single character around whom all the action revolves.
I love your discussions in the series about films that are long-lasting versus the flashes in the pan. There were so many emotional “trigger points” for me, I think I burst into tears four different times in the second episode alone. It doesn’t matter what I’m doing, if I see even five seconds of that final scene in The Miracle Worker, I am bawling like a baby. The same thing with the scene when they empty the money on the table in It’s a Wonderful Life. Instant emotion, talk about the “power of film!”
Laura: So true. One of the things we loved doing in this series (and being in Howard’s classes!) was looking at patterns. You might have a horror movie next to a comedy next to a romance next to an action film next to a buddy film. And Howard looks for those patterns that go across all of them. It’s so interesting to us when he compares the endings of very different movies. Nobody would think of those two films together but as soon as you get into Howard’s way of thinking about film, you think, “Oh my God, that makes so much sense!”
Doug: And then you can go even further and look at the endings of so many memorable stories, even before film, in books, plays, Shakespeare. It’s that kind of universality that we were after, and I think that’s what we’re most proud of in this series, that it gets you thinking about the power of storytelling in general which applies to everything. Laura and I make documentaries, and it definitely applies to that as well, really every genre and every form of storytelling.
Were there certain types of films you felt it important to expose people to, maybe for the first time?
Howard: Oh sure, many. I’m glad we were able to include Chaplin’s The Gold Rush. For the last 30 years or so I’ve taught only graduate students who are usually quite knowledgeable about film history. But still, many of them have never seen Chaplin.
Oy.
I remember one of the first classes I ever did over 50 years ago was a seminar entirely devoted to Citizen Kane. But students today? Most are simply not interested. That film has moved down to #48 on the IMDB list of greatest films. Sometimes I think that the arts are like the stock market. Some go up, some go down, and once they’re down, they don’t usually go back up. But, to be honest, I’m not one of those professors who tells students, “You really have to see Citizen Kane,” or any other film. The history of art is like everything else in society. People move on, new stuff comes along. And there are only so many hours in a person’s day, let alone for their education. So, by today’s standards, a lot of people think Citizen Kane is boring.
Ugh, this is why I’d be a horrible college professor. I’d be screaming at them, “You’re wrong! Watch that movie, idiots!”
(Laughs.) Well, if somebody tells me they think something is boring, it’s not worth it to argue with them. I’m just going to move on to something they might enjoy and think is good. If you argue with them, it’s a lost cause!
Yeah, even in the classic film community, nothing gets people going more than the idea of someone saying “THIS is the greatest film ever made!” I’m always like, “Um…no, it’s not.”
Laura: One of the things that Howard used to do in his classes was look for something that was coming out that week or month and we’d really analyze that film and whether it was something that we thought was worth our time and would stand the test of time.
Doug: Right. So, for example, when I was in grad school with Howard, we watched Schindler’s List. Then we looked at the original text and then also back at the movie. I think that kind of approach keeps young people energized. We were definitely learning about older, classic movies, but one of the best things about the class is that we were looking at everything.
One of the things I love most about TCM’s annual Classic Film Festival in Hollywood is seeing people of all ages and background there, just loving these movies. Is one of your hopes with this series that people will see these clips and then want to watch many of these films in their entirety?
Laura. Absolutely. We hope it’ll pique their interest in these films. There are many young people who have never seen The Godfather, for example.
Doug: Yes, that is definitely one of our goals. I think this series goes a long way in reframing a lot of these old movies for younger people. We hope some will think, “Oh, maybe I do need to check that out” after they see a film talked about in the same context as one that they love.
I hope this series becomes a gateway drug for a lot of people. I remember one of my gateways into classic film was the annual showing of The Wizard of Oz on TV back in my childhood. They used to have different hosts for it. It really made a big impression on me. We waited all year for it, like a holiday.
Oh, yeah. Episode 6 ends with The Wizard of Oz. It brings together all of the themes that Howard explores in the series.
Before we go, if I dare to ask the dreaded “favorite film” question, which I personally loathe because my list changes by the hour, are there any titles you’d immediately mention?
Blade Runner.
Howard: I usually say I have two: The Godfather and Singin’ in the Rain.
Nice.
Laura: Singin’ in the Rain is probably in my top two as well. I’d also have to mention The Graduate.
Howard: I love that film, too. I did an analysis of that movie for Criterion when laserdiscs first started.
Howard, did I detect a rare moment of personal bias when you mentioned the main character of that film in one of the episodes?
Ha, yes you did. I had to watch that film so many times to do the voiceover for Criterion. And one day it just occurred to me: Benjamin Braddock is a real jerk! (Laughs.) I mean, what redeeming qualities does he have? Is is smart? Is he funny? Not intentionally!
