Most classic movie fans have have seen The Nicholas Brothers’ showstopping performance in the 1943 film Stormy Weather. But other than that I am sure most film fans don’t know much about them. Since today is Harold Nicholas’ birthday, I thought this would be a good time to write about them.
Fayard Nicholas was born Mar. 17, 1921 in Mobile, AL and Harold Nicholas was born Mar. 27, 1921 in Winston-Salem, NC. They grew up in Philadelphia. Their father Ulysses Nicholas was a drummer and their mother Viola Harden played piano. They led a band at the Standard Theater in Philadelphia. Fayard watched them from the front row as a child and he saw all the black vaudeville acts. He was fascinated by dancers like the legendary Bill Robinson. So he imitated them.
Fayard taught himself by watching the stage performers and then imitating them. First he taught his sister Dorothy and they performed as the Nicholas Kids. Then Harold joined the act. Dorothy dropped out and the Nicholas Brothers were born. Harold usually imitated Fayard. Their tap dancing style is called “flash dance” popularized by The Four Step Brothers and The Berry Brothers. I’m sure Fayard saw them perform.
As their fame grew, the Nicholas Brothers became the featured act at New York’s Cotton Club. Fayard was 16 and Harold was 11. While at the Cotton Club for two years, they appeared with bands led by Lucky Millinder, Cab Calloway, Duke Ellington and Jimmy Lunceford. They appeared in the 1932 short film Pie Pie Blackbird featuring Eubie Blake. When producer Samuel Goldwyn saw the Nicholas Brothers at the Cotton Club, he brought them to Hollywood to appear in the 1934 film Kid Millions. They appeared in the Broadway musicals The Ziegfield Follies of 1936 and the 1937 musical Babes in Arms. Famed ballet choreographer George Balanchine was so impressed that he taught them some new techniques.
The Nicholas Brothers moved to Hollywood in 1940. Their most high profile performance was performing Jumpin’ Jive with Cab Calloway and his Orchestra in the 1943 film Stormy Weather. Other films include Down Argentine Way (1940), Tin Pan Alley (1940), The Great American Broadcast (1941), Sun Valley Serenade (1941) and Orchestra Wives (1942). The Nicholas Brothers never starred in a film. They were featured performers and their segments were removed so the films could be shown in the Southern US where there were still Jim Crow laws. But there’s no question The Nicholas Brothers were the highlight of any film they were in.
After dancing with Gene Kelly in the 1948 film The Pirate, Harold moved to France. So they didn’t perform together anymore. They were forgotten until they appeared in the 1974 film That’s Entertainment. And there was interest in them after that. They received Kennedy Center Honors in 1991. Harold Nicholas died on July 3, 2000 in 2000 and Fayard Nicholas died on Jan. 24, 2006 at age 91. Here’s Cab Calloway and his Orchestra with The Nicholas Brothers performing Jumpin’ Jive from the 1943 film Stormy Weather.
George
“Spanky” McFarland portrayed the iconic leader of the Our Gang cast of children, beloved for his role as Spanky. He was
born George Philips McFarland at Methodist Hospital on October 2, 1928, in
Dallas, Texas, to Robert and Virginia McFarland. His father worked as a manager
for a loan company and, later, automobile broker. He had three siblings: Tommy,
Amanda, and Roderick or “Rod.”
Initially,
McFarland was dubbed “Sonny” by his parents and modeled children’s clothes in
department stores throughout the Dallas area. He could also be spotted in print
ads and highway billboards to promote Wonder Bread. By 1930, McFarland was
comfortable and recognizable before the camera.
McFarland as a baby
In 1931, Hal Roach Studios printed a trade magazine ad calling for photograph submissions of “cute kids.” In response to the ad, McFarland’s aunt sent over various pictures from McFarland’s modeling days. As a result, he was invited to partake in a screen test, which opened the door to a career as an actor. In fact, parts of his initial screen test were worked into the Our Gang short “Spanky” (1932). In later interviews McFarland shared that the nickname was given to him by a reporter. Per his studio contract, McFarland was given permission to use the “Spanky” name in all subsequent business and personal activities.
McFarland became a core member of the Our Gang cast at age three. Though extremely young, he was adorable before cameras, laughing and babbling his way through his earliest scenes. His character grew more outspoken as the series continued, eventually making him the ringleader of the group. As a contract player at Hal Roach Studios, he mingled with many other studio stars, including the likes of Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy. Laurel taught him how to perform double-takes and many of his mannerisms were further inspired by Hardy.
Though McFarland appeared in numerous shorts, his only starring film role was in General Spanky(1936), produced by Hal Roach. While the film attempted to transition the Our Gang series into feature films, it was unsuccessful. Nonetheless, McFarland appeared in many other films beyond Hal Roach Studios. His younger brother, Tommy, could also be spotted in some of the shorts.
Spanky in Good Bad Boys (1940)
In 1938,
McFarland retired from Our Gang and
participated in several personal appearances. The Our Gang unit was sold by Roach to Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, rehiring
McFarland to reprise his role. McFarland returned to Our Gang and carried out his Spanky character until his last
appearance in the series in 1942, at fourteen years old. McFarland then
attended Lancaster High School in Lancaster, Texas.
As
McFarland entered into adulthood, he served in the United States Air Force.
Upon his return, he found himself struggling to get roles in films because he
was so closely associated with the Spanky character. As a result, he took on
other careers, including working at a soft drink factory, popsicle factory, and
hamburger stand. By the 1950s, the Our
Gang shorts were syndicated on television and McFarland began hosting a
children’s show called The Spanky Show, airing
in Tulsa, Oklahoma. The show aired Little
Rascals shorts—as the Our Gang shorts
were now named in syndication—but the station deterred McFarland from expanding
his show, leading him to quit in 1960.
McFarland
continued to take on a variety of odd jobs, including selling wine, appliances,
electronics, and furniture. He also operated a restaurant and night club at one
point. He had success selling products for the Philco-Ford Corporation,
ultimate working his way up to national sales training director.
McFarland
married twice—first to Paula Jeanne Wilkinson and next to Doris Taulman
McFarland. He and Doris had three children: George Gregory McFarland, Verne
Emmett McFarland, and Betsy McFarland.
