Harry Spear was born Harry Sherman Bonner on December 16,
1921, in Los Angeles, California, to Joseph Bonner and Louise Spear. He was
born at French Hospital in Los Angeles and initially resided at 5619 Fernwood
Ave., Hollywood, California. His father served in the Navy and his mother was a
homemaker. After his parents divorced, his last name was typically listed as
Spear.
Spear worked as a child actor and vaudevillian, appearing in
Educational Pictures shorts in the mid-1920s, including the Tuxedo Comedies and Smith Family shorts. His grandmother, Bertha Spear, managed his
career. He performed in Juvenile Comedies
as a character named Ginger, leading to his nicknames of “Ginger,” “Freckles,”
and “Hard-Boiled Harry.” He also acted in the Buck Jones western, The Flying Horseman (1925).
Spear’s most notable work was in the Our Gang series, making his appearance at age five in Chicken Feed. He initially worked as an
extra until he essentially replaced actor Scooter Lowry, taking over the tough
character’s former role. He typically wore an oversized bowler hat during the
silent era of the series and appeared as a gang leader. When the shorts started
to be produced in sound, actor Jackie Cooper took over the role of the leader,
ultimately replacing Spear. However, Spear did appear in some of the sound
shorts. His final Our Gang appearance
was in Bouncing Babies (1929).
Next, Spear worked in vaudeville and performed a dancing and
monologue routine. He traveled frequently and studied dance, even performing
anecdotes while on the circuit. Though he was offered a contract to work in a
series that paralleled Horatio Alger’s tales, the project did not come to
fruition. By the 1940s, he left the entertainment industry and did not stay in
touch with his Our Gang cohort
members.
Harry Spear, Our Gang
Spear’s whereabouts were a mystery to his peers and fans for
decades. In the mid-1990s, he was traced down as living in San Diego,
California, under his legal name of Harry Bonner. Nonetheless, he continually
denied being Harry Spear of Our Gang fame.
In between his time in entertainment and this rediscovery,
he served as a Chief Petty Officer in the U.S. Navy during World War II, the
Korean War, and the Vietnam War. He enlisted in the Navy in 1942 and was
discharged in 1947. In 1947, he married Roberta Althea Moseley, and the
marriage ultimately ended in divorce. According to the marriage certificate,
this was a second marriage for both him and Roberta. In 1957, he married Thelma May Yamamoto Boner.
He spent his later years freelance writing articles about fishing, a favorite
hobby of his.
Spear passed away from kidney cancer on September 22, 2006,
and consistently denied any connection with the entertainment industry. He was
84 years old. Spear and his wife are at rest in Fort Rosecrans National
Cemetery in San Diego, California. His epitaph initially read, “Forever in Our
Hearts.” Since his wife’s passing, the epitaph now reads, “Together Forever.”
Today, very few tributes to Spear remain, however his final residence stands at 5369 Vergara St., San Diego, California.
Annette Bochenek, 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.
Have you been watching the amazing new original documentary series on Turner Classic Movies called The Power of Film? This riveting six-part series explores some of the most popular and memorable American films of all time. New episodes will premiere every Thursday night through February 8. As someone who is obsessed with classic movies and TCM, I’m in heaven! The episodes are hosted and curated by renowned UCLA professor Howard Suber who organizes the episodes in such a unique way. The series is directed by accomplished documentarian Laura Gabbert, written by filmmaker Doug Pray and Howard Suber, and executive produced by Gabbert and Pray. I so enjoyed chatting with Howard, Laura, and Doug about this excellent series.
Danny Miller: I’m so thrilled that this series exists and that it’s on TCM, the lifeblood for all of us classic movie fanatics.
Laura Gabbert: They’ve been absolute heaven to work with.
Doug Pray: Yeah, they’ve really been great, and so supportive.
I love the organization of this series, centered around the human experience instead of following the chronology in the history of film. Is this the way you taught your courses at UCLA, Howard?
Howard Suber: Yes. I’ve been doing it like this for 50 years!
I wish I had been in your classes. Laura and Doug, I understand both of you were students of Howard’s at some point?
Doug: Yes, and we were actually TAs for Howard at different times. He was and continues to be our mentor so working on this series was kind of like returning home. He definitely had one of the most popular classes at UCLA grad school.
Laura: People would whisper to us, “Don’t even consider leaving school without taking that class!” It was just a different way to think about film.
The use of clips in this series is just masterful. I’d like the three of you to do all the montages from now on that appear on the Academy Awards, please!
(Laughs). Doug, how many clips do you think there are in the show?
Doug: Oh, there are clips from several hundred films, I think, all chosen very carefully by Howard.
What a labor of love! But so effective.
All of the ideas came from Howard. I think the biggest challenge was just trying to navigate 50 years of teaching and breaking it down to six different episodes. If you took all of his lectures, they could probably fill a large barn. So, the hardest process began when Howard started boiling down his themes and principles. It took a long time to say, okay, these are the six days, these are the major themes we’re going to include. There are a lot of great things we learned from Howard that we couldn’t include.
Season Two is writing itself! There were so many concepts I’d never thought of, even in the first two episodes, like the distinctions between fate and destiny and a new way of thinking about movie heroes. Howard, did you feel pressure to include certain movie because they’re universally regarded as “Important Films”?
Howard: I know there are certain films that people expect to see. If I could have, I would have gone all the way to the present and talked about movies like Oppenheimer which I think will probably win big at this year’s Academy Awards. That would have allowed me to go back to the Greeks and look at what so many of these Big Stories have in common: they follow a pattern of a single character around whom all the action revolves.
I love your discussions in the series about films that are long-lasting versus the flashes in the pan. There were so many emotional “trigger points” for me, I think I burst into tears four different times in the second episode alone. It doesn’t matter what I’m doing, if I see even five seconds of that final scene in The Miracle Worker, I am bawling like a baby. The same thing with the scene when they empty the money on the table in It’s a Wonderful Life. Instant emotion, talk about the “power of film!”
Laura: So true. One of the things we loved doing in this series (and being in Howard’s classes!) was looking at patterns. You might have a horror movie next to a comedy next to a romance next to an action film next to a buddy film. And Howard looks for those patterns that go across all of them. It’s so interesting to us when he compares the endings of very different movies. Nobody would think of those two films together but as soon as you get into Howard’s way of thinking about film, you think, “Oh my God, that makes so much sense!”
Doug: And then you can go even further and look at the endings of so many memorable stories, even before film, in books, plays, Shakespeare. It’s that kind of universality that we were after, and I think that’s what we’re most proud of in this series, that it gets you thinking about the power of storytelling in general which applies to everything. Laura and I make documentaries, and it definitely applies to that as well, really every genre and every form of storytelling.