Laura: But the film works anyway, right?
Howard: Oh, definitely.
I love that you included that ending with Benjamin and Elaine on the bus. You could do a whole episode on that scene alone, and how everyone interprets it differently. I once heard Mike Nichols say that it only happened because he decided to keep the camera running and Dustin Hoffman and Katharine Ross didn’t really know what to do. But the moment has inspired many deep interpretations and fights between couples.
There it is…the power of film!
Watch The Power of Film on Thursday nights on Turner Classic Movies.
It’s hard to believe, but it’s been a full year since this column last spent time looking at Western locations outside Lone Pine, California.
As many readers will be aware, hundreds of Westerns were
filmed in the Alabama Hills and other areas surrounding the small town of Lone
Pine, California, located on Highway 395 a couple hundred miles north of Los
Angeles.
Alabama Hills
I’m typically in Lone Pine a couple times a year, and my
visits usually include exploring a few movie locations outside town. Most of
the Alabama Hills photos in this article were taken during my visits in the
2022 and 2023.
Forrest Tucker stood at a mine in the movie which can be
seen in this scene:
As can be slightly seen from the screenshot, he’s actually
standing in a dip in the ground which is still there today, next to the low
rock in the front right of this photo. The “mine” front was built
over the rock.
Here are Scott and Tucker in a scene from the film:
Randolph Scott and Forrest Tucker
And here my husband Doug poses with the same rocks in the
background. It’s fun to line up what we’re looking at standing in the hills
with screen shots and realize when we’re in the right place!
Next we’ll visit a location from another Randolph Scott
film, Ride Lonesome (1959), which was directed by Budd
Boetticher. I’ve previously shared the campsite location which opens the film.
Here’s a screenshot of the isolated stagecoach station in the distance:
And here’s that location today. Compare the rocks in the
background, including the large rounded section.
And from Scott and Boetticher’s 7 Men From Now (1956)
we have a fun comparison shot. At the top is Scott confronting Lee Marvin for
the climactic gunfight. At the bottom my husband is standing in the same spot.
We happened to have a toy rifle which belonged to one of our sons which he used
to recreate the shot.
Next we’ll pay a quick visit to Yellow Sky (1948),
another film I’ve shared location photos from in the past. Yellow Sky starred
Gregory Peck and Richard Widmark, directed by William Wellman. Here’s a
screenshot of Anne Baxter aiming a rifle through a triangle in some rocks:
Here’s the triangle today, including a closeup with members
of a tour group visible through the hole:
Another favorite Lone Pine Western is Henry Hathaway’s Rawhide (1951), starring Tyrone Power and Susan Hayward.
My husband put together a spiral-bound screenshot notebook
of places we wanted to track down. When Power and Hayward are sitting in the
station doorway in the last scene of the movie, they were approximately where
the notebook is being held, looking toward the rocks in the background of our
photo.
And here’s a fun comparison shot with Doug standing
approximately where Power stands in another scene in the movie.
The Alabama Hills is an endlessly fascinating spot for
Western fans. There are many resources available to help find locations, and
the annual October film festival features many tours by experienced guides. I
encourage anyone interested to make the trek to Lone Pine!
Alabama Hills
For additional Western RoundUp columns on Lone Pine locations, including previous location photos from Ride Lonesome,Yellow Sky, and Rawhide, please visit my columns from 2018, 2021, and 2023.
The photographs and screenshots accompanying this article are from the author’s personal collection.
…
– 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.
In 1928, the great star John Gilbert wrote in an article for Photoplay: “Have any of you ever gone through an experience at school, or at college, or while in love, or while on a farm, or in the mountains, or exploring, or on a boat, or somewhere which has been so filled with happiness and work and harmony and well directed effort that you never hope or dream of such a thing reoccurring? If you have, you will understand just how I feel about The Big Parade. It can never happen again.” One of the biggest box office hits of the entire silent era (some sources claim it was the biggest), the World War I epic The Big Parade had a bit of everything: drama, romance, comedy, action, realism, and most of all, respect for the historical events it was trying to recreate–less than ten years after the fact.
The Big Parade was the passion project of the great director King Vidor. A mere decade earlier he and his wife Florence (who was an actress) had arrived in Hollywood practically penniless, but excited to work in a thriving new industry. Vidor’s experience as a photographer and cameraman eventually led to directing jobs, and after making a name for himself he had become an MGM director.
Mainly specializing in lower-tier romantic
dramas and Christian Science-themed films at the time, Vidor was longing to
make something truly great. He took the possibilities of the motion picture
very seriously, even publishing a manifesto of sorts in 1920 stating:
“I believe in the motion picture that carries a message to humanity.