All the
while, he was still making personal and cameo appearances in films and on
television—affectionately nicknamed “Spank,” by then—with his former Our Gang peers. In 1985, also went on to help launch The Nostalgia
Channel, a Texas-based channel that screened classic films.
By the
1990s, McFarland was semi-retired. He participated in numerous fundraisers and
golf tournaments, including the Annual Spanky McFarland Celebrity Golf Classic,
which was held for 16 years in Marion, Indiana, throughout the 1970s and 1980s.
McFarland’s final television appearance would be in a walk-on role for Cheers,
as himself, in the “Woody Gets an Election” episode.
Spanky in a 1993 Episode of Cheers “Woody Gets an Election”
McFarland
passed away from a heart attack on June 30, 1993. He was 64 years old. He was
cremated soon after and plans were made to place a cenotaph in his honor at
Texas State Cemetery in Austin, Texas. While these plans were approved, they
have yet to be executed at the time of writing this article.
Today, few
points of interest relating to McFarland remain. In 1928, McFarland and his
family lived at 836 ½ N. Madison Ave., Dallas, Texas, which no longer stands.
By 1930, his family boarded at 233 Jefferson Ave., Dallas, Texas, which has
also been razed. In 1940, he and his family resided at 4626 Morse Ave., Sherman
Oaks, California, which stands today.
4626 Morse Ave., Sherman Oaks, California
McFarland
also lived at 1711 Lakewood Blvd., Euless, Texas, which also stands.
1711 Lakewood Blvd., Euless, Texas
Additionally,
he lived at 8500 Buckner Ln., Ft. Worth, Texas. The home listing also noted
that this was McFarland’s former estate. This home still stands, as well.
8500 Buckner Ln., Ft. Worth, Texas
Today,
McFarland and Jackie Cooper are the only Our Gang members with stars on
the Hollywood Walk of Fame. McFarland posthumously received his star in 1994,
located at 7095 Hollywood Blvd., Los Angeles, 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.
One of my favorite times of the year is awards season. For
years now, as soon as the Academy Awards are announced, I set upon a quest to
see as many Oscar-nominated films and performances as possible. And I’m pleased
to say that in 2022, because of streaming, I was able for the first time to see
every film in each of eight major categories!
But I digress. The point of this month’s Noir Nook is not to discuss movies or performers that received Oscar accolades in the past but, instead, to shine the spotlight on Edward G. Robinson, a noir vet who was never a recipient of that golden statuette.
It’s hard to fathom, but Robinson was never even nominated for an Academy Award – this, despite a career that spanned seven decades and gave us versatile performances in such films as Little Caesar (1931), The Whole Town’s Talking (1935), Sea Wolf (1941), and Our Vines Have Tender Grapes (1945). Today, I’m taking a look at three of his noir performances that, in my opinion, should have been applauded by the Academy.
Fred MacMurray and Edward G. Robinson in Double Indemnity (1944)
This feature – my all-time favorite, incidentally – centers on the deadly duo of housewife Phyllis Dietrichson (Barbara Stanwyck) and insurance agent Walter Neff (Fred MacMurray). These two team up for a little hanky-panky and a little murder, and intend to collect a big insurance payday after they do away with Phyllis’s hapless husband.
Robinson played Walter’s boss, a claims adjuster who houses a “little man” inside his gut that renders him capable of detecting all manner of subterfuge and wrongdoing. As Barton Keyes, Robinson serves up a master class in acting and gives us a character who is shrewd and relentless, compassionate, funny, and admirable. By all accounts, Robinson was initially reluctant to take on this supporting role, but he turned it into one of noir’s most memorable performances. He’s a standout from his first scene, where he outsmarts a luckless truck driver trying to collect on a fraudulent claim, to his last, full of pathos as he tenderly lights the cigarette of his doomed co-worker and friend.
Robinson stars here as an unassuming cashier whose life is turned upside down when he saves the alluring Kitty March (Joan Bennett) from what appears to be an attack in the street by a stranger. Turns out that the stranger is Kitty’s no-good boyfriend, Johnny (Dan Duryea), who sees nothing but dollar signs when he and Kitty mistakenly believe that Chris is a wealthy artist. It’s an error that will ultimately lead to disaster for them all.
For my money, Chris Cross is one of Robinson’s most
fascinating characters. He’s completely sympathetic, if a bit pitiable; he
shows himself at the start to be an upstanding citizen, and when we meet his
shrewish wife, we don’t blame him for stepping out with another woman. His primary
joy in life (before meeting Kitty, that is), is putting his rather unusual
point of view on canvas. And, unfortunately, once he falls for Kitty, he makes
decisions that he otherwise would never have considered. Bad ones. And Robinson
plays all of these facets to believable perfection.
Edward G. Robinson and Luther Adler in House of Strangers (1950)
In this feature, Robinson is the strong-willed patriarch of an Italian family and the proprietor of a bank that he operates in the same way that he runs his family – with his own rules and an iron fist. Gino’s questionable banking practices land him in hot water with the law, but after years of being browbeaten by their father, three of his sons refuse to help. Only his favorite son, Max (Richard Conte), is willing to step up, but when Max bribes a jury member, he winds up serving a seven-year prison stretch – and, fueled by his father’s bitterness, emerges vowing vengeance against his siblings.
Robinson plays Gino as the despot you love to hate. We’re introduced to him as he’s taking a bubble bath, loudly belting an Italian song. When his eldest son, Joe (Luther Adler), enters, Gino commands him to scrub his back, barking out directions (“Higher! Harder! A little lower!”) before flicking suds in Joe’s face. We see further evidence of Gino’s treatment of his sons during one of the family’s weekly dinner gatherings. At Gino’s insistence, the meal is delayed in favor of the tardy Max, and when the youngest son, Pietro (Paul Valentine), eats a piece of bread, Gino orders him to spit it out, repeatedly referring to him as “Dumbhead.” Outside of the home, Gino’s king-like persona is demonstrated at the bank where each morning he hosts a throng of community residents, all seeking money from him, which he doles out in cash from a strongbox after listening to their various stories – a man who signs a note for $150 for a new horse is only given $120 (“Interest,” Gino explains. “I take it out in advance.”), while a woman who wants $62 train fare to send her sick child to Denver is given a fistful of money. When the woman tells him he has given her too much, Gino shrugs. “So I make a mistake.” In scene after scene, Robinson skillfully brings to life a character who embodies tyranny, ambition, and compassion, and – at the very end, an all-consuming resentment toward the three sons who turned against him.
