When my daughters were little, I bought them a tabletop talking
holiday tree named Douglas Fir, who had big, blinking eyes and a mouth that
moved when he talked or sang. And, as Douglas would say every time we flicked
his ON switch, “It’s Christmastime!!!!!”
To celebrate the holiday season (but stay within a budget –
a LOW-budget, that is!) I’m gifting you
with a list of five first-rate ‘B’ noirs that you may not have seen – because
everybody loves a good ‘B’ movie, amirite?
The Great Flamarion (1945)
Erich von Stroheim and Mary Beth Hughes, The Great Flamarion
This Republic Pictures gem stars Erich von Stroheim in the
title role of a talented sharpshooter who loses his head over a dame and lives
to regret it. The dame is sweet-faced Connie Wallace (Mary Beth Hughes) who,
along with her dipsomaniac husband, Al (Dan Duryea), works for Flamarion in his
prestigious vaudeville act. It takes some doing to chisel through her boss’s
granite exterior, but Connie manages to convince him that’s she desperately in
love with him – and before you can say “Stick to your guns,” she’s also talked
Flamarion into believing that Al is all that’s standing in the way of their happiness.
Three guesses as to how this one turns out – and the first two don’t count.
Trivia tidbit: Erich von Stroheim is considered by many film
critics to be one of the greatest directors of the silent era.
Decoy (1946)
Herbert Rudley, Edward Norris, Jean Gillie and Robert Armstrong, Decoy
I cannot get enough of this wild and woolly film from
Monogram Pictures. The story focuses on Margot Shelby (Jean Gillie), the
beautiful but conniving girlfriend of imprisoned gang leader Frankie Olins
(Robert Armstrong), who’s on death row. But if Frankie gets the electric chair,
as planned, he takes with him the secret of where he has hidden the proceeds
from the heist that landed him in the pokey. And Margot isn’t having it. So,
she uses her considerable wiles to get a local doctor, Lloyd Craig (Herbert Rudley),
to help her break Frankie out of prison – after he’s been executed and
then resuscitate him! Don’t ask me how this is pulled off. Just trust me when I
say you’ve got to see it to believe it.
Trivia tidbit: The cast includes Sheldon Leonard, who went
on to produce such successful television series as The Danny Thomas Show,
I Spy, The Andy Griffith Show, and The Dick Van Dyke Show.
Night Editor (1946)
Janis Carter and William Gargan, Night Editor
Columbia Pictures released this feature starring William
Gargan as police lieutenant – and family man – Tony Cochrane (William Gargan),
who gets more than he bargained for when he starts stepping out with married
socialite Jill Merrill (Janis Carter). After the cheating duo witnesses a
violent murder (which Jill is inordinately excited about, by the way), Tony has
to figure out how to carry out an investigation without revealing that he saw
the commission of the crime – and what he was doing when he did.
Trivia tidbit: Night Editor was supposed to kick off a
series of films that depicted stories told by reporters on the police beat, but
the series never materialized.
The Devil Thumbs a Ride (1947)
Lawrence Tierney and Ted North, The Devil Thumbs a Ride
This film, produced by RKO, stars Lawrence Tierney as the
devil of the title – also known as Steve Morgan who, at the start of the
picture, robs and kills the night manager of a bank. He proceeds to hitch a
ride with traveling salesman Jimmy Ferguson (Ted North) and convinces the
jovial driver to pick up two women on the road (Nan Leslie and Betty Lawford).
The foursome wind up at a beach house owned by a friend of Jimmy’s, where Steve
flattens the tires on Jimmy’s car, disables the telephone, and proceeds to
inflict a week’s worth of criminality and chaos in just a few hours’ time.
Trivia tidbit: Ted North was married for three years, from 1943
to 1947, to Great Flamarion femme fatale, Mary Beth Hughes.
Shed No Tears (1948)
Mark Roberts and June Vincent, Shed No Tears,
The little-known Equity Pictures was responsible for this
hidden jewel, which stars Wallace Ford as Sam Grover, who fakes his death so
that he and his blonde bombshell wife Edna (June Vincent) can profit from the
insurance payout. But what Sam doesn’t know is that Edna has a fella on the
side – Ray Belden (Mark Roberts) – and has every intention of taking the cash
from the insurance and skipping off into the sunset with Ray. But as crafty as
Edna is, she didn’t reckon on Sam’s son, Tom; a loquacious private investigator
Tom hires to look into his dad’s death – and Sam himself.
Trivia tidbit: The cast of this one has a slew of familiar
faces, including Elena Verdugo, who I remember as Marcus Welby’s receptionist
on the popular 1970s TV series; Mary Treen, who may be best known for her role
as Cousin Tilly in It’s a Wonderful Life (1946); and Paul Maxey, who can
be seen in several other noirs, including two 1947 features, They Won’t
Believe Me and Ride the Pink Horse, but who I know best as the
rotund train investigator who kept squeezing past Charles McGraw in the train
corridors on The Narrow Margin (1952).
I hope you’re able to check out at least one of these underrated features – you only owe it to yourself, after all – and that you have a safe and beautiful holiday season! May the noir be with you!
…
– 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:
Despite
the sweetness of its title, Baby Face (1933) packs a punch so spicy that
it’s famous even among Pre-Code pictures for its frankness about transactional
sexual relationships. The pre-release version of the movie caused a ruckus with
the censors that Warner Bros. tried to appease with a new ending, several
minutes of editing, and some altered dialogue, but we’re lucky to have the rediscovered
original cut, which is definitely the one to see if you have access to both
versions. It’s a powerhouse performance by Barbara Stanwyck as the grimly
determined Lily Powers, a young woman who chooses to exploit her sexuality for
her own social and financial gain, but the film’s attitude toward its
protagonist is complex, neither whole-heartedly endorsing nor condemning her
actions. As an example of the adventuress, Lily exhibits the amorality and
materialism one might associate with a villain, but instead she functions more
as an anti-hero whose refusal to play by the rules makes sense when the game is
so outrageously rigged against her.
Lily (Barbara Stanwyck) and Chico (Theresa Harris) have a miserable life at the speakeasy run by Lily’s father.
Raised in
a shabby speakeasy and prostituted by her father (Robert Barrat) from the age
of 14, Lily spends her nights fending off the advances of drunken customers.
She and her friend, Chico (Theresa Harris), run away to New York City to seek
their fortune, where Lily takes the advice of her philosophical mentor, Mr.
Cragg (Alphonse Ethier), to use men in order to get wealth and opportunity for
herself. She starts in the employment office at a large bank, where she works
her way through a series of lovers who can provide better jobs, clothes, and
apartments until she becomes embroiled in a scandal that forces her to relocate
to Paris, where her apparent reformation attracts the admiration of the new bank
president, Courtland Trenholm (George Brent). Unfortunately for Courtland, his
tenure at the bank coincides with disastrous mismanagement, which tests Lily’s ability
to value love over her own financial security.
Lily and Chico arrive in New York City and start looking for opportunities to improve their situation.
The censors
might have clutched their Bibles over the brazen behavior of such a Jezebel, and
in a different movie – say, The Women (1939) – a character like Lily
might be branded an evil adventuress and destined for rejection, scorn, and punishment.