“I believe in the picture that will help humanity to free itself from the shackles of fear and suffering that have so long bound it in chains.
“I will not knowingly produce a picture that contains anything that I do not believe to be absolutely true to human nature, anything that could injure anyone or anything unclean in thought or action.”
King Vidor and his second wife, Eleanor Boardman.
While discussing ideas with MGM producer Irving Thalberg, Vidor suggested making a war film. He wanted it to be from the viewpoint of common soldiers, feeling too many earlier war films had revolved around “officers in their shiny boots and tailored uniforms”. Thalberg recommended he work with writer Laurence Stallings, one of the authors of the Broadway play What Price Glory?and a WWI veteran. The result was an intimate story of ordinary people, without the usual villainous Huns and idealized heroes that abounded in propaganda films from the war era itself.
Left to right: Tom O’Brien, Karl Dane, John Gilbert and Renée Adorée
Thalberg decreed that the lead actor would be
matinee idol John Gilbert, who was happy for the chance to stretch his acting
skills. Vidor wasn’t enthralled at
first, since he’d worked with Gilbert before and frequently clashed with him on
set. But any old resentments quickly disappeared once the new picture was
underway. Vidor would later marvel at how in tune he and Gilbert became:
“Gilbert never read the script of The Big
Parade, and there were other actors of the period like that. They had faith
and confidence in you…I actually remember moments when I didn’t say a thing.
I’d just have a quick thought and Gilbert would react to it.”
French actress Renée Adorée played Melisande,
the love interest of Gilbert’s Jim Apperson. The two were already well-matched,
having been in three prior films together. Adorée was quick to improvise and
offer suggestions on “bits of business,” as the saying went. Gilbert fondly
recalled their scene where Jim gives Melisande some chewing gum: “Only a
suggestion was offered in the script, and no one really knew what would happen.
Cameras started and away we went. Minute after minute; impromptu; inspired;
both Renee and me, guided by some unseen power, expressing beauty.”
Vidor was determined to make the film feel
authentic, drawing on his own experiences attending a military academy and the
Hollywood Officers’ Training Camp. He obsessively watched hours of Signal Corps
footage and had two WWI vets act as advisors. Veterans were also recruited to
serve as extras–no doubt a rather surreal experience for them. Huge quantities
of explosives were used for the battle scenes, giving them a gritty,
frightening realism.
The craving for authenticity was balanced by
Vidor’s belief that some artistry should be allowed in period pictures. For
instance, the slow pace of the harrowing Belleau Wood sequence was inspired by
footage of soldiers carrying a flag-draped coffin. Vidor recorded the pacing
with a metronome and had a drummer play it on location. Vidor recalled some of
the extras “wondered what the hell I was up to. One of them, an Englishman,
asked if he was in some bloody ballet.” The result is arguably one of those
most memorable sequences in silent cinema.
It’s rivaled by two other iconic battlefield
scenes. One shows Jim, shot in the leg during a battle, crawling into a shell
hole and finding a mortally wounded German soldier. The soldier asks for a
cigarette and Jim obliges. Soon he looks over to see the German has died, and
taking the still-lit cigarette, he finishes it himself. In the other scene, Jim
is tormented by his orders to stay put in a shell hole while his friend is in
danger. He finally rages: “Waiting! Orders! Mud! Stinking stiffs! What the hell
do we get out of this war anyway!” Depicting this kind of anger would never
have flown during the WWI era itself, but just enough time had passed for it to
be allowable–and in retrospect, understandable.
While it didn’t flinch away from portraying
the tragedies of the war, The Big Parade did
have plenty of heart and touches of light comedy. Veterans who went to
screenings got kicks out of the details of life in training and in the camps,
which a writer from The Outlook described
warmly: “Little touches–even to the cow stable–the haymow and manure pile
thereof! It made me ache to see those buddies getting it off their shoes. As
for the company mess–well, you could actually smell those beans and that
amazing coffee, so useful in getting gravy or grease off your mess kit…”
The passion that went into making The Big Parade was repaid many times over. It would be MGM’s biggest success until Gone With the Wind(1939), and a milestone in 1920s popular culture. Happily, it survives in excellent quality, waiting for anyone curious to see the film that moved John Gilbert to write: “No reward will ever be so great as having been a part of The Big Parade. It was the highpoint of my career. All that has followed is balderdash.”
–
Most of the quotes are from Kevin Brownlow’s amazing book The War, the West, and the Wilderness – highly recommended reading. Additional Gilbert quotes were from the September 1928 article “Jack Gilbert Writes His Own Story” for Photoplay.