I can’t think of another performer from Hollywood’s Golden Age who exhibited such talent and versatility yet was never recognized by the Academy. For my money, Edward G. Robinson should have, at the very least, been nominated for these three performances, if not received an Oscar for all three. What do you think? And can you think of any other noir performances that deserved Oscar recognition? 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:
Adapted from a hit play that won the Pulitzer Prize for drama, the 1950 film Harvey celebrates gentle, odd characters whose eccentricities make life more interesting for everyone around them. If you’ve spent much time around such folks, or perhaps are one yourself, you’ll find a lot to appreciate in this classic comedy about an amiable middle-aged bachelor and his invisible pooka pal.
Dr. Sanderson (Charles Drake) and Nurse Kelly (Peggy Dow) think that Elwood has been committed by mistake before they find out about Harvey.
The movie was a particular favorite of its star, James Stewart, who earned an Academy Award nomination for his performance as Elwood P. Dowd, and it’s certainly an example of Stewart at his sweetest, a huge shift from his darker roles in films from Anthony Mann and Alfred Hitchcock. Henry Koster directs this genial comedy, which supports Stewart with particularly memorable performances from Cecil Kellaway, Victoria Horne, and Jesse White, but it’s the delightfully dotty Josephine Hull who steals the picture as Elwood’s scatterbrained older sister.
Stewart leads as the alcoholic but affable Elwood,
whose inherited financial comfort allows him to spend his days drinking in bars
with his invisible rabbit companion, the titular Harvey. Elwood’s widowed
sister, Veta (Josephine Hull), and her daughter, Myrtle Mae (Victoria Horne),
live with Elwood but are frustrated by the effect he and Harvey have on their
social life. Veta conspires with a family friend, Judge Gaffney (William H.
Lynn), to have Elwood declared insane and committed to a local sanitarium, but
the process goes awry when the doctors mistakenly think that Veta is their new
patient.
Dr. Chumley (Cecil Kellaway) begins to see things from Elwood’s point of view after a few drinks and a visit from Harvey.
Real mental illness is a serious subject, of course, but the characters in Harvey are not seriously ill. They’re kooky eccentrics of the type often seen in stage plays, screwball comedies, and sit coms. They’re also commonly found in real life, where they are referred to as “characters,” as if to suggest that they belong more to fictional space than humdrum reality. Elwood is certainly a “character” in that sense, but so are Veta, Myrtle Mae, the sanitarium attendant Martin (Jesse White), Dr. Chumley (Cecil Kellaway), and even his wife (Nana Bryant). The sanest people in the story are the young doctor (Charles Drake) and his lovelorn nurse (Peggy Dow), and they’re also the most boring, although it’s fun to watch Nurse Kelly fume at the clueless Dr. Sanderson.
Sane as they are, even these two fall for Elwood’s benevolence and gentle charm. Only a truly brutal person could wish normalcy on Mr. Dowd, as the taxi driver (Wallace Ford) makes clear in one of the picture’s most important scenes. “After this,” he warns Veta, “he’ll be a perfectly normal human being. And you know what stinkers they are!” If being normal means being miserable, then sanity isn’t worth it, although the movie’s last few scenes prove that Elwood is less crazy than everybody thinks.
Although we never see Harvey in the actual movie, we do see a striking portrait of the giant rabbit with his dear friend, Elwood P. Dowd (James Stewart).
Stewart’s performance is thoroughly enjoyable, especially his scenes interacting with the unseen Harvey, for whom he carries a coat, pulls out chairs, holds doors, and dodges traffic. Every time Elwood meets a new person, he insists on introducing them to Harvey, which Stewart approaches with unflappable patience even as other characters talk over him or attempt to stop him. Given that the story is called Harvey, it’s crucial for us to accept that Elwood believes in the pooka even if we don’t, and Stewart sells us on the reality of the giant rabbit from the start. Stewart, however, claimed that Josephine Hull had the most difficult job in the cast because she had to believe and not believe in Harvey simultaneously. She manages the challenge brilliantly, but every scene with her is a hoot, whether she’s complaining about Harvey or trying to keep Myrtle Mae away from the amorous Martin. Having originated the role onstage, Hull knew her character intimately, and her performance won the Oscar for Best Supporting Actress, beating out Hope Emerson in Caged (1950), Nancy Olson in Sunset Boulevard (1950), and both Celeste Holm and Thelma Ritter for All About Eve (1950).
While it’s a shame that Josephine Hull didn’t appear in more movies, we have to be grateful that the few she did make include such hilarious classics as Harvey and Arsenic and Old Lace (1944), another film in which Hull reprises her original stage role. As a fan of Cecil Kellaway in general, I’m sorry that he doesn’t get more screen time here, but his later scenes as Dr. Chumley, the head of the sanitarium, justify the casting choice.
Flanked by Judge Gaffney (William H. Lynn) and Myrtle Mae (Victoria Horne), Veta (Josephine Hull) recounts the horrors of her experience at the sanitarium.
If you enjoy Jimmy Stewart comedies, try Wife vs. Secretary (1936), You Can’t Take It with You (1938), The Shop Around the Corner (1940), and, of course, The Philadelphia Story (1940), for which Stewart won his only Best Actor Oscar. It’s hard to think of other movies exactly like Harvey, but a number of comedic fantasies feature some of the same cast. For more of Cecil Kellaway, see the enchanting romantic comedy, I Married a Witch (1942). Kellaway and Jesse White both appear in the talking mule sequel, Francis Goes to the Races (1951). You’ll also find White in Disney’s talking cat comedy, The Cat from Outer Space(1978); late in his career he did voice work for animation and thus actually became a talking animal himself. Look for Peggy Dow with a larger role in the very unusual animal fantasy You Never Can Tell (1951), which stars Dick Powell as a German Shepherd reincarnated as a private detective to solve his own murder. Although we never actually hear Harvey speak, I’ve shown Harvey as part of a series featuring talking animal comedies like Francis (1950) and The Incredible Mr. Limpet(1964). You could also pair it with Who Framed Roger Rabbit (1988) if rabbits hold particular appeal.