The term “adventuress” dates from the 18th century and refers to a
woman who advances herself through unscrupulous (i.e. sexual) means. While a
male “adventurer” is seen as a brave explorer, even if he seeks wealth and
reputation for his own gain, a female “adventuress” defies patriarchal gender
norms with her ambition, interest in wealth and or power, and her willingness
to trade sexual favors in order to attain them. Lily is very much a classic
adventuress in many respects. She makes remarkable speed through her lovers,
encouraging and then discarding at least five that we see before she meets
Courtland, which puts her well beyond many of her cinematic sisters and into
the literary territory of infamous 18th-century examples like Moll
Flanders (1722), Roxana (1724), and Fanny Hill (1748), all of
whom rattled the censorious moralists of their day, too. Lily even causes a
murder-suicide when one of her former lovers can’t accept his dismissal, which
only seems to bother her because it requires her to navigate the subsequent scandal.
Her last-minute reformation in either version of the ending can’t undo her
earlier actions, and both versions seem to let her off easy by taking her money
but leaving her with less tangible rewards intact.
One of Lily’s lovers is played by a very young John Wayne.
Those
endings make more sense if we think about Lily’s role as more anti-hero than
villain. The most famous example of the adventuress as anti-hero is Becky Sharp
in William Makepeace Thackeray’s 19th-century novel, Vanity Fair,
which is pointedly subtitled A Novel without a Hero. Lily is no hero,
either, and she has many characteristics in common with Becky, but Lily
ultimately comes across as a more sympathetic figure. From the beginning, we
understand that Lily has been born into a hard life without opportunities or parental
protection, and there is really no question of her trying to make the best of
her nightmarish situation after her own father prostitutes her to his
customers. Becky shows only the rarest flashes of kindness toward her supposed
friend, Amelia, but Lily demonstrates early and constant friendship for Chico, even
though the pair adopt the roles of mistress and maid in New York. Lily might be
called a homewrecker for her affairs with married and engaged men, but she
never seduces any man who isn’t eager to accept her offer, even as they imagine
her to be more virtuous and innocent than she really is. Lily’s lovers don’t
seem concerned that they are cheating on their wives and possibly ruining the
reputation of a young woman, so it’s impossible to see them as innocent
victims. The scene in which Lily faces the bank board after the murder-suicide
accurately depicts the world she inhabits, where cabals of old white men have
all the power. We can’t blame Lily for trying to play them in order to get a
tiny portion of their wealth for herself, and Courtland doesn’t seem to blame
her, either, even though it’s his job to prevent her from fleecing the bank.
Lily and Courtland fall for each other, although Courtland knows about her
past, mainly because they’re both players, and it’s Lily who introduces the
idea of marriage as opposed to a prolonged affair. Lily’s final reformation in
the pre-release cut might seem sudden, but we know that Courtland has been
different from the other men in her life from their very first meeting, so if
any man is going to be worth more to her than her money it has to be him. The
ambiguity of the pre-release ending lets us imagine what ultimately happens to
the couple instead of insisting on a specific outcome, so Lily and Courtland
can have whatever ending the viewer thinks they deserve.
When the bank blames Courtland (George Brent) for its problems, Lily has to choose between her money and her husband.
Sadly, the
arrival of heavy-handed Code enforcement in 1934 would make stories like Baby
Face harder to find in the ensuing decades, but plenty of other Pre-Code
movies offer great examples. See Jean Harlow in Red-Headed Woman (1932)
and Mae West in She Done Him Wrong (1933) for more of Pre-Code’s
sexually transgressive adventuresses. For more of Barbara Stanwyck’s early
roles, see Night Nurse (1931), Shopworn (1932), and Ladies
They Talk About (1933). Stanwyck went on to earn Best Actress Oscar
nominations for Stella Dallas (1937), Ball of Fire (1941), Double
Indemnity (1944), and Sorry, Wrong Number (1948), but she never won.
For more of the great but often uncredited Theresa Harris, try Hold Your Man
(1933), The Flame of New Orleans (1941), and I Walked with a Zombie
(1943).
Vera Zorina was born Eva Brigitta Hartwig in Berlin,
Germany, on January 2, 1917. Her parents, Fritz and Abigail “Billie” Hartwig
were professional singers.
Zorina grew up in the coastal town of Kristiansund, Norway,
where she began her dancing career at Festiviteten, the local theatre. Zorina
fell in love with ballet at an early age, reportedly taking her ballet slippers
to bed with her at the age of two. By age four, she was performing locally. She
studied at the Lyceum for Girls in Berlin and trained in dance under Olga
Preobrajenska and Nicholas Legat.
When she was 12 years old, Max Reinhardt cast her in a 1929
production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream,
followed by a 1931 production of Tales of
Hoffman. She was invited to join the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo in 1933,
upon which she took on the stage name of Vera Zorina. The company wanted her to
perform under a Russian name. Of the 20 names they suggested, the one she
settled on was the only one she could pronounce.
Zorina carried out the lead role in a London production of On Your Toes (1937), where she was
spotted by film producer Samuel Goldwyn. He signed her to a seven-year
contract, initiating her Hollywood film career.
Over the years, Zorina’s film performances included roles in
The Goldwyn Follies (1938), On Your Toes (1939), I Was an Adventuress (1940), Louisiana Purchase (1941), Star Spangled Rhythm (1942), and Follow the Boys (1944). Her final film
role was in Lover Come Back (1946).
In 1938, Zorina married choreographer George Balanchine. She
appeared in productions he choreographed until their divorce in 1946. In the
same year, she married Goddard Lieberson, president of Columbia Records. They
had two sons: Peter and Jonathan. They divorced in 1977.
Zorina continued her stage career with productions of I Married an Angel (1938), The Tempest (1945), and Joan of Arc at the Stake (1948). She
directed a production of Cabaret in
1968 at the Oslo Nye Teater in Oslo, Norway. She was appointed director of the
Norwegian National Opera and Ballet in the 1970s but ultimately left the role
due to her husband’s illness. Her final stage performance was in Perséphone
with the New York City Ballet in 1982.
Zorina was active as a director and adviser with Lincoln
Center and directed operas at the Santa Fe Opera once she moved to New Mexico.
She also published an autobiography in 1986 entitled Zorina. Additionally, she remained committed to her Catholic faith
and was an Oblate of the Benedictine Order.
Zorina’s final marriage was to harpsichordist Paul Wolfe.
They remained married until her passing in 2003. Her cause of death was
undisclosed. She was 86 years old.
Today, some points of interest relating to Zorina’s life
remain.
In 1943, she lived at 120 East End Ave., New York, New York.
This building stands.
120 East End Ave., New York City
By 1961, she lived at 247 E. 61st St., New York,
New York, which also remains.
247 E. 61st St., New York City
In her later years, she resided at 22 Camino Caruso, Santa
Fe, New Mexico. The ranch also stands today.
Annette Bochenek, Ph.D., is a film historian, professor, and avid scholar of Hollywood’s Golden Age. She manages the “Hometowns to Hollywood” blog, in which she profiles her trips to the hometowns of classic Hollywood stars. She has also been featured on the popular classic film-oriented television network, Turner Classic Movies. A regular columnist for Classic Movie Hub, her articles have appeared in TCM Backlot, Silent Film Quarterly, Nostalgia Digest, The Dark Pages Film Noir Newsletter, and Chicago Art Deco Society Magazine.