Were there certain types of films you felt it important to expose people to, maybe for the first time?
Howard: Oh sure, many. I’m glad we were able to include Chaplin’s The Gold Rush. For the last 30 years or so I’ve taught only graduate students who are usually quite knowledgeable about film history. But still, many of them have never seen Chaplin.
Oy.
I remember one of the first classes I ever did over 50 years ago was a seminar entirely devoted to Citizen Kane. But students today? Most are simply not interested. That film has moved down to #48 on the IMDB list of greatest films. Sometimes I think that the arts are like the stock market. Some go up, some go down, and once they’re down, they don’t usually go back up. But, to be honest, I’m not one of those professors who tells students, “You really have to see Citizen Kane,” or any other film. The history of art is like everything else in society. People move on, new stuff comes along. And there are only so many hours in a person’s day, let alone for their education. So, by today’s standards, a lot of people think Citizen Kane is boring.
Ugh, this is why I’d be a horrible college professor. I’d be screaming at them, “You’re wrong! Watch that movie, idiots!”
(Laughs.) Well, if somebody tells me they think something is boring, it’s not worth it to argue with them. I’m just going to move on to something they might enjoy and think is good. If you argue with them, it’s a lost cause!
Yeah, even in the classic film community, nothing gets people going more than the idea of someone saying “THIS is the greatest film ever made!” I’m always like, “Um…no, it’s not.”
Laura: One of the things that Howard used to do in his classes was look for something that was coming out that week or month and we’d really analyze that film and whether it was something that we thought was worth our time and would stand the test of time.
Doug: Right. So, for example, when I was in grad school with Howard, we watched Schindler’s List. Then we looked at the original text and then also back at the movie. I think that kind of approach keeps young people energized. We were definitely learning about older, classic movies, but one of the best things about the class is that we were looking at everything.
One of the things I love most about TCM’s annual Classic Film Festival in Hollywood is seeing people of all ages and background there, just loving these movies. Is one of your hopes with this series that people will see these clips and then want to watch many of these films in their entirety?
Laura. Absolutely. We hope it’ll pique their interest in these films. There are many young people who have never seen The Godfather, for example.
Doug: Yes, that is definitely one of our goals. I think this series goes a long way in reframing a lot of these old movies for younger people. We hope some will think, “Oh, maybe I do need to check that out” after they see a film talked about in the same context as one that they love.
I hope this series becomes a gateway drug for a lot of people. I remember one of my gateways into classic film was the annual showing of The Wizard of Oz on TV back in my childhood. They used to have different hosts for it. It really made a big impression on me. We waited all year for it, like a holiday.
Oh, yeah. Episode 6 ends with The Wizard of Oz. It brings together all of the themes that Howard explores in the series.
Before we go, if I dare to ask the dreaded “favorite film” question, which I personally loathe because my list changes by the hour, are there any titles you’d immediately mention?
Blade Runner.
Howard: I usually say I have two: The Godfather and Singin’ in the Rain.
Nice.
Laura: Singin’ in the Rain is probably in my top two as well. I’d also have to mention The Graduate.
Howard: I love that film, too. I did an analysis of that movie for Criterion when laserdiscs first started.
Howard, did I detect a rare moment of personal bias when you mentioned the main character of that film in one of the episodes?
Ha, yes you did. I had to watch that film so many times to do the voiceover for Criterion. And one day it just occurred to me: Benjamin Braddock is a real jerk! (Laughs.) I mean, what redeeming qualities does he have? Is is smart? Is he funny? Not intentionally!
Laura: But the film works anyway, right?
Howard: Oh, definitely.
I love that you included that ending with Benjamin and Elaine on the bus. You could do a whole episode on that scene alone, and how everyone interprets it differently. I once heard Mike Nichols say that it only happened because he decided to keep the camera running and Dustin Hoffman and Katharine Ross didn’t really know what to do. But the moment has inspired many deep interpretations and fights between couples.
There it is…the power of film!
Watch The Power of Film on Thursday nights on Turner Classic Movies.
It’s hard to believe, but it’s been a full year since this column last spent time looking at Western locations outside Lone Pine, California.
As many readers will be aware, hundreds of Westerns were
filmed in the Alabama Hills and other areas surrounding the small town of Lone
Pine, California, located on Highway 395 a couple hundred miles north of Los
Angeles.
Alabama Hills
I’m typically in Lone Pine a couple times a year, and my
visits usually include exploring a few movie locations outside town. Most of
the Alabama Hills photos in this article were taken during my visits in the
2022 and 2023.
Forrest Tucker stood at a mine in the movie which can be
seen in this scene:
As can be slightly seen from the screenshot, he’s actually
standing in a dip in the ground which is still there today, next to the low
rock in the front right of this photo. The “mine” front was built
over the rock.
Here are Scott and Tucker in a scene from the film:
Randolph Scott and Forrest Tucker
And here my husband Doug poses with the same rocks in the
background. It’s fun to line up what we’re looking at standing in the hills
with screen shots and realize when we’re in the right place!
Next we’ll visit a location from another Randolph Scott
film, Ride Lonesome (1959), which was directed by Budd
Boetticher. I’ve previously shared the campsite location which opens the film.
Here’s a screenshot of the isolated stagecoach station in the distance:
And here’s that location today. Compare the rocks in the
background, including the large rounded section.
And from Scott and Boetticher’s 7 Men From Now (1956)
we have a fun comparison shot. At the top is Scott confronting Lee Marvin for
the climactic gunfight. At the bottom my husband is standing in the same spot.
We happened to have a toy rifle which belonged to one of our sons which he used
to recreate the shot.
Next we’ll pay a quick visit to Yellow Sky (1948),
another film I’ve shared location photos from in the past. Yellow Sky starred
Gregory Peck and Richard Widmark, directed by William Wellman. Here’s a
screenshot of Anne Baxter aiming a rifle through a triangle in some rocks:
Here’s the triangle today, including a closeup with members
of a tour group visible through the hole:
Another favorite Lone Pine Western is Henry Hathaway’s Rawhide (1951), starring Tyrone Power and Susan Hayward.
My husband put together a spiral-bound screenshot notebook
of places we wanted to track down. When Power and Hayward are sitting in the
station doorway in the last scene of the movie, they were approximately where
the notebook is being held, looking toward the rocks in the background of our
photo.
And here’s a fun comparison shot with Doug standing
approximately where Power stands in another scene in the movie.