Thomas Ross Bond was born on September 16, 1926, in Dallas, Texas, to Ashley Ross Bond and Margaret Bond. His father worked as a commercial artist, focusing on ceramic art work. Young “Tommy” got his start as a child actor by the age of four, when a Hal Roach Studios talent scout encountered him as he was leaving a local cinema in Dallas with his mother. In 1931, after a long trek in the car with his grandmother to Hollywood, California, and with no guarantee of a role, he was hired at the Hal Roach Studios to appear in the Our Gang series.
Initially, Bond appeared as “Tommy,” a supporting character
with minimal lines. He eventually gained more screen time over a period of
three years until he left the series to attend public school.
Bond still continued to fulfill minor roles in other films, including Kid Millions(1934). He also found work as a voice actor, notably voicing the speaking parts for the jazzy “Owl Jolson” character in Tex Avery’s Merrie Melodies cartoon, I Love to Singa, in 1936. Hal Roach saw Bond portraying bratty characters in films and had a new idea for a character: “Butch,” the bully. In the same year, Bond returned to Our Gang, this time as Butch. He first appeared as Butch in Glove Taps(1937), bullying the neighborhood children and—to Alfalfa’s (Carl Switzer) dismay—vying for the affections of Darla (played by Darla Hood). Bond also worked alongside other Hal Roach Studios stars, including Charley Chase, Stan Laurel, and Oliver Hardy. In 1937, Bond was also among the charter members of the Screen Actors Guild.
Tommy Bond as Butch in an Our Gang short, Party Fever (1938)
Bond continued with Our
Gang on through its continuation at MGM studios in 1938. His last Our Gang appearance came in Building Troubles (1940) before Bond outgrew
the role and transitioned out of series, appearing in other MGM films but often
struggling to find roles as a young adult. In the end, Bond could be seen in 27
Our Gang shorts, appearing in 13 of
them as Tommy and in the remaining 14 as Butch.
Despite his tough and troublesome on-screen image, Bond was by all accounts a kind and gentle person off-screen. As the years went on, Bond served in the U.S. Navy, once again, returned to acting. He appeared in two Gas House Kids films alongside former Our Gang co-star Switzer. Though the two were on-screen enemies in Our Gang, they were actually good friends off-camera. Bond also appeared as young reporter Jimmy Olsen in Superman (1948) and Atom Man vs. Superman (1950).
Tommy Bond as Jimmy Olsen and Noel Neill as Lois Lane in Superman (1948)
Bond went on to marry Pauline “Polly” Francis Goebel,
otherwise known as Polly Ellis Bond and Miss California 1945. The two had one
son, Tomas Robert Bond, II, and remained married until Bond’s passing.
In the early 1950s, Bond attended Los Angeles City College
and earned a degree in theater arts from California State University, Los
Angeles. Though he stopped acting professionally, he continued to work in the
entertainment industry in television direction and production, including
working as a production manager for Rowan
& Martin’s Laugh-In. He was employed at KTTV in Los Angeles,
California, from the 1950s to the 1970s, and later at KFSN in Fresno,
California, from the 1970s to 1991.
Bond was also dedicated to his Lutheran faith, actively involved in the Emmanuel Lutheran Church community in North Hollywood, California. He and many of his friends worked on the production and presentation of the community’s Christmas Pageant, presented on the grounds of the church’s school. This was no ordinary production—the pageant included several hundred participants, Hollywood sets and lighting, the construction of grandstands, and live animals. Horses were contributed from Spahn’s Movie Ranch, which previously supplied horses for Ben-Hur (1959). Bond was also instrumental in having the production filmed and aired on KTTV in 1965. The pageant was presented annually on the school’s grounds from 1960-1971, with a set costing more than $65,000. One videotape documenting the broadcast was found in the church storage room years later. All color copies were destroyed in a fire.
An older Bond
Bond retired from television in 1991 and frequently reflected upon his life and career, including his time in Our Gang. He published an autobiography in 1994, entitled Darn Right It’s Butch: Memories of Our Gang/The Little Rascals. He and Tommy R. Bond, II, worked together in their family production company, Biograph Company, as his son became a film and television producer. Bond also hosted a documentary called The Rascals, focusing on the Our Gang stars and serial. His final film role was as a neighbor in Bob’s Night Out (2004).
Bond passed away on September 24, 2005, from heart disease
in Northridge, California. He was 79 years old. Bond was buried at Riverside
National Cemetery in Riverside, California.
Today, various points of interest relating to Bond’s life
remain. In 1926, he and his family lived at 4613 Gaston Ave., Dallas, Texas.
The home stands today.
4613 Gaston Ave., Dallas, Texas
In 1930, the family was living on Mockingbird Lane in
Dallas, Texas. Census records are unclear as to the home address but,
sequentially, his family was near 4452 Mockingbird Ln., Dallas, Texas.
4452 Mockingbird Ln., Dallas, Texas
In 1940, Bond resided at 5230 Zelzah Ave., Encino,
California. The original home no longer stands.
By 1950, Bond was living at 4742 Fulton Ave., Sherman Oaks,
California. The original home no longer stands.
Bond’s alma mater, Los Angeles City College is located at
855 N. Vermont Ave., Los Angeles, California.
Los Angeles City College, 855 N. Vermont Ave., Los Angeles, California
Likewise, California State University, Los Angeles, is
located at 5151 State University Dr., Los Angeles, California.
California State University, 5151 State University Dr., Los Angeles, California
Emmanuel Lutheran Church stands at 6020 Radford Ave., North
Hollywood, California.
Emmanuel Lutheran Church, 6020 Radford Ave., North Hollywood, California
Riverside National Cemetery is located at 22495 Van Buren
Blvd., Riverside, California.
Riverside National Cemetery, 22495 Van Buren Blvd., Riverside, 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.
That was me, giddy as a teen, just three years ago when it was announced that Ricou Browning would be appearing in my hometown of Buffalo, N.Y.
The idea of being in the room with Mr. Browning was unbelievable and was surely going to be a highlight of my life since I had loved classic horror films since I was a kid.
Ricou Browning in costume for Creature From the Black Lagoon.