Once or twice a year I pay tribute to Western filmmakers in
this column via sharing visits to their final resting places.
I’ve been privileged to visit these sites, located
throughout the Los Angeles area and beyond, over a period of several years.
It’s my hope that these photographic tributes enable
far-flung readers to join me in reflecting on what each person’s work has
contributed to the Western genre. They may no longer be with us, but
thanks to film their work lives on.
Earlier this year I attended a family funeral at Forest
Lawn Cypress in Cypress, California. Before departing the cemetery I
stopped by the gravesite of cowboy star Ken Maynard to pay my respects.
Maynard’s Western career began in the silents and continued
through 1944, with a couple additional films in the early ’70s, not long before
his 1973 passing. I most recently watched Maynard in The Fiddlin’
Buckaroo (1933) at this year’s Lone Pine Film
Festival.
Ken Maynard’s younger brother was cowboy actor Kermit
Maynard, who is buried at Valhalla Memorial Park in North Hollywood.
While I have not yet been to Kermit Maynard’s burial place, I’ve visited a
memorial plaque for famed stuntman extraordinaire Yakima Canutt at Valhalla.
Canutt’s stunts include the “under the horses” scene in John Ford’s Stagecoach
(1939).
Also at Valhalla is actress Martha Vickers. Vickers’
most famous role was as Carmen Sternwood in The Big Sleep (1946),
but her last feature film was a “B” Western I love, Four Fast
Guns (1960). I wrote about it here in a 2020 column on “Hidden Gems.”
Vickers, who was at one point married to producer A.C.
Lyles and then actor Mickey Rooney, is buried under her final married name,
Rojas.
Vickers’ first husband, A.C. Lyles, is at Westwood Memorial
Park in Westwood, California. Lyles lived to 95 and was a popular figure
in Hollywood. I recall seeing him walk by, looking quite dapper, as I stood in
line at the 2012 TCM Classic Film Festival the year before he
passed.
Lyles may be best known by Western fans for his ’60s series
of what are sometimes affectionately called “Geezer Westerns,”
utilizing the great talents of beloved, if then slightly over-the-hill, stars
such as Scott Brady, Dale Robertson, Virginia Mayo, Yvonne de Carlo, Dana
Andrews, Rory Calhoun, Howard Keel, Jane Russell, and many more.
A number of other actors are interred at Westwood. There’s
a memorial bench for actor James Coburn near Lyles’ bench. Coburn was one
of the stars of Ride Lonesome (1959), which I wrote about in
my very first column here back in 2018. Ride
Lonesome is one of my all-time favorite movies. Coburn’s Westerns also
included The Magnificent Seven (1960).
Jane Greer is also at Westwood, where her plaque has faded
and become difficult to read. She is more closely associated with film noir (Out
of the Past) than Westerns, but the RKO “B” Western Sunset
Pass (1946) was an early role. More significantly, Greer starred
opposite Dick Powell in the “Western noir” Station West (1948).
There’s much more about that film in my columns on “Unexpected Western Leads” and “Noir-Tinged Westerns.”
David Nelson, the son of Ozzie and Harriet Nelson and the
older brother of Rick, is best known for his family’s TV series. That said, he
was in a superb Western, Andre De Toth’s Day of the Outlaw (1959),
which I wrote about here in 2018. He is
also at Westwood Memorial Park.
Our last visit at Westwood is at the final resting place of
actor Brian Keith. The son of actor Robert Keith, Brian Keith appeared in
a number of Westerns over the years. My very favorite is Fort
Dobbs (1958), costarring Clint Walker and Virginia Mayo. It’s a
terrific film which I recommend.
We’ll next stop by Desert Memorial Park in Cathedral City,
California, to pay our respects to James Coburn’s Magnificent Seven
costar, Brad Dexter. Dexter’s other Westerns included The Oklahoman (1957)
with Joel McCrea and Last Train From Gun Hill (1959) starring
Kirk Douglas.
Finally, we stop by Forest Lawn Hollywood Hills to visit
the burial site of Glenn Strange. Strange was in countless movie Westerns, most
of them “B’s,” beginning in 1930, and he also guest-starred in many
TV Westerns. His best-known role was as Sam the Bartender in TV’s Gunsmoke;
he appeared on the show from 1961 until 1973, the year he passed away.
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.
So here you are, a big fan of
century-old-or-older films. You’ve seen dozens of slapstick comedies, romantic
dramas, and exciting epics in the solitude of your own home, and you’re
probably well acquainted with the history behind them, too. Obviously the next
step is to see these wonderful films in their natural habitat: the movie
theater. Happily, silent film screenings aren’t as rare as you think,
especially in cities with a thriving arts scene–but might I suggest you try
attending a silent film festival?
These wonderful curated events have popped up
all over the world in the past few decades, and some have even been an annual
tradition since the 1980s. A number of these festivals last just a day or two,
others last a weekend, and a few prestigious fests have a full week of films
playing from morning until night. Every curation is a bit different, but
thoughtful: some might play the big hits by Chaplin or Fairbanks, while others
focus on rarities or new restorations. Everything is projected at the size and
approximate speed that was intended, and in the best quality possible. In all cases these events are attended by a
happy, knowledgeable and welcoming crowd excited to experience their beloved
films on the big screen–and very often with the magic of live musical
accompaniment.
Having had a number of film festival
experiences under my belt, both close to home and even abroad, I’m always happy
to spread the word about these extraordinary movie lovers’ events. And you just
might find them as addictive as I do!
Silent
Film Festivals 101
Image credit: The Kansas Silent Film Festival
Whether you’re looking for a relaxing,
lightly-programmed weekend of films or a multi-day marathon of rarities,
there’s a perfect silent film festival for you! For me, attending a festival
has always started with asking my film lover friends what events they’d
recommend and doing a bit of research online. I’ve also attended silent movie
screenings close to home and met fellow film enthusiasts who shared their
festival experiences with me–you never know what event will pique your
interest!
Silent film festivals are held annually,
usually during the same time frame every year. A typical festival might start
with, say, a Friday evening program of a short film or two and a couple
features, followed by a full day of films on Saturday and Sunday. Some
festivals have sizable breaks between programs, while others might have
substantial breaks for meals and shorter breaks the rest of the time. Often you
have a choice of buying individual tickets for just a few programs or a special
pass that gives you admission to everything (always the best option in my
opinion). And finally, some festivals are completely free (donations welcome!).
Whatever you choose, keep in mind that one of
the biggest joys of these festivals is the live musical accompaniment.
Distinguished musicians travel from all over the world to play at these events,
whether as individual piano players or in full orchestras. The magic of this
live music is often the part that many viewers enjoy the most.