The Alabama Hills is an endlessly fascinating spot for
Western fans. There are many resources available to help find locations, and
the annual October film festival features many tours by experienced guides. I
encourage anyone interested to make the trek to Lone Pine!
Alabama Hills
For additional Western RoundUp columns on Lone Pine locations, including previous location photos from Ride Lonesome,Yellow Sky, and Rawhide, please visit my columns from 2018, 2021, and 2023.
The photographs and screenshots accompanying this article are from the author’s personal collection.
…
– Laura Grieve for Classic Movie Hub
Laura can be found at her blog, Laura’s Miscellaneous Musings, where she’s been writing about movies since 2005, and on Twitter at @LaurasMiscMovie. A lifelong film fan, Laura loves the classics including Disney, Film Noir, Musicals, and Westerns. She regularly covers Southern California classic film festivals. Laura will scribe on all things western at the ‘Western RoundUp’ for CMH.
In 1928, the great star John Gilbert wrote in an article for Photoplay: “Have any of you ever gone through an experience at school, or at college, or while in love, or while on a farm, or in the mountains, or exploring, or on a boat, or somewhere which has been so filled with happiness and work and harmony and well directed effort that you never hope or dream of such a thing reoccurring? If you have, you will understand just how I feel about The Big Parade. It can never happen again.” One of the biggest box office hits of the entire silent era (some sources claim it was the biggest), the World War I epic The Big Parade had a bit of everything: drama, romance, comedy, action, realism, and most of all, respect for the historical events it was trying to recreate–less than ten years after the fact.
The Big Parade was the passion project of the great director King Vidor. A mere decade earlier he and his wife Florence (who was an actress) had arrived in Hollywood practically penniless, but excited to work in a thriving new industry. Vidor’s experience as a photographer and cameraman eventually led to directing jobs, and after making a name for himself he had become an MGM director.
Mainly specializing in lower-tier romantic
dramas and Christian Science-themed films at the time, Vidor was longing to
make something truly great. He took the possibilities of the motion picture
very seriously, even publishing a manifesto of sorts in 1920 stating:
“I believe in the motion picture that carries a message to humanity.
“I believe in the picture that will help humanity to free itself from the shackles of fear and suffering that have so long bound it in chains.
“I will not knowingly produce a picture that contains anything that I do not believe to be absolutely true to human nature, anything that could injure anyone or anything unclean in thought or action.”
King Vidor and his second wife, Eleanor Boardman.
While discussing ideas with MGM producer Irving Thalberg, Vidor suggested making a war film. He wanted it to be from the viewpoint of common soldiers, feeling too many earlier war films had revolved around “officers in their shiny boots and tailored uniforms”. Thalberg recommended he work with writer Laurence Stallings, one of the authors of the Broadway play What Price Glory?and a WWI veteran. The result was an intimate story of ordinary people, without the usual villainous Huns and idealized heroes that abounded in propaganda films from the war era itself.
Left to right: Tom O’Brien, Karl Dane, John Gilbert and Renée Adorée
Thalberg decreed that the lead actor would be
matinee idol John Gilbert, who was happy for the chance to stretch his acting
skills. Vidor wasn’t enthralled at
first, since he’d worked with Gilbert before and frequently clashed with him on
set. But any old resentments quickly disappeared once the new picture was
underway. Vidor would later marvel at how in tune he and Gilbert became:
“Gilbert never read the script of The Big
Parade, and there were other actors of the period like that. They had faith
and confidence in you…I actually remember moments when I didn’t say a thing.
I’d just have a quick thought and Gilbert would react to it.”
French actress Renée Adorée played Melisande,
the love interest of Gilbert’s Jim Apperson. The two were already well-matched,
having been in three prior films together. Adorée was quick to improvise and
offer suggestions on “bits of business,” as the saying went. Gilbert fondly
recalled their scene where Jim gives Melisande some chewing gum: “Only a
suggestion was offered in the script, and no one really knew what would happen.
Cameras started and away we went. Minute after minute; impromptu; inspired;
both Renee and me, guided by some unseen power, expressing beauty.”
Vidor was determined to make the film feel
authentic, drawing on his own experiences attending a military academy and the
Hollywood Officers’ Training Camp. He obsessively watched hours of Signal Corps
footage and had two WWI vets act as advisors. Veterans were also recruited to
serve as extras–no doubt a rather surreal experience for them. Huge quantities
of explosives were used for the battle scenes, giving them a gritty,
frightening realism.
The craving for authenticity was balanced by
Vidor’s belief that some artistry should be allowed in period pictures. For
instance, the slow pace of the harrowing Belleau Wood sequence was inspired by
footage of soldiers carrying a flag-draped coffin. Vidor recorded the pacing
with a metronome and had a drummer play it on location. Vidor recalled some of
the extras “wondered what the hell I was up to. One of them, an Englishman,
asked if he was in some bloody ballet.” The result is arguably one of those
most memorable sequences in silent cinema.
It’s rivaled by two other iconic battlefield
scenes. One shows Jim, shot in the leg during a battle, crawling into a shell
hole and finding a mortally wounded German soldier. The soldier asks for a
cigarette and Jim obliges. Soon he looks over to see the German has died, and
taking the still-lit cigarette, he finishes it himself. In the other scene, Jim
is tormented by his orders to stay put in a shell hole while his friend is in
danger. He finally rages: “Waiting! Orders! Mud! Stinking stiffs! What the hell
do we get out of this war anyway!” Depicting this kind of anger would never
have flown during the WWI era itself, but just enough time had passed for it to
be allowable–and in retrospect, understandable.
While it didn’t flinch away from portraying
the tragedies of the war, The Big Parade did
have plenty of heart and touches of light comedy. Veterans who went to
screenings got kicks out of the details of life in training and in the camps,
which a writer from The Outlook described
warmly: “Little touches–even to the cow stable–the haymow and manure pile
thereof! It made me ache to see those buddies getting it off their shoes. As
for the company mess–well, you could actually smell those beans and that
amazing coffee, so useful in getting gravy or grease off your mess kit…”
The passion that went into making The Big Parade was repaid many times over. It would be MGM’s biggest success until Gone With the Wind(1939), and a milestone in 1920s popular culture. Happily, it survives in excellent quality, waiting for anyone curious to see the film that moved John Gilbert to write: “No reward will ever be so great as having been a part of The Big Parade. It was the highpoint of my career. All that has followed is balderdash.”
–
Most of the quotes are from Kevin Brownlow’s amazing book The War, the West, and the Wilderness – highly recommended reading. Additional Gilbert quotes were from the September 1928 article “Jack Gilbert Writes His Own Story” for Photoplay.