He was the last of the Universal monsters, playing the underwater scenes as the title character in Creature from the Black Lagoon (1954) and its two sequels. It was hard to fathom how it was going to be possible to meet one of the original Universal monsters and I couldn’t help thinking about what I would say to him if I had the chance.
But that announcement was in January of 2020. Two months later, the Covid-19 shutdown began, canceling everything nationwide including Mr. Browning’s visit and the convention he was to appear in.
This was the announcement for Ricou Browning’s planned 2020 appearance in Buffalo, N.Y. It was canceled two months later when the pandemic shut down live events.
While we waited for events to return, Mr. Browning’s family reached out to fans in September of 2021, asking us to send him a physical card or letter because of his declining health. And we did.
Now we’ve sadly learned that Mr. Browning died of natural
causes on Feb. 27 in his Southwest Ranches, Fla. home at the age of 93.
“It is with deep sorrow I post the passing of a literal legend, Ricou Browning,” wrote family member Kristin LeFeuvre in a Facebook tribute. “TheCreature from the Black Lagoon was always a treat to be around. A man of little words, but a quick wit and a flashy smile.”
As we send our sympathy to his family and loved ones, we celebrate him not only as the Gill-Man but for his lengthy career as a director, writer, producer, stuntman and underwater coordinator and innovator.
Ricou Browning in a publicity shot for Creature from the Black Lagoon.
When Hollywood needed an expert for underwater footage and stunts, they called on him as a stunt diver/double for Disney’s 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea (1954), the Lloyd Bridges TV show Sea Hunt (30 episodes, 1958-61) and The Aquanauts (1960-61).
He was the co-creator and the driving force behind Flipper, the 1963 movie about a pet dolphin and the TV series that followed (1964-67), writing episodes, directing 37 of them, and overseeing all the underwater photography. He worked well on land, too, directing 14 episodes of the TV series Gentle Ben (1967-69).
And he had a humorous streak, as seen in the hilarious Jaws-inspired candy bar in the pool scene of Caddyshack (1980).
That’s a wonderful career by any measure. And it’s all owed to the Gill-Man.
Ricou Browning’s film legacy
“We liked the way you swim. How would you like to be the
creature of the Black Lagoon?”
Those were the words of director Jack Arnold in a phone call that changed the life of 23-year-old Florida lifeguard Ricou Browning, as Mr. Browning recalled during an interview in the fantastic David J. Skal documentary Back to the Black Lagoon: A Creature Chronicle (more on that later).
Ricou Browning wore a monster suit, but was still a graceful swimmer in Creature From the Black Lagoon.
He was working at Wakulla Springs, Fla. – one of the world’s
largest freshwater springs and a tourist attraction to this day – when he was
asked to help scout locations for Creature from the Black Lagoon.
Wakulla Springs looked like it had not been touched by time which was perfect for the film about a creature that could have been from another time. Filmmakers immediately liked what they saw and asked if the young Ricou would swim so they could film perspective shots showing the size of things like logs, fish and people.
Just a couple of weeks later, Jack Arnold made that call and his life would never be the same.
Ricou Browning in the first sequel, Revenge of the Creature.
Mr. Browning would also play the creature for the underwater scenes in the two sequels, Revenge of the Creature (1955) and The Creature Walks Among Us (1956). For the topside (land) scenes, filmmakers wanted a more menacing creature so other actors were used; Tom Chapman in the original film, Tom Hennesy in the second and Don Megowan in the third.
Here’s the sad part though: none of the men received film credit for their work. Even when Mr. Browning repeatedly requested credit for Revenge of the Creature (1955), the studio turned him down. Instead, he was given publicity chances like photo ops to help him “get other jobs.” (There was a time when studios didn’t like to credit an actor for a creature-type of role so as not to take away the mystery.)
In addition to his underwater creature scenes, Ricou Browning, right, made a cameo as a lab assistant in Revenge of the Creature. He is pictured with Lori Nelson and John Agar.
Despite the studio’s best efforts, we know their names
today.
People unfamiliar with Creature from the Black Lagoon may wonder what’s so special about a guy in a suit since movies are full of them. But Mr. Browning’s Gill-Man was special because it had character, personality and heart.
He was eloquent under the water despite the heavy suit and massive webbed hands and difficulty seeing because he couldn’t keep the water out of his eyes. He moved with long, graceful strides and effortlessly flipped and turned like he was dancing underwater.
And that brings us to one of the most iconic scenes in all of horror: The underwater ballet between the Gill-Man and the unknowing object of his affection Kay (played by Julia Adams, later known as Julie Adams). The pas de deux between the two was menacing, yet gorgeous. It could have been a scene from an Esther Williams film, if it didn’t involve a Universal monster.
In one of the most famous scenes in classic horror, the creature (Ricou Browning) mimics the motions of Kay who has no idea he is there in Creature From the Black Lagoon.
Who can forget the gracefulness of the scene as we watched the Gill-Man swimming within inches of Kay without her knowledge. Not me.
And not director Guillermo del Toro who saw Creature from
the Black Lagoon when he was only 6. He is on the record saying that that
he was charmed by the scene, as so many were, but was shocked when the creature
and his human lady love didn’t get together. He vowed to fix that someday and
he’s a man of word giving us his love letter to the creature in his Oscar
winning film The Shape of Water (2007).
That film is how del Toro celebrated Mr. Browning. While, I could never make such a grand gesture, nor did I ever meet him, I finally realized what I wanted to say to Mr. Browning. I put it in a card for him that I can sum up in two words: Thank you.
Ricou Browning as Creature From the Black Lagoon.
To learn more
To learn more about Ricou Browning and Creature from the Black Lagoon and its sequels, I highly recommend the documentary Back to the Black Lagoon: A Creature Chronicle,” written, directed and produced by horror expert and author David J. Skal.
The documentary dives into all three films and we get to hear Ricou Browning discussing his work in them. You can find the documentary on multiple home video releases of the movie and rent it through various streaming platforms.
Toni Ruberto, born and raised in Buffalo, N.Y., is an editor and writer at
The Buffalo News. She shares her love for classic movies in her blog, Watching Forever and is a
member of the Classic
Movie Blog Association. Toni was the president of the former Buffalo
chapter of TCM Backlot and now leads the offshoot group, Buffalo Classic Movie
Buffs. She is proud to have put Buffalo and its glorious old movie palaces in
the spotlight as the inaugural winner of the TCM in Your Hometown contest. You
can find Toni on Twitter at @toniruberto.