Planning
Your Trip
Image credit: The Pordenone Silent Film Festival
If you’re within driving distance–let alone
walking distance!–from a film festival’s venue then simply clear your
calendar, see if you need to register for the festival online ahead of time
(and if you should pre-purchase your pass), and you are set! But I suspect that
in many cases you’ll be flying to your destination and will have to plan
accordingly. Some important tips to keep in mind:
How
close is your hotel/B&B to the theater? Some
festivals reserve blocks of rooms in nearby hotels with a discounted rate,
while with some you’re more or less on your own. I’ve done a bit of everything:
staying in an apartment rental a short walk from the theater, staying in a
hostel a couple miles away and taking public transportation, staying with a
friend who would Uber to and from the event with me, and even staying at a
B&B across town and using a bike to get to the venue. Whatever you choose,
keep in mind just how bright and early you want to arrive at those morning
screenings–and how late the last evening screenings will end. (Sleep may be at
a premium some days, but trust me–it will be worth it!)
Are you
travelling internationally? Don’t forget to factor in
the mighty specter of jet lag! I’ve arrived at my destination a couple days
before a festival started, giving myself some time to get over the worst of the
lag and feel more bright-eyed once I arrived at the venue. Keep in mind that
cutting it closer means you might end up missing the first day or so if there’s
airport delays (or one of those European train strikes).
How much
are you planning on seeing? Depending on how full the
festival’s schedule is and how hardcore you are, you might plan on seeing a
handful of films a day or settle in for a full-day marathon (it always goes by
much faster than you’d think, especially with the breaks in between). With
multi-day fests don’t worry about skipping a few screenings to get extra sleep
or head to a restaurant with friends–you’re free to choose your own adventure
and you’ll likely be making new friends along the way. Keep an eye out for
nearby restaurants and snack spots and definitely pinpoint where you can get
caffeine!
A Few
Examples
Here are three very different silent film
festivals that I’ve attended–and adored:
The San Francisco Silent Film Festival– This is a fabulous five-day festival taking place every late spring at San Francisco’s beautiful 1920s-era Castro Theatre. Screenings start late morning and continue until late at night, with breaks ranging from half an hour to an hour between each program. It’s an elegantly-curated event focusing mainly on features from both the U.S and around the world, often newly-restored. Silent comedy, romantic dramas, German Expressionism, French avant-garde, Italian epics–it has a bit of everything. Each screening is preceded by a slide show of relevant stills and background info, has a speaker introducing the film, and is accompanied by top-tier musicians. Passes are a bit pricey but worth the quality of the presentation.
The Kansas Silent Film Festival – This welcoming and completely free (yes, free!) Midwestern festival takes place in Kansas’s capital, Topeka, every February in a concert hall at Washburn University. The hall is a comfortable venue with a space that really enhances the quality of the live accompaniment. It mainly includes the more well-known U.S. silents, which is ideal if you’ve been wanting to experience them on the big screen, and is increasingly featuring off-the-beaten-track films as well. All programs are introduced by a presenter–which I always appreciate–and you can also get a ticket for its annual sitdown dinner accompanied by a lecture from a distinguished guest historian. It’s a delightful event with friendly, laidback people who look forward to it all year.
The Pordenone Silent Film Festival– This is widely regarded as the most prestigious silent film festival and takes place in Pordenone, Italy in early October. Featuring a full week of films ranging from cinema’s earliest days to the end of the silent period, it’s a packed schedule of rarities, new discoveries and the latest restorations playing early morning until late at night. Many historians, archivists, restorers and film fans make it a goal to attend this festival at least once, if not every year. The films are shown at the sleek 2000s-era Teatro Verdi, beautifully presented with pitch-perfect musical accompaniment. Most breaks are brief to make time for longer lunch and dinner breaks. Pordenone itself is a charming city with a pedestrian-only downtown, medieval buildings, and plenty of restaurants (and gelato shops). The pass for the whole experience is amazingly affordable: around $100 for the entire week.
In
Conclusion!
Image credit: The San Francisco Silent Film Festival
I hope this all-too-brief overview whets your
appetite for attending one of these fine events! I now categorize my life as
“before” and “after” I started going to film festivals. They’ve given me more
irreplaceable film watching experiences than I can count, not to mention
opportunities to travel to new places and meet wonderful new people. They are
truly the gifts that keep on giving!
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.
Talking horror films and ‘Pre-Code Essentials’ with co-author Danny Reid
Mention a film made any time from 1930 to 1934 to classic movie fans and see how fast someone practically yells “pre-Code!” The term refers to movies made between 1930-34 when the Motion Picture Production Code was adopted and it conjures images that are sexual, sinful and racy, but also violent and exploitative. It’s not difficult to see why they are such fan favorites.
But being a “stick-in-the-mud,” I felt that while pre-Code defined a time period, not all films made in those years fit the criteria since they weren’t all sexual, sinful and racy. So I admit to always rolling my eyes when a mention of Universal’s 1931Dracula on social media would find many people dubbing it “pre-Code!” without any context. But it made me wonder what horror’s role was in pre-Code cinema.
Clearly my view of pre-Code was narrower than the reality, although Luperi and Reid say they don’t base pre-Code only on the dates, but they define it as a “spirit or a vibe.”
Before we get to a Q&A with Danny Reid, here’s more about the book.
They write about traditional horror films like Frankenstein, Freaks, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,The Most Dangerous Game,King Kong and The Black Cat. And they have other dark and disturbing films that straddle horror (The Sin of Nora Moran is a particularly nightmarish film), along with the unexpected horror musical I Am Suzanne! (In short, it’s about Tony who is so obsessed with a dancer named Suzanne that he re-creates her stage show with puppets after she is injured. “You’ll make a beautiful puppet,” says Tony, who then becomes infatuated with the puppet version of Suzanne. Yes, he’s unhinged – one of the hallmarks of pre-Code cinema.)
Bela Lugosi, left, and Boris Karloff in The Black Cat, a film that evokes such chilling topics as war crimes, rape and necrophilia. (Courtesy Turner Classic Movies)
As I read about all 50 films, I could finally see how horror took “popular” pre-Code themes to the extremes. They didn’t stop at being sexy, for example, they went on to perversity. And it’s explained how the financial success of Dracula set the stage for Universal to make Frankenstein and future horror movies like The Black Cat that utilize pre-Code themes like blasphemy and sadism. However, the fact that Dracula left some audience members “hysterical,” led censors to pay much more attention to horror films to come like Frankenstein.
We learn how the films continue to be relevant today. The themes in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde remain “a window into how sexual frustration, righteousness, and societal pressures can lead to outbursts of violence.” That King Konghas timeless social cues and has yet to be topped despite being remade and revisited so often. And the kinky and daring The Most Dangerous Game influenced material like The Hunger Games, and its influence will only continue to grow with time.
From the TCM/Running Press book Pre-Code Essentials: “James Whale’s first entry into the horror genre still towers above its many imitators, seeking to find connection and communion with our own darker impulses lest we let them destroy us. Frankenstein begs for empathy in a world where only ambition rules.”
I can’t recommend Pre-Code Essentials enough. It taught me a lot about the era, the films and the censoring process. How, for example, once the filmmakers got past the studio censors, they had to deal with the individual states. It’s a wonder these movies were released at all, although much-too-often they were cut in ways that left gaping holes. That history is detailed in an entertaining and easy-to-read style in the book which includes fascinating examples of original letters from censors.