Lea Stans is a born-and-raised Minnesotan with a degree in English and an obsessive interest in the silent film era (which she largely blames on Buster Keaton). In addition to blogging about her passion at her site Silent-ology, she is a columnist for the Silent Film Quarterly and has also written for The Keaton Chronicle.
Ripped From the Headlines – While the City Sleeps (1956)
Most classic movie fans are well acquainted with the
Barrymore acting clan, which began with Maurice Barrymore and Georgiana Drew,
and continued down the line to Drew Barrymore. Sandwiched somewhere in there
was John Drew Barrymore – John Barrymore’s son and Drew’s father – who had a
minor career that spanned two decades in both feature films and TV productions.
One of his best was While the City Sleeps (1956), where he was featured
as a serial murderer known as “The Lipstick Killer.”
While the City Sleeps was based on a 1953 novel called The Bloody Spur, by Charles Einstein, and centered on several journalists at the Kyne News Service who are competing for the job of executive director by trying to be the first to solve a series of killings. The film stars Dana Andrews as television anchor Edward Mobley, George Sanders as wire service manager Mark Loving, Thomas Mitchell as newspaper editor John Day, James Craig as photo service editor Harry Kritzer, and Ida Lupino as reporter Mildred Donner. Like the novel, the film alternates between the cutthroat antics of the journalists and the gruesome killings that have the city gripped in a vise of fear and paranoia.
While the City Sleeps was directed by Fritz Lang, who had previously helmed such noirs as Woman in the Window (1944), Scarlet Street (1945), and The Big Heat (1953).
Einstein was inspired by a case involving three murders in Chicago during the mid-1940s. In 1945, two women – Josephine Ross and Frances Brown — were found brutally killed in their homes; on the wall of Brown’s apartment, police found written in lipstick, “For heavens’ sake catch me before I kill more. I cannot control myself.” A few weeks after the second murder, a six-year-old girl, Suzanne Degnan, was taken from her home on the city’s North Side; her dismembered body was found several days after her disappearance. The city’s newspapers dubbed the perpetrator as “The Lipstick Killer.”
After pursuing the killer for six months, police arrested
17-year-old William Heirens, who was found at the scene of a burglary in the
neighborhood where the little girl lived. It turned out that Heirens had been
breaking into houses for several years, as a “hobby” that he indulged in to
relieve the tension caused by his parents’ frequent arguments. The stolen items
he collected ranged from guns to handkerchiefs. After attending two youth
detention centers, he was found to be an superb student; he skipped his senior
year of high school and enrolled as an engineering major at the University of
Chicago. He was a student there at the time of his arrest.
Dana Andrews, Thomas Mitchell and Vincent Price
Heirens was charged with murder after police determined that
his fingerprints had been found on a ransom note at the Degnan home and local newspapers
reported that Heirens had confessed to the crime. He was then charged with the Ross
and Brown killings; prosecutors claimed to have incriminating evidence against
him for the crimes. In exchange for a guilty plea, Heirens was offered three
consecutive life sentences, and his attorneys advised him to accept the deal.
He did, only to recant a short time later, saying he’d only entered the guilty
plea to avoid a death sentence.
For the rest of his life, Heirens maintained his innocence,
claiming that he’d signed a 19-page confession only after he was sedated by
police. He spent 65 years in prison – one of the longest prison terms served in
U.S. history – dying of complications from diabetes in 2012. During his imprisonment,
he became the first prisoner in Illinois to earn a four-year college degree and
established several prison education programs. Over the years, Heirens sought
his release approximately 30 times; at one hearing, his attorneys charged that
the case had more “prosecutorial misconduct, incompetent defense counsel,
unprecedented prejudicial pretrial publicity, junk science, probably false
confessions and mistaken eyewitness identification than any other case we have
studied.” There were even rumors that the lipstick message had been written by
a reporter after the killing in order to sell more newspapers.
Ida Lupino, director Fritz Lang and Dana Andrews
Directed by Fritz Lang – who had previously helmed such
noirs as Woman in the Window (1944), Scarlet Street (1945), and The
Big Heat (1953) – While the City Sleeps is as much concerned with
the unethical world of yellow journalism and the competition among the
journalists as it is with the actual crime; in one scene, the head of the media
enterprise tells his staff, “I want every woman to be scared silly every time she
puts any lipstick on. Call this baby ‘The Lipstick Killer’, smack across the
front page!” And the tagline on one of the film’s posters announces that the
journalists would “sell out their own mothers” in their attempt to catch the
killer. The film was the second-to-last feature that Lang directed in America;
within two years, he would return to his home country of Germany and direct
four more films there before ending his career in 1960.
If you’re a Fritz Lang fan, a true crime enthusiast, or a
lover of interesting noirs – or you’re simply curious to see John Drew
Barrymore on screen – you’ll want to check out While the City Sleeps.
You only owe it to yourself.
…
– Karen Burroughs Hannsberry for Classic Movie Hub
Karen Burroughs Hannsberry is the author of the Shadows and Satin blog, which focuses on movies and performers from the film noir and pre-Code eras, and the editor-in-chief of The Dark Pages, a bimonthly newsletter devoted to all things film noir. Karen is also the author of two books on film noir – Femme Noir: The Bad Girls of Film and Bad Boys: The Actors of Film Noir. You can follow Karen on Twitter at @TheDarkPages. If you’re interested in learning more about Karen’s books, you can read more about them on amazon here:
Silver Screen Standards: Storms and Silence in The Spiral Staircase (1946)
Gothic atmosphere churns tempestuously in Robert
Siodmak’s 1946 mystery, The Spiral Staircase, with a terrific storm in
the natural world that mirrors the psychological turbulence experienced by both
heroine and killer. This moody, tense thriller teems with menace as an elusive
murderer stalks women with disabilities, but its protagonist, played to great
effect by Dorothy McGuire, is no mere victim, despite her inability to speak.
Ethel Barrymore gives a particularly rich performance as the ailing matriarch
of the fractious Warren family, but the supporting cast is full of iconic
players, including George Brent, Kent Smith, Rhonda Fleming, Elsa Lanchester,
and Sara Allgood. A true classic, The Spiral Staircase rewards repeat
visits once its central mystery has been revealed, leaving the viewer free to
appreciate the themes and performances that elevate the whole beyond the old
dark house genre with which it shares many of its foundational elements.
Professor Warren (George Brent) warns Helen (Dorothy McGuire) to be careful as the number of murdered women increases.