Over the past few months I’ve written about catching up with a trio of Barbara Stanwyck‘s ’50s Westerns, most recently The Furies (1950), which I covered in my column in early January.
This month I’ve caught up with another new-to-me ’50s Western featuring a notable actress, Marlene Dietrich. The movie is Rancho Notorious (1952), which was just released on a beautiful Blu-ray by the Warner Archive Collection.
Rancho Notorious was an RKO film directed by Fritz Lang, filmed in Technicolor by Hal Mohr.
As the film begins, cowboy Vern Haskell
(Kennedy) is romancing his sweetheart Beth (Gloria Henry), who will be his
bride is a little over a week.
Shortly after Vern leaves to return to his job Beth is cruelly assaulted and killed in a robbery of her father’s store. Vern makes it his mission to find the man who murdered his love. The only clue he has is the word “Chuck-a-Luck,” which was the dying utterance of the killer’s ill-fated partner (John Doucette).
The winding trail eventually leads Vern to the
Chuck-a-Luck ranch owned by Altar Keane (Dietrich). The ranch serves as a
hideout for robbers, including Altar’s longtime boyfriend Frenchy (Ferrer).
Altar gets a 10% cut for providing sanctuary and not asking questions.
Ferrer, Dietrich, and Kennedy
Vern believes Beth’s killer is at the ranch… but which man is it? One evening Altar wears a brooch which had been his gift to Beth, and Vern realizes she may hold the answer he’s looking for…
Like The Furies, Rancho Notorious called to mind the laterJohnny Guitar(1954), though I think in this case the comparison is even more apt. Like Vienna in the later movie, Dietrich’s Altar presides as queen over a bunch of rowdy men at a “palace” she owns in the middle of nowhere.
I was particularly amused to see Frank Ferguson as one of the crooks hiding at Altar’s ranch, dressed all in black and looking rather as he did in Johnny Guitar two years later.
Kennedy, Dietrich, and Ferrer
While Rancho Notorious lacks Johnny Guitar‘s notable location filming in Sedona – it seems to have been filmed on a backlot ranch, with perhaps some shooting at Iverson Ranch – it does share having some fake, almost surreal exteriors. It’s also interesting to note that despite the film’s vivid colors, this is quite a dark story.
The movie also features a curious throwback to Dietrich’s earlier Western, Destry Rides Again (1939), in which she played a character named Frenchy; the unusual name appears again here, but this time used by Ferrer’s character.
The same year Rancho Notorious was released Kennedy would play a morally ambiguous character in one of my all-time favorite Westerns, Bend of the River (1952), which I wrote about here in my very first column back in 2018. Here his Vern is equally troubled yet more admirable, and I really appreciated his character’s journey, from lighthearted romantic to bitter avenger to a spent man who completes his mission and, as the movie ends, must now face what to do with the rest of his life.
Some reviewers have complained Kennedy seems awkward romancing Dietrich late in the movie, but I think that was deliberate, and entirely the point – Vern didn’t love Altar as he did Beth, but was pursuing her to gain information. His discomfort as well as the falsity of his attraction comes through loud and clear. Kennedy is quite good throughout as the vengeful cowboy. As an aside, a couple times the thought crossed my mind that this was a part which also would have suited Van Heflin.
Dietrich’s Altar is a woman who’s essentially
had an empty life, save perhaps her relationship with Frenchy, and she’s just
facing up to that fact near movie’s end. One of the most vivid scenes is of a
somewhat raunchy saloon “race,” told in flashback, but while the
character is ostensibly having a great time, the sequence struck me as very
sad, illustrating Altar’s lack of self-respect or restraint.
Ferrer’s Frenchy is something of an anti-hero:
He’s clearly a bad guy, yet he is devoted to Altar and, compared to some of the
creeps who hang out at Chuck-a-Luck, he seems almost noble. The relationship
which develops between Frenchy and Vern is one of the more interesting aspects
of the movie — one good, one bad, seemingly in competition for Altar, but
ultimately they have each other’s back. And by movie’s end, Vern has gone
to such a dark place that perhaps there’s no longer a great deal of difference
between the two men.
Gloria Henry is onscreen only briefly, early in the film, yet her shadow hangs over the rest of the film, rather as Coleen Gray does as John Wayne‘s lost love in Red River (1948). Henry was in a number of “B” Westerns during her film career, including a couple with Gene Autry. She was best known for starring in TV’s Dennis the Menace (1959-63). Henry passed away fairly recently, in April 2021.
All in all, I found Rancho Notorious a very worthwhile 89 minutes. I’d go so far as to say it’s essential ’50s Western viewing, which should be seen alongside Anthony Mann‘s The Furies and Nicholas Ray‘s Johnny Guitar for an appreciation of notable women’s Western roles in what might be called the “stylized Western melodrama” subgenre.
Rancho Notorious (1952) on Blu-ray DVD
The Warner Archive Blu-ray is a lovely print
which online sources say is a new 4K master from the original nitrate
Technicolor negative. The soundtrack is strong and clear. The disc contains
optional English subtitles, but there are no extras.
I recommend both the film and this Blu-ray
release.
Thanks to the Warner Archive 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.
What Laurents’s screenplay smartly does is to take its time in showing exactly how Hubbell begins to fall for Katie. Audiences know that with these two big stars front and center a love story will inevitably ensue, but they don’t know how and when it’s going to occur. Hubbell does not immediately tumble to Katie’s inner beauty, but instead, he is first intrigued by her at the moment of her greatest humiliation: the rally for peace at which she wins over the crowd until pranksters wave signs behind her that collectively read “Any peace by Katie’s piece.” Katie’s angry knee jerk response is to brand the students fascists, but as the crowd laughs, Hubbell does not join in. Pollack, in fact, felt that Hubbell was “disturbed when she is humiliated.” Hubbell is responding to her intensity and passion, and he silently appraises her – interested but non-committal. Said Barbra: “I liked that scene. I felt like I used to feel a lot, an outcast, people laughing at me. It felt natural.”