Q&A WITH AUTHOR DANNY REID
Danny Reid found time during a recent book tour to answer
some questions. His answers were so thoughtful that they are included fully
here. Enjoy.
Question: What makes the horror films in your book
“essential” pre-Code movies?
Danny Reid (photo by Aubrey Reid)
Danny: While there were a number of silent films we would now categorize as horror, it really wasn’t considered a genre of its own until the early 1930s. These “thrillers” that emerged from the success of Tod Browning’s Dracula basically saved Universal and set off a gold rush at all of the movie studios. They all varied wildly in tone and craft – Paramount’s were sexy, Warners were moody two-tone Technicolor creations, Fox’s were weird, and Universal’s soon became iconic. Universal and Paramount’s forays are probably the best (sorry Doctor X fans), as they sought to be both horrific and lurid, both studios giving their directors room enough to really craft their films in ways to push boundaries of what could and couldn’t be shown on the screen.
There were a lot of good options to pick from for our book,
but the main ones we hit were innovative in their own regards. James
Whale’s Frankenstein took what Browning had started with Dracula and
perfected it while making enough changes to the source material to make it
exciting and fresh, using silent movie pathos to set the creature apart from
what had come before. Mamoullian’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde goes
a step further, putting you into Jekyll’s shoes quite literally and pushing the
envelope in terms of sex and violence. Freaks turns its camera
back at its purported evidence, challenging assumptions while at the same time
serving as a cautionary tale about arrogance and greed. I Am
Suzanne! is about the interior of a woman’s experience, a wacky
musical that also serves as body horror, a movie that may not have been a
direct inspiration for Black Swan but certainly could have
been. Lastly, The Black Cat is the first film that paired
up Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi, maneuvering both actors with grim determination
over the graves of old Europe in a dreamy and blasphemous tale.
Question: It’s interesting to read (in your book) that
some films were censored simply because they were “too terrifying.” What do you
think censors were afraid of in these instances?
Danny: I think there are a couple of factors here. First, you have to remember a majority of the motion picture audience was women at the time – they were the ones with the time and the money to go to picture shows, and societal panic about what was good for women was a different beast than what it is it today. (Well… maybe not that different.) And, at the same time, there weren’t really ratings systems; you didn’t know what kind of content you were going to get, so you can see how a devoutly religious person may react to how Frankenstein claims the mandate of God or the thinly hinted acts of necrophilia start to become apparent in The Black Cat. Imagine theaters packed full of women and children and then ask yourself, what, exactly, a censor only a couple of generations from the Victorians wouldn’t want them to see or experience, and a lot of these films would fit the bill. The movies were too bold, too sexual, and too exciting.
Question: What is it about Frankenstein that makes it
an essential above the other Universal monster films?
Danny: Frankenstein and many of the Universal Monsters originated in the pre-Code era – Dracula, The Invisible Man, and The Mummy all come from this fertile period at the studio. Dracula is a lurid, dry shocker with a fantastic performance from Bela Lugosi and enough subtext about interclass warfare to still titillate. The Invisible Man, besides likely having the highest body count of any of the monsters, is the embodiment of a power fantasy also spends a great deal of the film completely nude. And The Mummy plays into pagan beliefs and mysticism, asking long, haunting questions about the long-tailed mysteries of human existence.
However, I would argue that Frankenstein is probably the
most influential and shocking of these. Besides the myriad of pointed
censorship it encountered over the years – the girl’s drowning, especially,
whose removal changes the context of the film – the film is very sacrilegious.
It asks pointed questions about man’s responsibilities to God, to nature, and
to each other, and comes away with a deeply pessimistic assessment. Karloff’s
performance is revelatory as The Monster, and his portrayal is the most sympathetic
and humane of all of the other monsters to come out of the era. There’s a
reason Frankenstein got more sequels and spin-offs than his brethren,
even as the character would evolve (and devolve) in fits in starts. When you
say Frankenstein, it’s Karloff’s version you see in your mind.
(I do want to note we had two Universal horrors in our book though – The Black Cat may not have one of the more famous monsters in it, but its censorship history and the interplay between Karloff and Lugosi is absolutely wild!)
In Pre-Code Essentials, we learn that the darker impulses of Mr. Hyde are an “amalgamation of code violations, particularly regarding violence and sex.” Fredric March and Miriam Hopkins are pictured in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
Question: You make the point that despite being
censored, some of the horror films have a lasting legacy and continue to
influence modern cinema, like “King Kong” and “Dr. Jekyll.” Can you talk about
the legacy of pre-Code horror?
Danny: First I wanted to say that I’m back in the U.S. this week and keep looking at theater listings and get excited when I see Frankenstein popping up. It looks like it’s only the new Guillermo Del Toro version, but it’s not uncommon to see a reimagining of the Universal monsters attempt to gather up some steam every decade or so. A lot of these films proved to have fertile ground that could be mined over and over again.
I always think of pre-Code as the films that really defined
what synchronized sound could do for a movie. Don’t get me wrong, there are
films like Nosferatu and Phantom of the Opera that
have some excellent chills, but nowadays we see them with certain soundtracks
and decisions made for home video. The filmmakers in 1930 got to make conscious
decisions about how they wanted to use noise or lack thereof to build tension.
This added dimension gave new atmospheres to film, and gave filmmakers
greater control over the audience’s imagination.
The movies of this time also clearly delineated a path for
elevated horror, where these pictures give social commentary and leave the
audience with sympathies they may not have expected to leave the theater with.
While they were being at the same time as dynamite social commentary films
like I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang, these movies were no less
potent in trying to get their own points across, messages that would be
neutered by endless sequels and the Production Code’s enforcement in 1934. It
would take, in my opinion, decades for horror to recover.
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
and board chair of the Classic
Movie Blog Association. Toni was the president of the former Buffalo
chapter of TCM Backlot and led the offshoot group, Buffalo Classic Movie Buffs.
She is proud to have put Buffalo and its glorious old movie palaces in the
spotlight as the inaugural winner of the TCM in Your Hometown contest. You can
find Toni on Twitter at @toniruberto or on Bluesky at @watchingforever.bsky.social
Around these parts, the 11th month of the year is generally focused on a celebration of all things noir called “Noirvember,” a term that was coined by author Marya Gates back in 2010. And here in the U.S., November, of course, includes a commemoration of the 1621 harvest feast of Plymouth, Massachusetts – Thanksgiving! For this month’s Noir Nook column, I’m serving a mash-up of these two annual events by listing the top five things I’m thankful for in the world of film noir – so grab a plate and a tankard of your favorite beverage, and join me for this trip of shadowy gratitude (and watch your step . . . there are spoilers ahead!).
Barbara Stanwyck Eyes
Barbara Stanwyck, Double Indemnity
Everybody (or almost everybody) has heard
of Bette Davis eyes, but when it comes to film noir, Stanwyck’s eyes have it!
For evidence, I direct your attention to Double Indemnity (1944), which
stars Stanwyck as unhappy housewife Phyllis Dietrichson, who teams with
insurance salesman Walter Neff (Fred MacMurray) to bump off Phyllis’s husband
and collect a cool $100,000 life insurance payout. In this feature (my favorite
noir, in case I hadn’t mentioned that once or two hundred times), Stanwyck’s
eyes are of particular note in the scene where Walter kills Mr. Dietrichson.