McGuire stars as the silent but capable Helen, a young
woman left unable to speak after an earlier traumatic event. Helen works as a
companion to the elderly, temperamental Mrs. Warren (Ethel Barrymore), who
begins to fear for Helen’s safety as disabled young women in the town turn up
murdered one after another. Mrs. Warren’s affection for Helen is countered by
her disappointment in the younger Warrens, both her stepson, Professor Albert Warren
(George Brent), and her feckless biological son, Steve (Gordon Oliver), who has
returned to the house after a long absence. While Helen attends to Mrs. Warren,
the half-brothers clash constantly, especially over Steve’s romantic pursuit of
Albert’s secretary, Blanche (Rhonda Fleming). Helen’s suitor, Dr. Parry (Kent
Smith), wants to get her away from the Warren house in the belief that
specialists in Boston might be able to restore her speech, but his patients and
the weather conspire to delay Helen’s departure until a violent storm traps her
in the house where a killer lies in wait.
Mrs. Warren might be elderly and infirm, but with Ethel Barrymore in the role she’s a powerful presence.
The storm makes plenty of noise throughout the movie,
but silence also has power, as McGuire’s emotive performance proves. In many
ways it’s a throwback to the silent era, with Helen communicating through
gestures and body language instead of speech. We first see her attending a
silent film screening, which helps to set the era of the story but also
prepares us for McGuire’s performance. In every scene, McGuire keeps us focused
on her heroine without a single line of dialogue, no mean feat in a movie where
everyone else talks. Helen constantly reveals her lively nature, intelligence,
and sense of humor, and she’s never a passive victim or less than a fully
fledged individual. She handles Mrs. Warren with grace and patience, daydreams
about marrying Dr. Parry, and fights for her life when the killer strikes. Of
course, Helen’s forced silence is a crucial plot point because it prevents her
from calling out for help or using the telephone, and it’s her difference that
attracts the deranged killer in the first place. Dr. Parry’s obsession with curing
her seems overbearing and even cruel at times, his excuse being that her
silence is purely psychological and not physical, but modern perspectives on
disability and ableism push back against the idea that Helen needs Dr. Parry to
“fix” her. That critique also exists within the movie, as Steve Warren actually
questions the doctor’s actions, while the insane killer views women like Helen
as deserving of death merely because of their disabilities.
Housekeeper Mrs. Oates (Elsa Lanchester) accompanies Professor Warren to the wine cellars in one of many scenes featuring women holding candles.
In addition to Helen’s psychological trauma, the movie
also probes the causes and effects of the emotional trauma experienced by the
two Warren sons, both of whom were disappointments to their hypermasculine
father. Helen’s childhood suffering when her family died in a fire was acute
and sudden, but Albert and Steve have endured years of emotional neglect and
abuse, and both are damaged by it. Although the late Mr. Warren despised his
sons for their perceived “weakness,” Mrs. Warren perpetuates the abuse in her
treatment of the two men, proving that mothers can be dangerous advocates for
toxic masculinity, too. Throughout the house there are symbols of this deadly
heritage in the form of hunting trophies, especially tigers, all of them
emphasizing a “kill or be killed” attitude toward strength and power. The
troubled history of the Warren family casts a Gothic gloom over the house akin
to that of the House of Usher or Wuthering Heights, and it gives Mrs. Warren’s
warnings to Helen a palpable sense of urgency. Nothing good can happen in this
house full of secrets, shadows, and festering wounds, and the building violence
eventually breaks open like the storm raging overhead. The titular spiral
staircase, a central feature of the Warren house, suggests the twisted hearts
that lie at the center of the story, and we repeatedly see women carrying
candles as they descend into the psychological underworld embodied by the
mansion’s dark cellars. What – and who – they find at the bottom reveals the
extent to which the elder Warrens’ sins have come home to roost. This densely
packed symbolism really merits repeated viewings of the picture so that every
detail and subtle motif can be fully appreciated.
Shadows loom as Helen descends the titular spiral staircase in the Warren family’s mansion.
Don’t try to figure out the killer’s identity based on the eye repeatedly seen in closeup; that voyeuristic orb belongs to director Robert Siodmak himself. You can see more of Siodmak’s work, if not his eye, in Phantom Lady (1944), The Suspect (1944), The Killers (1946), and Criss Cross (1949). Dorothy McGuire also stars in The Enchanted Cottage (1945), A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (1945), and Gentlemen’s Agreement (1947). Stage legend Ethel Barrymore earned her second Oscar nomination for Best Supporting Actress for her role in The Spiral Staircase, having already won the award for None but the Lonely Heart (1944). She would be nominated again for The Paradine Case (1947) and Pinky (1949), but I also really like her in the lesser-known Moss Rose (1947). For a thematic double feature, try pairing The Spiral Staircase with Johnny Belinda (1948), Wait Until Dark (1967), or even the 2018 Best Picture winner, The Shape of Water (2017).
This
month it’s back to Tombstone with a look at Gunfight at the O.K. Corral (1957).
Gunfight at the O.K. Corral was a first-time watch for me, part of my ongoing series of reviews of Wyatt Earp films. Five years ago I covered a trio of Earp movies, Frontier Marshal (1939), Tombstone: The Town Too Tough to Die (1942), and Wichita (1955).
I also wrote a 2021 review of Hour of the Gun (1967), starring James Garner as Earp, and in the spring of 2023 I covered Tombstone (1993), with Kurt Russell in the lead.
In Gunfight at the O.K. Corral the upright Wyatt Earp is played by Burt Lancaster, with Kirk Douglas as a sneering, almost feral Doc Holliday.
Kirk Douglas, Burt Lancaster, John Hudson and DeForest Kelley
Wyatt’s brothers appear in this version of the story only
briefly, played by John Hudson (Virgil), DeForest Kelley (Morgan), and Martin
Milner (James), while Lyle Bettger plays villainous Ike Clanton.
I’ll note at the top that, as with my previous Earp film
reviews, I assume that readers are familiar with the general outlines of the
story of the Earps and the Clantons. I will necessarily indulge in some
spoilers as I critique and compare this film with others.
Those wishing to approach the movie spoiler-free will want
to watch it first and then return to this review. I’ll add here that I watched
an attractive Blu-ray released by Paramount Pictures in 2017, and I recommend
the print.
In this version of the famous story we initially follow
Wyatt Earp as he upholds the law in towns like Fort Griffin, Texas, and Dodge
City, Kansas. Earp runs into Holliday in each place he travels, and in some
cases Holliday travels along with him. Holliday owes Wyatt a debt of honor,
though he also claims not to like him very much.
While in Dodge City Wyatt falls in love with gambler Laura Denbow (Rhonda Fleming), but although they plan a future together, she leaves him when he tells her he’s been urgently summoned to help his brother Virgil (Hudson) in Tombstone. She insists that he hang up his guns and is unwilling countenance to Wyatt having “just one more job,” even if it’s to aid his brother.