It’s a beautifully acted scene which plants the seeds for Hubbell’s growing interest in Katie. At the same time, the two characters seem to live at an overwhelming distance from each other, she with the masses, he with the detached elite who stand aside and observe. Indeed, the way Pollack shoots the peace rally further enhances their dissimilarities on a subliminal level: Katie is the speaker, dominant in the frame, while Hubbell, as spectator, stands lower in the frame, distanced from the speaker’s stage. Opposites in every way, Katie and Hubbell have still not held a direct conversation, a situation changed by the film’s cut to the restaurant where Katie works as a waitress. As Hubbell and gang enter, Katie, in a nice bit of sharp Laurents dialogue that keeps any sentimentality at bay, mutters to ever faithful boyfriend Frankie (James Woods) “Look who’s here – America the beautiful.”
Intrigued by Katie, Hubbell tries without success to make
her laugh while he orders hamburgers and cokes:
Katie:“Onions?”
Hubbell: “In the Coke.”
For his troubles Hubbell receives nothing but a sour look
from Katie. They continue to verbally spar:
Hubbell: “We weren’t making fun of you”-
Katie: “You make fun of everyone.”
The rhythm between Streisand and Redford, their different
styles and pace of speech as actors, all work to heighten the characters’
differences, even while establishing the glimmer of attraction. Streisand
thrusts, Redford effortlessly parries, both actors slipping into the
rat-a-tat-tat rhythm of the dialogue with ease. Said Pollack: “You couldn’t do
much improvisation here- the scenes were carefully written- one beat led to
another. It was all headed in a very certain direction.” James Woods
watched both stars carefully, saying of Redford: “He’s such a great film
actor. Bob slid into that character very well, and make no mistake, he may not
have wanted to rehearse as much as Barbra, but he worked very hard on his
approach.”
Audiences have sensed that underneath her surface disdain,
Katie has remained fascinated with Hubbell, and when the film cuts to a
nighttime scene in the library, she openly and repeatedly glances at him, even
as loyal Frankie McVeigh sits right next to her. (The first part of the
scripted scene was cut, a loss because of its delineation of character: when
Hubbell temporarily left his seat, Katie slid over to steal a look at his
notebook, one filled with drawings and the nicely prescient words: “And in the
end, would it be worth it?”). Katie simply can’t help but stare at Hubbell, and
it’s no wonder: as romantic music plays on the soundtrack, thanks to the
lighting by Stradling, Redford’s Hubbell actually seems to glow. Staring at his
pencil and oblivious to Katie, his thoughts are a million miles away, while
Katie’s are all but palpable.
The scene is granted extra texture by the presence of James
Woods’s Frankie, an outcast who jealously watches Katie eye Hubbell. Woods’s
presence in the scene was not planned, but was cleverly engineered by Woods
himself: “I was thinking about how I could be a part of the scene and realized
I could be a part of it by being an obstacle. So- I said to Sydney: ‘I have a
great idea.’ Sydney instantly said: ‘You’re not a part of the scene. We don’t
need you in there with the two biggest stars in the world.’ Then I said to
Barbra: ‘Let’s talk about acting for a minute- the library scene.’ Barbra
looked at me and kept her reply short: ‘The scene is with Bob and me.’ I kept
going- I told her ‘But isn’t it more interesting if Frankie is there in the
library, looking at Katie while she’s looking at Hubbell. Now the scene
wouldn’t be so simple- it’s more interesting.’ Barbra took a beat, thought
about it, and then said: ‘Sydney- the kid is in the scene!’” Such chutzpah came
readily to the Utah born Woods, who in 1970 had snagged a part in the award winning
Broadway play Borstal Boy by pretending he was British.
Woods appreciated Pollack’s openness to change: “He was open
to last minute improvisation. The great directors are because they know you can
often get things you wouldn’t otherwise. Yes, I was happy to have more screen
time, but I wasn’t hogging the camera- it was furthering my character as well
as Barbra’s. Having me in the library added to Katie’s emotional confusion
about Hubbell. She’s so committed to politics yet infatuated with Hubbell even
while she has this dorky but devoted boyfriend. It makes audiences wonder
‘What’s she going to do?’”
Thanks to his own unbridled ambition, James Woods was in the
scene, side by side with superstars Streisand and Redford and a presence to be
noticed. Said Woods of the experience of filming with the two stars: “I loved
working with both of them. They were so open to discussion. Barbra was great.
We talked and she said ‘Are you afraid of me?’ I said: ‘No. I can act- it’s
every man for himself.’ She wasn’t offended- she really laughed.
“Redford was terrific as well. He would sometimes come by my trailer, which was, needless to say, a lot smaller than his! We’d talk about acting- at that point I wanted to be a stage actor. I had just won a Theatre World Award, but he’s such a great film actor I knew I could learn from him. I proudly call myself a character actor, so it’s interesting to me that I think Bob and Brad Pitt, two classically handsome leading men, are at their best when they are being character actors.
“Having him stop by was a terrific opportunity to talk to
this big star. Redford was and is a great underactor- he conveys so much with
so little. I was, at that point, an overactor. He talked about how to convey
emotion on film. If you look in a mirror and your eyes change focus as you
start thinking about a problem, you should think the thought, don’t act it. You
see the eyes change.
“I learned from him and even though I was a complete unknown, both Barbra and Bob were good to me. It’s actually hard to explain the level of stardom they held at that time because it just doesn’t exist today. They were larger than life stars. The public’s fascination with them was extraordinary. That very short sequence at the beginning of the film where Hubbell throws the javelin? Women were standing around all day just to get a glimpse of him!”
Remembering Classic Movie Child Star, Ted Donaldson
I am so sad to report that Ted Donaldson passed away a few days ago, on March 1st. I typically don’t publish blog posts when someone passes, but this time I felt I must — as I had the honor of meeting and interviewing Ted a few years ago, and it is something that I will never forget. He was such a charming gentleman, and it was such a pleasure to be able to sit down and chat with him, and hear so many wonderful stories.
Here is a wonderful Hollywood Reporter article that was published yesterday, chronicling Ted’s career through Broadway, radio and film, including his big screen debut in Once Upon a Time with Cary Grant and, of course, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.