The actual murder is not on camera, but Phyllis’s face is – she’s behind the
wheel of her car and her hapless hubby is beside her, with Walter in the back.
As Walter does his deed, Phyllis’s eyes are positively mesmerizing – they’re
colder than frozen marbles, and just as hard; she’s completely unfazed by the
fact that her husband is becoming a member of the dearly departed just inches
away from her. In fact, judging by the very slight smile that curves her lips
when the deed is done, she’s rather pleased by the entire transaction. It’s a visage
that lasts only a few seconds, but it’s one you won’t soon forget.
Robert Walker in Strangers on a Train (1951)
Robert Walker and Farley Granger, Strangers on a Train
I recently revisited this Alfred
Hitchcock-directed gem and, as always, I was struck by the absolute brilliance
of Robert Walker’s performance. In the film, he plays Bruno Anthony, a charismatic
psychopath who proposes to tennis star Guy Haines (Farley Granger) that the two
team up for a “criss cross” crime – wherein each of them will kill someone that
the other would like to be rid of. Unfortunately, Guy realizes all too late
that Bruno wasn’t just whistlin’ Dixie when he pitched this scheme. While there’s
a lot to love about this film, Walker, for my money, is simply a revelation.
Prior to this film, he was probably best known for lightweight comedies like See
Here, Private Hargrove (1944), Her Highness and the Bellboy (1945),
or One Touch of Venus (1948), but – much like the transformation of Dick
Powell from 1930s crooner to 1940s noir tough guy – Walker is like a completely
different performer in Strangers. His Bruno is at once charming and
incredibly frightening, and Walker steals every single scene, whether he’s
chatting pleasantly over a meal on the train, entertaining party guests with
his thoughts on murder, or making his way through an amusement park, casually
bursting a child’s balloon with his cigarette – just because. Sadly, just two
months after the release of Strangers, Walker would be dead (under odd
and mysterious circumstances), but I’ll be forever grateful that he left us
this extraordinary performance to remember him by.
The Delicious Wickedness of Wicked Woman
Beverly Michaels, Richard Egan and Percy Helton, Wicked Woman
I don’t remember exactly when I discovered Wicked
Woman (1953), but I’m so thankful that I did; since my first viewing, this
film has become one of my noir favorites. It stars Beverly Michaels (who would
later marry the film’s director, Russell Rouse) as Billie Nash, a
self-preserving dame who sweeps into a small town at the film’s start and
causes all sorts of mayhem before moving on at the end. Her misdeeds include
having an affair with the beefy husband of her boss and using an unattractive
but besotted apartment house neighbor to secure everything from a pork chop
dinner to free tailoring services and loans that would never be repaid. The
film clocks in at an economical 77 minutes, and not one second is wasted; it’s a
shadowy treat, from the opening theme song, soulfully warbled by cinema’s
“Bronze Buckaroo,” Herb Jeffries; to Michaels’s all-white wardrobe and the indolent
way she saunters from place to place; to the uber-oily character played by the always-great
Percy Helton; to the violent and wholly unexpected climax that has to be seen
to be believed. It’s one of those noirs that you can see again and again and
never get enough.
Detour Dialogue
Tom Neal and Ann Savage, Detour
A low-budget jewel, Detour (1945) focuses
on piano player Al Roberts (Tom Neal), who hitchhikes across the country to
join his girlfriend, who has moved to Hollywood to seek fame and fortune.
Unfortunately for Al, he hitches a ride with a man who mysteriously winds up
dead, and when Al assumes the man’s identity, he picks up a hiker of his own –
Vera (Ann Savage) – who turns out to be his undoing. Vera is one of the
scariest dames in film noir (and outside of it, too, for that matter), but she
spits out some of the best lines around; she’s a sheer joy to behold. Here are
just a few of my favorites:
“I’m not gettin’ sore. But just remember
who’s boss around here. If you shut up and don’t give me any arguments, you’ll
have nothing to worry about. But if you act wise – well, mister, you’ll pop
into jail so fast it’ll give you the bends!”
“Not only don’t you have any scruples, you
don’t have any brains.”
“Life’s like a ball game. You gotta take a
swing at whatever comes along before you wake up and it’s the ninth inning.”
“We’re both alike. Both born in the same
gutter.”
The Ending of The Killing
Sterling Hayden and Coleen Gray, The Killing
Always on my lists of top-notch noirs, The
Killing presents a time-bending tale of a group of disparate criminals who
unite to knock off a racetrack. Ex-con Johnny Clay (Sterling Hayden) is the
architect of the intricately fashioned scheme, but like the best-laid plans of
mice and men, it goes horribly wrong in the end. And speaking of the end, it’s the
last few minutes of The Killing that are among my (many) favorite things
about the movie. After the successful execution of the robbery, an unexpected
and deadly snafu results in Johnny winding up with the stolen money, stuffed
into a battered suitcase. When Johnny meets up with his loyal, long-suffering girlfriend
Fay (Coleen Gray) at the airport, with plans to fly to Boston, it looks like
it’s smooth sailing ahead – but these looks are sadly deceiving. Forced to
check his suitcase (instead of keeping it with him as he’d intended), Johnny watches
with impotent dread as his precariously stacked suitcase falls on the runway,
causing his hard-earned cash to fly through the air like so much confetti. He
tries to leave the airport, but two detectives are hot on his trail, and when Fay
urges him to run, Johnny yields to his fate with a brief, defeated rejoinder:
“Eh. What’s the difference?” (That’s noir for ya.)
What are some of the films, performances, characters, or
moments in film noir that you’re thankful for this season? Leave a comment and
share with the group!
And Happy Thanks-Noirvember-Giving!
…
– 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 a fan
of great Hollywood villains like Boris Karloff and Vincent Price, I’ve always
been fascinated by the brief but brilliant career of Laird Cregar, who died two
months before the release of his final film, Hangover Square (1945). Cregar
chafed at being typecast as a villain, but he had that rare screen presence
that makes for the most enthralling and delicious examples of the role, and his
premature death at only 31 left his tremendous potential largely unrealized. Hangover
Square reteams Cregar with director John Brahm, screenwriter Barré Lyndon, and
costar George Sanders after their work on the previous year’s Jack the Ripper
story, The Lodger (1944). Like The Lodger, Hangover Square
is a moody piece of Gothic noir, loosely adapted from the 1941 novel by Patrick
Hamilton, who also wrote the plays Gas Light (1938) and Rope
(1948), both destined to become cinema classics. Cregar’s last performance,
which plunges deep into an artist’s fractured psyche, is reason alone to see
the picture, but the delirious score by Bernard Herrmann further elevates this originally
undervalued thriller.
Whenever George Harvey Bone (Laird Cregar) hears a jarring, discordant sound, he enters a murderous trance and seeks out a victim.
Cregar
leads as gifted classical composer George Harvey Bone, whose friends encourage
him to finish his concerto in spite of his worrying blackout episodes. George
seems to have a chaste courtship going with his mentor’s daughter, Barbara (Faye
Marlowe), but he’s instantly smitten when he meets the conniving Netta Longdon
(Linda Darnell), who uses George to advance her own singing career. Dr.