Wyatt, of course, feels it’s a matter of family honor that
he must answer his brother’s call for help. The film then comes to a climax in
Tombstone, where Wyatt, Virgil, Morgan, and Doc go up against the Clantons to
avenge the death of young James Earp and stop the Clantons’ reign of terror.
I would class Gunfight at the O.K. Corral as
a “mid-range” Earp film. It was a pleasant enough watch, but while it
wasn’t boring, I also didn’t find it particularly compelling. Indeed, while
it’s watchable, I found it surprisingly colorless.
My husband opined that the movie’s parts are better than
the whole, and I found that apt. Despite being made by top filmmakers,
including an excellent extended supporting cast, this version of the story is
relatively bland, which I attribute in part to a meandering script by novelist
Leon Uris.
The movie struck me as misusing its 122 minutes, moseying
along on the way to the O.K. Corral, with time spent on scenes without
substantial story and character value.
A good example of this is Earp’s confrontation with Sheriff
Cotton Wilson (Frank Faylen) over Wilson not arresting the Clantons, which does
little to propel the actual story forward. Wilson later reappears as a Clanton
henchman and is generally a thorn in Earp’s side, but the character could be
completely excised and the movie wouldn’t miss a beat, especially as many other
scenes depict the frustrations and sacrifices of being a lawman.
Similarly, lovely Rhonda Fleming appears in a few scenes as
Wyatt’s love interest. The fictional Denbow seems to be a stand-in for Wyatt’s
wife, Josephine Marcus, who was played by Dana Delaney in the later Tombstone.
The Wyatt-Laura romance is fairly routine — it’s
incredibly obvious Wyatt will kiss her when he takes her for a buggy ride —
and curiously much of it takes place offscreen. We fade from a Wyatt-Laura kiss
to Wyatt telling Doc they’re getting married. Fleming’s great beauty and spirit
enliven the film, but the filmmakers should have either explored the
relationship in greater detail or cut it. Fleming simply disappears from the
film, with a hopeful throwaway line about her tossed out by Wyatt at the end.
Lancaster is fine as Earp, though he perhaps underplays too
much — or is it that the role is underwritten? Perhaps both.
Douglas, on the other hand, is the most unlikeable Doc
Holliday I’ve ever seen, which was certainly an interesting choice from both
Douglas and the screenwriter.
Douglas’s Holliday is a nasty man, downright abusive to his
mistress, Kate Fisher (a boring, whiny Jo Van Fleet). Actors in other Earp
films have offered wildly contrasting takes on Doc which make clear some of his
varied issues while still keeping him relatively likeable and interesting to
watch. Douglas is neither.
That said, I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve never been
much of a Douglas fan, so his performance may be more appreciated by others.
Dennis Hopper shines as young Billy Clanton, who promises
his mother (Olive Carey) to reform but ultimately feels that it’s a matter of
honor to accompany Ike to the O.K. Corral. It’s a small part, but Hopper is
considerably more “alive” and nuanced than most of the movie’s cast,
and I really appreciated his short but memorable performance.
I also enjoyed John Ireland, who pops up periodically as
hotheaded Johnny Ringo. There’s not much depth to his character, yet I always
find Ireland fun to watch. On the other hand, Kenneth Tobey was sadly
completely underused as Bat Masterson.
The deep cast includes many other great faces, including
Lee Van Cleef, Jack Elam, Earl Holliman, Whit Bissell, Don Castle, and Ted de
Corsia. I really enjoyed seeing each of them pop up in turn, even though they
weren’t all used to full effect.
Gunfight at the O.K. Corral was
directed by John Sturges, who directed some other Westerns I really like,
including Escape From Fort Bravo (1953), Saddle the
Wind (1958), The Law and Jake Wade (1958), and, most
famously, The Magnificent Seven (1960).
Uris based his script on an article by George Scullin. The
movie was filmed by Charles Lang in VistaVision, with Old Tucson standing in
for Tombstone.
Other top talents worked on the film, including costumer
Edith Head and composer Dimitri Tiomkin. The title song, by Tiomkin and Ned
Washington, was sung by Frankie Laine.
In the end, I’d class Gunfight at the O.K. Corral as a “serviceable” entry in the Earp movie canon. There are several stronger versions of this classic Western tale but despite its flaws, it’s reasonably entertaining and worth seeing by Western enthusiasts.
…
– 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.
Jessica Borthwick, A Forgotten Front Lines Filmmaker
We’re all familiar with the adventurous silent
era cameramen who coolly took their equipment into dangerous situations,
whether by trekking Arctic tundras or crossing broiling deserts. The excitement
of capturing actual life led many to take greater and greater risks to find the
most fascinating footage. Soon the most intrepid filmmakers were even tramping
the front lines of war. One of the most surprising personalities who risked
life and limb to capture battlefield footage was Jessica Borthwick, who decided
to film the Second Balkan War at the young age of twenty-two–after only three
days of learning to use a motion picture camera.
A portrait of Borthwick circa 1914.
Likely the first woman to ever capture war
footage, Borthwick’s family connections made the venture possible. Her father
was General George Colville Borthwick, a high-ranking officer in the Turkish
army in Eastern Rumelia, now part of southern Bulgaria. Thanks to him she was
allowed to spend a year traveling with the Bulgarian army, armed with both a
revolver and a remarkable self-reliance.
The Second Balkan War had broken out in the
summer of 1913 when tensions between the Bulgarians, Serbs and Greeks came to a
head. Considering her lack of experience with both location filming and filming in general, we might wonder
why Bothwick decided to turn war photographer. She later explained it was
partly due to “curiosity pure and simple,” and partly due to her deep interest
in the welfare of the Balkans, considering how well known her father was in the
area. In fact, she would discover that everywhere she traveled in Bulgaria she
would be admired as “General Borthwick’s daughter”–a big help during several
tough situations.
An illustration of her famed father.
Her only equipment during the adventure was
one small plate camera for taking still photos and one motion picture camera
designed for her by Arthur Newman. Newman and his business partner James A.
Sinclair were known for their lightweight, reliable cameras, one of which was
the Aeroscope favored by many explorers. Although lacking an assistant, a
proper dark room, an instruction manual, or even decent tools to fix the camera
when it inevitably needed repairs, Borthwick managed to keep it cranking for
the full twelve months.