As mentioned in the Hollywood Reporter article, Ted’s friends, Thomas and Heidi Bruno, have set up a GoFundMe page to help pay for Ted’s burial expenses, as Ted passed with very little cash and few possessions. I am sure that any donation, no matter how small, would be greatly appreciated by Thomas and Heidi — as they would like to provide Ted with a proper burial in Hollywood Forever Cemetery near many of his co-stars.
You can visit the Ted Donaldson Go Fund Me Page by clicking on this image
Again, I am so glad that I had the opportunity to spend some quality time with Ted. That was indeed a special moment for me.
Lastly, if you’d like to see my video interview with Ted, here is a link to it on YouTube.
“The Way We Were: The Making of a Romantic Classic” Exclusive Interview with author Tom Santopietro
I am happy to say that a new book about the film, The Way We Were was released in January — AND I am even happier to say that author Tom Santopietro has honored CMH with an exclusive interview about it!
Hard to believe, but the film was released 50 years ago, in Oct 1973. Wow. So, what better way to celebrate, than with The Way We Were: The Making of a Romantic Classic, a book that tells the story behind the film — the challenges, disputes and creative passions of those involved — complete with location anecdotes and first-hand accounts.
A big Thank You to Tom Santopietro for taking the time to do this interview!
CMH: Why did you decide to write a book about The Way We Were?
Tom Santopietro:I started thinking about The Way We Were as the subject of a possible book when I happened to hear two women quoting the entire last scene of the film by heart, re-enacting Barbra Streisand’s Katie Morosky murmuring “Hubbell, your girl is lovely” to the aging but still golden Robert Redford. This behavior wasn’t just liking the film- this was quasi-obsession. When I then happened to catch a re-run of “Sex and the City” where the four best friends decide that the entire world is divided into “Katie girls” and others, followed by Sarah Jessica Parker’s Carrie Bradshaw re-enacting The Way We Were’s finale in front of the Plaza Hotel, I was intrigued. Hooked. Why does this decidedly flawed film carry such romantic heft? After all, if the best movies form parts of our world views and shape our dreams, what did this hyper fandom for a fifty year old film say about the way we are today?
My first book, The Importance of Being Barbra, was published seventeen years ago and I thought it would be interesting to look at Barbra again, through the lens of what is arguably her most popular film. As I started to research the history of the film, my “possibly writing” became a definite “yes”; accelerating the decision was realizing that by writing about The Way We Were I was actually, if unconsciously completing my trilogy of books centering on films that people don’t just like, but actually obsess over: The Godfather Effect– drama, The Sound of Music Story–https://amzn.to/3IYPJRC musical, and now The Way We Were- romance.
CMH: Did you interview Barbra Streisand? Any others?
Tom Santopietro: I had a number of great interviews for the book – Lois Chiles, lyricist Alan Bergman- still going strong at age 97. James Woods – it was his first movie and he told me great stories about his interactions with both Barbra and Redford. He liked both of them a great deal.
The most fascinating interview was my written exchange with Barbra. I thought a long time about what questions to ask – I didn’t want this to be ‘Did you like Robert Redford”… I submitted them in writing and weeks later I received a lengthy email response to each question – a paragraph long answer to every question. The film is very important to her, she possessed total recall of the events, and it gave me a real sense of who she is – every word matters to her. No wonder she has been one of Sondheim’s foremost interpreters – she’s the embodiment of his dictum: “God is in the details.”
Redford and Streisand (Hubbell and Katie)
CMH: What most surprised you in your research?
Tom Santopietro: I spent several days at the Library of Congress reading through screenwriter Arthur Laurents’s papers, including a scorching eight page memo to producer Ray Stark that he wrote after seeing a rough cut – a memo in which he enumerated the film’s perceived flaws, flaws which he felt – and I’m translating politely here – were so egregious that they made him feel sick. Eleven different screenwriters had a hand in the script – no wonder Laurents was perpetually angry. His own life had inspired several key incidents in the screenplay and his life was now being re-written by eleven other people.
I was also intrigued by the fact that in the early going this now iconic film’s success was far from assured; as one studio executive only half kiddingly said to director Sydney Pollack: “Barbra Streisand doesn’t sing and she plays a communist — are you trying to kill me?!” The fact that no one expected a romantic classic made its now half century of success all the more intriguing. The film had received decidedly mixed reviews upon its initial release, although the stars were highly praised, and Streisand received an Academy Award nomination. (She lost to Glenda Jackson for A Touch of Class, and when was the last time anyone decided that they just had to watch A Touch of Class again…)
CMH: Why does the film have such a romantic pull that we’re still talking about it 50 years later?
Tom Santopietro: I think that there are four reasons for the film’s extraordinary 50 year hold on audiences around the world:
Star chemistry in spades. Redford and Streisand at their early 70s peak, looking great and throwing off sparks together, proving that opposites really do attract. Everything about them reads as a contrast – looks, acting styles, manner of speech – and it all blends beautifully.
Ill fated love affairs are universal. Like Katie and Hubbell, everyone in the viewing audience has loved the wrong person at one time. Or at several times. Everyone has loved passionately if not wisely. As film historian Jeanine Basinger put it: “Yes- everyone really has loved the wrong person at one point or another. Except for maybe 10 people- and who wants to know them…”
The uber romantic score by the then unknown Marvin Hamlisch, who composed the title song on spec, in hopes of scoring the entire movie. His reward? Two Oscars.
That killer ending in front of the Plaza Hotel. For the three people over 50 in the United States who haven’t seen the film, I won’t describe it- except to say that even critics who didn’t like the film fell for the ending – it’s an all time keeper.
It seems like critics had a hard time acknowledging the appeal of The Way We Were and other films like it. Why is that?
I think the best answer to that came from Robert Redford
himself: “Critics had trouble with The Way We Were because they won’t
own up to their own emotions. They figure that it’s got to be off center or
bold before they can accept it… Intellectually you know Katie and Hubbell
shouldn’t be together, but on a gut level you want them to make it because you
like them and because they like each other. That’s a fair emotion.”
CMH: Why wasn’t there a sequel?
As audiences clamored to know if Katie and Hubbell would ever get back together, the clamor for a sequel grew in volume. Talks were held. Screenplays were written. So what happened?
Well, to find that out you have to read the book. Besides, I have my own idea for a sequel!
…..
Thanks again to Tom Santopietro for this fascinating book and interview.
,