Middleton (George Sanders), a psychologist at Scotland Yard, warns George that
the strain of his work is exacerbating his blackouts, but no matter what he
does with his time, George continues to descend into murderous fugues whenever he
hears loud, discordant sounds.
After another blackout, George discovers a knife in his possession, but he can’t remember how he acquired it.
Hangover
Square blends
elements of the thriller, horror, and film noir against its Edwardian London
backdrop to great effect, although it isn’t interested in a supernatural
explanation for its protagonist’s lethal transformations. We know from the
first scene that George Bone is both insane and a murderer, and we also know
that he’s normally kind, sensitive, and even generous to a fault. Like Larry
Talbot in The Wolf Man (1941), George is a good person in the grip of a
terrible curse he has done nothing to deserve, but that doesn’t make him any
less dangerous. Other horror classics have also depicted the sensitive artist as
someone particularly susceptible to monstrous urges as a response to trauma; we
see it in the various iterations of The Phantom of the Opera, especially
in the 1943 version starring Claude Rains, and in House of Wax (1953)
with Vincent Price. George suffers no physical disfigurement, and his black
moods lack the transformative element of a Jekyll and Hyde figure, but discordant
sounds pitch him into homicidal somnambulism that he later cannot remember. Cregar,
repeatedly cast as a villain while yearning for leading man status, perfectly embodies
George’s duality. His wide eyes and stunned expression are the only tools he
needs to convey the character’s psychotic breaks. The horror of George’s
situation lies in his inability to stop himself or protect people he cares
about, like Barbara, from the violence of his involuntary urges. He has not
brought this fate on himself through forbidden scientific experiments or
egotistical ambition; he only wants to pursue his love for music and finish his
concerto, even though Dr. Middleton thinks the music that gives meaning to
George’s life is also a cause of his instability. Middleton advises George to
take a break and experience “normal” life, but the doctor doesn’t understand
that the discordance of “normal” life is really the thing that maddens the acutely
sensitive composer.
Netta (Linda Darnell) toys with George’s affections, little suspecting the lethal madness that lurks inside the mild-mannered composer.
The magnificent
concerto reveals all the turmoil and Romantic sublimity of George’s imagination
thanks to the score by Bernard Herrmann, and it swells to the foreground in the
third act, when George debuts the composition and his mind reaches its final
breaking point. It’s a terrific scene, the fiery culmination of George’s
frantic efforts to compose his magnum opus in spite of Netta and his own shattered
mind. Aptly titled the “Concerto Macabre,” the haunting, delirious piece evokes
George’s yearning as well as his madness and impending doom. It reminds me very
powerfully of Poe’s poem, “The Haunted Palace,” an extended metaphor about the
mind’s descent into madness, where “vast forms… move fantastically/ To a
discordant melody.” It’s difficult to imagine a more impressive example of
musical phantasmagoria, and its legacy speaks to its ability to stir the dark
recesses of an artistic mind. Stephen Sondheim, who first saw Hangover
Square as a teenager, credited the score as an inspiration for his musical,
Sweeney Todd (see this 2004 article in Playbill for a discussion of the movie’s
influence on Sondheim). Herrmann composed iconic scores for other films,
including Citizen Kane (1941), Jane Eyre (1944), Vertigo
(1958), and Psycho (1960), although his only Oscar win was for The
Devil and Daniel Webster (1941). All of those examples share some thematic
elements with Hangover Square, especially yearning, isolation, and
madness, although Hangover Square gives Herrmann’s music special significance
by making the score diegetic in George’s performance of it.
At the debut performance of his concerto, George’s memories return, and he admits to Middleton (George Sanders) that he now recalls all of his terrible actions.
Tragically,
Laird Cregar died of a heart attack brought on by the rapid, extreme weight
loss he pursued during the filming of Hangover Square in order to
achieve his dream of leading man roles. We can only imagine what his career
would have looked like if he had enjoyed the long life of his friend, Vincent
Price, who gave the eulogy at Cregar’s funeral. To see the young star in some of
his earlier performances, look for him in Blood and Sand (1941), I
Wake Up Screaming (1941), This Gun for Hire (1942), and The Black
Swan (1942). For more chills from director John Brahm, see The Undying
Monster (1942). Catch Linda Darnell in another memorable femme fatale role
in Fallen Angel (1945). For another of my favorite films about a brilliant
but tortured composer, see Phantom of the Paradise (1974).
Gloria Dickson was born Thais Lelia Dickerson on August 13, 1917,
in Pocatello, Idaho, to Fred and Emma Dickerson. Gloria also had an older
sister named Doris. Her father worked as an insurance agent until his passing in
1926, upon which she, her mother, and sister moved to California.
While in California, Dickson attended and graduated from Long
Beach Polytechnic High School. It was there that she began acting in her
school’s theatrical productions.
In 1936, she was performing as part of the Federal Theatre
Project—a theater program that was carried out during the Great Depression
years as part of the New Deal to fund entertainment programs in the United
States. She was noticed by a Warner Bros. talent scout, who ultimately signed
her to a film contract. Dickson made her film debut in They Won’t Forget (1937).
Dickson enjoyed an active life early in her career, particularly
enjoying fishing near Catalina Island. She reportedly caught a 632-pound shark
on one of her fishing trips.
Dickson’s career flourished with appearances in Gold Diggers in Paris (1938), On Your Toes (1939), I Want a Divorce (1940), and more.
Gloria Dickson
In 1938, Dickson married notable makeup artist Percival “Perc”
Harry Westmore in Santa Barbara, California. Westmore wanted a more glamorous
image for Dickson, and persuaded her to undergo rhinoplasty. They ultimately
divorced in 1941. In the same year, she married film director Ralph Murphy. The
marriage also ended in divorce by 1944.
In the 1940s, Dickson’s film career waned and she mostly appeared
in B-Movies such as The Affairs of Jimmy
Valentine (1942) and Lady ofBurlesque (1943). She struggled with her
weight and alcoholism, which further complicated her professional and personal
life.
In 1944, Dickson married former boxer William Fitzgerald, to whom
she remained married until her untimely passing. Fitzgerald also once happened
to be a bodyguard for actress Jean Harlow.
Dickson tragically died in a fire on April 10, 1945. She was
residing in a Los Angeles, California, home that she was renting from actor
Sidney Toler. The fire was caused by an unextinguished cigarette that she left
behind. It ignited a chair on the ground floor while she was napping upstairs.
Sadly, she and her pet boxer were found in the bathroom, as it was assumed that
she tried to escape via the bathroom window. She ultimately passed from
asphyxiation and had suffered first- and second-degree burns. She was 27 years
old.
Dickson was buried at Hollywood Forever Cemetery in Los Angeles,
California.
Today, some
points of interest relating to Dickson remain. In 1920, Dickson lived at 1014
N. Arthur Ave., Pocatello, Idaho. In 1930, they lived at 1080 Elm Ave., Long
Beach, California. Both of these homes no longer stand.
In 1932, she
lived at 424A E. 16th St., Long Beach, California. The home remains.
424A E. 16th St., Long Beach, CA
In 1940, she
lived in an apartment at 6626 Franklin Ave., Los Angeles, California, which
also stands.