Described as a slender, youthful-looking gal
whose voice was “deep and like a resonant organ note,” Borthwick was apparently
gifted with nerves of steel. She described the difficulty of trying to set up
her tripod at the various scenes of action, where the action was usually over
by the time she started cranking. While in Macedonia her tripod was smashed by
a shell–luckily both the camera and Borthwick survived intact. While on the
battlefields, she would sometimes salvage working cameras from the dead bodies
of officers, “but most of these I lost again.”
Bulgarian soldiers at the time of the war.
She would also recall witnessing a bad
breakout of cholera in Adrianople, Turkey, where the carts used to haul away
cholera victims and the coffins used to bury them were all painted black. This
lead to a grim experience when a number of citizens noticed Borthwick’s black
box camera and assumed it was some unusual new technology for fighting cholera:
“Quickly surrounding me, they came and knelt upon the ground, kissing my feet
and clothing, and begging with dreadful pathos that I should cure them. It was
a task as sad as it was difficult to explain that their hopes were mistaken,
and that I was impotent to help them.”
Adrianople was also the scene of a more darkly
amusing event. After losing one of the screws from her tripod, Borthwick
attempted to explain to a Turkish officer that she needed a new one. Seeming to
understand her gestures, he hailed a taxi and they drove together across the
city to…a nearby prison. “However,” Borthwick recalled, “I turned the
misconception to advantage by securing some excellent snapshots and having some
very interesting talks with the prisoners. One convict–a German of considerable
education–invited me to go and see him hanged the next morning, and gave me a
souvenir.”
Soldiers at the front at Adrianople.
Another story not only dealt with a language
barrier, but the awkwardness of dealing with camera issues at the time when
many rural areas had never seen one in use. While in a small village in the
Rhodope mountains of southern Bulgaria, Borthwick’s camera broke and she needed
to scramble to create a makeshift dark room so she could open it up without
ruining the film. Coming upon a man making rugs out of sheeps’ wool, she
managed to convince him to cover her with the rugs and in that “unusual and
very stuffy ‘dark room’” was able to save the film–no doubt to the man’s utter
confusion.
Rare shot of Borthwick on horseback among locals in the Rhodope mountains.
Following her year abroad, Borthwick returned
to her home in England with her stockpile of footage, although some of it was
unfortunately ruined by Bulgarian customs authorities. She gave an illustrated
lecture series on the Balkan War in London, although it was less successful
than she hoped and she was sued by her projectionist for a lack of wages. Undaunted,
she then headed to Spitsbergen, Norway where she farmed reindeer and hunted
seals, hoping one day to start a colony “for the cure of consumption and other
diseases.”
World War I interrupted these dreams, and she
would volunteer the use of her steam yacht the Grace Darling to deliver Red Cross supplies and help refugees
escape out of Ostend, Belgium. She then worked as an ambulance driver in
Belgium, eventually being recognized as an honorary corporal for her efforts.
During the last half of the war, she saw a gap in the toy market thanks to the
lack of German imports and started a doll manufacturing business.
Borthwick on the Grace Darling.
Borthwick would spend her later years living
with her mother among the “artsy” set in South Kensington, known for her
sculpting and fondness for pipe smoking. She would arrange concerts of Russian
traditional music and went through a period of promoting herself as a
psychologist. Unfortunately, none of the Balkan War footage she risked so much
to obtain survives today. She would pass away in 1946 of accidental gas
poisoning, a tragic end to a most unusual and adventurous life.
–
Quotes source: “A Girl Cinematographer at the Balkan War: An Interview With Miss Jessica Borthwick.” The Bioscope, May 7, 1914, pages 625 and 627.
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.
Film noir movies have numerous characteristics in common –
voiceover narration, flashbacks, use of shadows and light, unusual camera
angles, anti-heroes, and, of course, the ever-popular femmes fatales.
All noirs, of course, don’t have all of these traits – not
even, contrary to popular belief, the femme fatale. In this month’s Noir Nook,
I’m here to set the record straight by stating unequivocally that a film
doesn’t have to have a femme fatale in order to be a noir – and I’m looking at
five films that prove my point.
The Asphalt Jungle (1950)
Louis Calhern and Marilyn Monroe
This feature stars Sam Jaffe as Doc Reidenschneider, a
recently released ex-convict who corrals a group of men to carry out an
intricately designed jewel heist – only to see the scheme collapse like an
ill-prepared souffle. The others involved in the plan include Dix Handley
(Sterling Hayden), described as a “hooligan” and the muscles of the group;
safecracking expert Louis Ciavelli (Anthony Caruso); Gus Minissi (James
Whitmore), expert driver of the getaway car; and Alonzo Emmerich (Louis
Calhern), the attorney charged with fencing the stolen jewels.
On the distaff side, there are several femmes in the film –
but none are fatal. Doll Conovan (marvelously played by Jean Hagen) is Dix’s wish-she-was
girlfriend. She accepts his off-handed treatment, but she’s unflaggingly loyal
– it’s Doll who cares for Dix when he gets shot and risks her own safety to help
him realize his dream of returning to his cherished home in Kentucky. Then
there’s Angela Phinlay (Marilyn Monroe), the light-hearted girl-toy of Alonzo
Emmerich (whose invalid wife serves as the film’s third female). Angela is
harmless – she just wants to go to Cuba with her “Uncle Lon” and show off her
new bathing suit.
…..
Shadow of a Doubt (1943)
Teresa Wright
Directed by Alfred Hitchcock (and, by all accounts, his
favorite film), this feature centers on Charlotte “Charlie” Newton (Teresa
Wright), who is languishing in the small town of Santa Rosa, California,
bemoaning the fact that nothing exciting ever happens in her life. She gets
more than she bargained for when her beloved Uncle Charlie (Joseph Cotten)
comes to visit, and young Charlie becomes increasingly convinced that her relative
is a murderer.
Loyal and trusting, but also smart and inquisitive, young
Charlie is like a dog with a bone when it comes to ferreting out the truth.
She’s fearless and outspoken, but she’s certainly not fatal. Aside from
Charlie’s precocious younger sister (played by Edna May Wonacott who, as of
this writing, is still with us), the only other female is Charlie’s mother, Emma
Newton (Patricia Collinge), and she is nothing but sweet and loving, unable to
see anything but good in her wicked brother.
…..
Key Largo (1948)
Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart
John Huston helmed this film, starring Humphrey Bogart as Frank
McCloud, a WWII veteran who travels to the title town to meet James and Nora
Templeton, the father (Lionel Barrymore) and widow (Lauren Bacall), of his
deceased war buddy. He arrives at the hotel owned by “Dad” Templeton to
discover that it’s been taken over by a trio of hoods led by the ruthless Johnny
Rocco (Edward G. Robinson).