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.
Ripped From the Headlines – While the City Sleeps (1956)
Most classic movie fans are well acquainted with the
Barrymore acting clan, which began with Maurice Barrymore and Georgiana Drew,
and continued down the line to Drew Barrymore. Sandwiched somewhere in there
was John Drew Barrymore – John Barrymore’s son and Drew’s father – who had a
minor career that spanned two decades in both feature films and TV productions.
One of his best was While the City Sleeps (1956), where he was featured
as a serial murderer known as “The Lipstick Killer.”
While the City Sleeps was based on a 1953 novel called The Bloody Spur, by Charles Einstein, and centered on several journalists at the Kyne News Service who are competing for the job of executive director by trying to be the first to solve a series of killings. The film stars Dana Andrews as television anchor Edward Mobley, George Sanders as wire service manager Mark Loving, Thomas Mitchell as newspaper editor John Day, James Craig as photo service editor Harry Kritzer, and Ida Lupino as reporter Mildred Donner. Like the novel, the film alternates between the cutthroat antics of the journalists and the gruesome killings that have the city gripped in a vise of fear and paranoia.
While the City Sleeps was directed by Fritz Lang, who had previously helmed such noirs as Woman in the Window (1944), Scarlet Street (1945), and The Big Heat (1953).
Einstein was inspired by a case involving three murders in Chicago during the mid-1940s. In 1945, two women – Josephine Ross and Frances Brown — were found brutally killed in their homes; on the wall of Brown’s apartment, police found written in lipstick, “For heavens’ sake catch me before I kill more. I cannot control myself.” A few weeks after the second murder, a six-year-old girl, Suzanne Degnan, was taken from her home on the city’s North Side; her dismembered body was found several days after her disappearance. The city’s newspapers dubbed the perpetrator as “The Lipstick Killer.”
After pursuing the killer for six months, police arrested
17-year-old William Heirens, who was found at the scene of a burglary in the
neighborhood where the little girl lived. It turned out that Heirens had been
breaking into houses for several years, as a “hobby” that he indulged in to
relieve the tension caused by his parents’ frequent arguments. The stolen items
he collected ranged from guns to handkerchiefs. After attending two youth
detention centers, he was found to be an superb student; he skipped his senior
year of high school and enrolled as an engineering major at the University of
Chicago. He was a student there at the time of his arrest.
Dana Andrews, Thomas Mitchell and Vincent Price
Heirens was charged with murder after police determined that
his fingerprints had been found on a ransom note at the Degnan home and local newspapers
reported that Heirens had confessed to the crime. He was then charged with the Ross
and Brown killings; prosecutors claimed to have incriminating evidence against
him for the crimes. In exchange for a guilty plea, Heirens was offered three
consecutive life sentences, and his attorneys advised him to accept the deal.
He did, only to recant a short time later, saying he’d only entered the guilty
plea to avoid a death sentence.
For the rest of his life, Heirens maintained his innocence,
claiming that he’d signed a 19-page confession only after he was sedated by
police. He spent 65 years in prison – one of the longest prison terms served in
U.S. history – dying of complications from diabetes in 2012. During his imprisonment,
he became the first prisoner in Illinois to earn a four-year college degree and
established several prison education programs. Over the years, Heirens sought
his release approximately 30 times; at one hearing, his attorneys charged that
the case had more “prosecutorial misconduct, incompetent defense counsel,
unprecedented prejudicial pretrial publicity, junk science, probably false
confessions and mistaken eyewitness identification than any other case we have
studied.” There were even rumors that the lipstick message had been written by
a reporter after the killing in order to sell more newspapers.
Ida Lupino, director Fritz Lang and Dana Andrews
Directed by Fritz Lang – who had previously helmed such
noirs as Woman in the Window (1944), Scarlet Street (1945), and The
Big Heat (1953) – While the City Sleeps is as much concerned with
the unethical world of yellow journalism and the competition among the
journalists as it is with the actual crime; in one scene, the head of the media
enterprise tells his staff, “I want every woman to be scared silly every time she
puts any lipstick on. Call this baby ‘The Lipstick Killer’, smack across the
front page!” And the tagline on one of the film’s posters announces that the
journalists would “sell out their own mothers” in their attempt to catch the
killer. The film was the second-to-last feature that Lang directed in America;
within two years, he would return to his home country of Germany and direct
four more films there before ending his career in 1960.
If you’re a Fritz Lang fan, a true crime enthusiast, or a
lover of interesting noirs – or you’re simply curious to see John Drew
Barrymore on screen – you’ll want to check out While the City Sleeps.
You only owe it to yourself.
…
– 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:
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