6626 Franklin Ave., Los Angeles, CA
Dickson
passed in a fire at 1630 Haslam Ter., Los Angeles, California. The home has
been significantly remodeled but remains today.
Annette Bochenek, Ph.D., is a film historian, professor, and avid scholar of Hollywood’s Golden Age. She manages the “Hometowns to Hollywood” blog, in which she profiles her trips to the hometowns of classic Hollywood stars. She has also been featured on the popular classic film-oriented television network, Turner Classic Movies. A regular columnist for Classic Movie Hub, her articles have appeared in TCM Backlot, Silent Film Quarterly, Nostalgia Digest, The Dark Pages Film Noir Newsletter, and Chicago Art Deco Society Magazine.
I previewed the 2025 festival in my column here a few weeks ago. Suffice it to say the festival, which takes place in Lone Pine, California, was as enjoyable as expected. It was packed with special guests, visits to movie locations in the Alabama Hills and elsewhere, and of course movies.
I managed to see nine films at this year’s festival,
including silent Westerns, “B” Westerns, and more.
Most of the movies shown at the festival are filmed in the
Lone Pine area, but occasionally a “non Lone Pine” film is shown in
conjunction with the appearance of a festival guest.
Such was the case with the screening of Bullets
Don’t Argue (1964), a “spaghetti Western” which starred Rod
Cameron. Rod’s son Tony was one of the festival guests. Tony is seen in the
photo below on the left, interviewed by film historian C. Courtney Joyner prior
to the screening.
Tony Cameron and Courtney Joyner
Tony is an articulate speaker with many memories of his
father and his career. Joel McCrea’s grandson Wyatt and his wife Lisa were
among those listening intently to Tony’s interview.
Rob Word, a regular moderator at the Lone Pine Festival, videotaped an interview with Tony a couple of years ago. It can be seen on YouTube, and I highly recommend watching it to get a sense of the kind of men both Rod and Tony were and are. It’s extremely enjoyable.
I wasn’t sure if Bullets Don’t Argue would
be “my kind of movie” but was pulled into trying it due to my liking
of both the Camerons. I’m pleased to say that that the movie turned out to be
perhaps my favorite of the nine films seen at the festival!
There’s some fascinating background to Bullets
Don’t Argue, which was produced by Jolly Films contemporaneously with Clint
Eastwood’s A Fistful of Dollars (1964).
While A Fistful of Dollars was directed by
Sergio Leone, Bullets Don’t Argue was directed by Mario
Caiano, billed as Mike Perkins.
Both films were scored by Ennio Morricone and were
co-photographed by Massimo Dallamano; Dallamano was uncredited on Bullets
Don’t Argue, which was also photographed by Julio Ortas. Both the
cinematography and scoring add a great deal to the movie.
Bullets Don’t Argue was expected to be
the more successful of this pair of Jolly films, as Rod Cameron was the bigger
“name” in the early ’60s, and his movie thus had a somewhat bigger
budget. We all know what happened there…
I saw A Fistful of Dollars for the first
time about a year ago and liked it, though it’s the rare film I didn’t get
around to reviewing. I can thus compare the two and say that while Eastwood was
moving into new Western territory in his film, as the “cool,” taciturn
gunfighter, Bullets Don’t Argue is very much in traditional
Western territory, albeit filmed in Spain with a mostly European cast.
Bullets Don’t Argue is what Western
enthusiasts such as myself like to term a “darn good Western.”
It’s a fairly old-fashioned film, in the sense that you can
see some of the well-worn story beats coming a while away, but its 89 minutes
move along in a brisk, engaging, and likeable fashion. The movie balances some
unexpected creativity and a nice sense of humor with action and moments of
poignance.
The film begins as respected Sheriff Pat Garrett (Cameron)
is marrying pretty (and clearly younger) Martha (Giulia Rubini).
Rod Cameron and Giulia Rubini
While the wedding is taking place, elsewhere in town the
bank is being robbed by the Clanton brothers: smarter, meaner older brother
Billy (Horst Frank) and his goofier, less reliable younger brother George
(Angel Aranda).
Billy orders George to kill the two men who are in the
bank, but when George can’t do it, Billy guns them down in cold blood.
Horst Frank is seen below as Billy; he reminded me a little
of Frank Gorshin.
Horst Frank
Garrett, ever a man of duty, must leave behind his lovely
bride right after the wedding and sets off in search of the Clantons. His
deputies refuse to follow him into Mexico, so from the point he crosses out of
the United States he’s a man on a lonely mission.
Garrett catches up with the Clantons fairly quickly; the
main thrust of the story is his challenges bringing them to justice. Banditos
after the stolen money Garrett’s recovered don’t make things any easier.
Isolated rancher Agnes (Vivi Bach) and her younger brother Mike (Luis Duran) prove to be needed allies to Garrett on multiple occasions.
Ángel Aranda and Vivi Bach
As with many Westerns with familiar plots, the joy of this
film is in how well the story is told. I was frankly bowled over with most
aspects of the film, including the music and cinematography.
I was rather stunned by how much the film reminded me of
some of the Randolph Scott/Budd Boetticher Westerns filmed in Lone Pine.
Cameron, like Scott, is an older, righteous man who dispenses justice wisely,
sometimes with a wry sense of humor.
Like Scott, we’re never really concerned for Cameron’s
character even though he’s older than the men he comes up against; he has
wisdom and savvy based on years of experience. Cameron is completely likeable
in the role, and I found it a real pleasure to discover this part of his long
career for the first time.
Cameron, incidentally, would later play Pat Garrett again
in The Last Movie (1971) directed by Dennis Hopper.
Frank and Aranda are quite good as the Clantons. Billy, the
more bloodthirsty of the two, inexplicably carries and reads from a Bible,
which leads to a beautifully photographed moment late in the film.
Rod Cameron and Angel Aranda
Aranda gradually transforms into someone more likeable who
grows to “see the light” thanks to both Garrett and Agnes. His
evolution is believable, given that he has been under his powerful older
brother’s sway and that his initial instincts were to refuse his brother’s
orders to kill. Garrett’s eventual decision on George’s fate was well received
by this viewer.
Rubini only appears in the film’s opening scenes and is
more of a placeholder character who helps fill in the opening of the story,
while Bach has a much more substantial role as Agnes.
Bach is likeable as brave Agnes, though the character
doesn’t run especially deep. I’ll add that while Rubin has a fairly
“normal” hairstyle, Bach unfortunately has the “bubble
hair” which immediately labels a Western as being from the ’60s.
For other examples of anachronistic ’60s “big
hair” in Westerns see Ruta Lee in The Gun Hawk (1963),
Martha Hyer in The Night of the Grizzly (1966), or Lola
Albright in The Way West (1967). These hairstyles always
scream “made in the ’60s!”
Bullets Don’t Argue has been released on
DVD and at the time of this writing may be streamed on Amazon Prime.
As a postscript to tie this review’s mention of Clint Eastwood back to Lone Pine and the film festival, I refer readers to my 2024 review of Joe Kidd (1972), which was filmed in Lone Pine.
I very much recommend Bullets Don’t Argue – and the Lone Pine Film Festival! I hope to see some of my readers there in 2026.
…
– 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.