During the occupation of the hotel by Johnny’s gang, Nora
displays numerous characteristics – she’s caring and thoughtful when it comes
to her father-in-law, warm and welcoming to Frank, fearless and feisty with Johnny.
But spitting in the face of a gangster does not a femme fatale make. Also in the
cast is Johnny’s old flame Gaye Dawn (played by the Oscar-winning Claire
Trevor). A former torch singer who’s now a little too fond of the drink, Gaye is
a pitiable character, treated with disdain by Johnny at best, and unconcealed
contempt at worst.
…..
Phantom Lady (1944)
Ella Raines
Ella Raines stars as Carol “Kansas” Richman, loyal (and
secretly lovestruck) secretary to engineer Scott Henderson (Alan Curtis), who’s
accused, convicted, and sentenced to death for the murder of his wife.
Henderson’s alibi is that he spent the evening in the company of a woman he met
in a bar, who wore a large, distinctive hat, and whose name he never learned.
Problem is, the woman can’t be found and everyone who saw the two together is emphatically
denying it. It’s up to Carol to unearth the evidence to save her boss before
it’s curtains for Mr. Henderson.
Carol is beautiful, intelligent, and persistent, and she
doesn’t let anything stand in her way when it comes to proving her boss’s
innocence. But that’s about it. Nothing nefarious here. An argument could be
made that the “phantom lady” of the film’s title might be considered as the
film’s femme fatale – but I would shoot that argument down like one of those clay
targets after you yell, “Pull!” And the third female in the cast, Estela Monteiro
(credited only as Aurora), is a singer who starred in the performance attended
by Scott on the night of the murder, and who just happened to have a hat
identical to the one worn by the mysterious phantom lady. Estela was no femme
fatale – she was just petty (“No woman wears hats like mine!” she insists. “What
woman besides Monteiro could wear those and not look ridiculous?”).
…..
The Big Combo (1955)
Cornel Wilde and Helene Stanton
This late noir entry depicts a triangle between Mr. Brown
(Richard Conte), a conscienceless mobster; police lieutenant Leonard Diamond
(Cornel Wilde), who is determined to bring Mr. Brown to justice; and Susan
Lowell (Wilde’s then-wife Jean Wallace), who is loved by both men. Despite her longtime
relationship with Mr. Brown, it’s ultimately Susan who helps to topple his
empire.
Fragile and suicidal, Susan is tortured by her relationship
with Mr. Brown and her growing understanding of just how brutal he can be. And
both Mr. Brown and Leonard seem completely incapable of rational thought when
it comes to the beautiful blonde. But Susan is far too weak to ever be
considered a femme fatale. Another female on the scene is Leonard’s part-time
lover (Helene Stanton) who, as a burlesque dancer, certainly looks the part of
a deadly dame, but is merely a tragic figure who loves wisely but not too well.
And then there’s Mr. Brown’s ex-wife, Alicia (Helen Walker), who knows where
the bodies are buried, but is really just another casualty of the cold-blooded
mobster. No femmes fatales here.
————-
Don’t forget – there are no absolutes in film noir, even
when it comes to fatal femmes. So, if you don’t see one in the area, don’t
dismiss a movie from noir consideration.
Femmes fatales aren’t required.
…
– 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:
Set in its own modern day in the wake of World War II,
The House on Telegraph Hill (1951) merges elements of the female Gothic
and film noir to present a gripping story about survival, deception, and
maternal devotion with a rich subtext for viewers to ponder after the final
scene closes. It’s not as celebrated as other noir pictures directed by Robert
Wise, like Born to Kill (1947) and The Set-Up (1949), but it
reflects his ability to handle psychologically complex women’s narratives just
as much as his work on The Curse of the Cat People (1944) and The
Haunting (1963). The endangered heroine in the titular house is, however,
made of stronger stuff than Hill House’s fragile Eleanor, having already
survived the horrors of the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp during the war.
With its subtle treatment of trauma, its shifting loyalties, and its moral
complexity, The House on Telegraph Hill suggests far more than it tells,
making it a movie you need to watch at least twice to appreciate its many
layers.
When we first meet Victoria (Valentina Cortese), she is struggling to survive brutal conditions in the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp.
Italian actress Valentina Cortese stars as Polish
heroine Victoria Kowelska, who assumes the identity of her dead friend, Karin
(Natasha Lytess), in the hope of reaching America and Karin’s young son,
Christopher (Gordon Gebert). After many obstacles, Victoria, now living as
Karin, meets and marries the boy’s legal guardian, Alan Spender (Richard
Basehart), and Victoria moves into the stately San Francisco home that previously
belonged to Karin’s wealthy aunt. Nobody remembers the real Karin to reveal
Victoria’s deception, but her conscience troubles her deeply, as does her
attraction to handsome Marc Bennett (William Lundigan), an American Army Major
at Belsen during the camp’s liberation and also a friend of Alan’s family in
San Francisco. Victoria soon discovers that everyone on Telegraph Hill has
secrets, including her relentlessly attentive husband and the boy’s caretaker,
Margaret (Fay Baker), but some secrets are deadlier than others.
Newlywed Allan (Richard Basehart) introduces his Polish bride to his habit of drinking a glass of orange juice every night before bed.
We often hear the commonplace assertion that war
changes people, but The House on Telegraph Hill makes the change literal
rather than metamorphic by having Victoria abandon her old identity entirely in
order to step into the life Karin might have pursued if she had survived. It
isn’t really necessary to the plot for Victoria to be an imposter because
Alan’s actions are unrelated to her deception, but the extra layer of identity reminds
us of the differences between the original Karin and her replacement. When we
see the real Karin in the Nazi camp, she yearns for her son but is hopeless, passive,
and unable to fight for survival even for his sake. Victoria, however, fights
for both of them, stealing food and medicine for Karin, encouraging her to eat,
and protecting her from the other desperate prisoners. As her name suggests,
Victoria will never admit defeat, and she is determined enough to reach America
despite years of setbacks. While she appears to settle into the pretty clothes
and domestic routines of her American post-war life, Victoria never loses her
survivor’s instinct for danger, and she doesn’t let Alan’s pleasant manner or
Marc’s doubts seduce her into a false sense of safety. Here is a heroine who
cannot be gaslit because her sense of self-preservation has been sharpened by
years of constant use. Karin was a victim, but Victoria prevails, which
ironically makes her a better mother to Christopher, who needs as much fierce maternal
protection as he can get.
As she settles into her home on Telegraph Hill, Victoria begins to suspect that her new life as Karin might not be as safe as she’d hoped.
Wartime experience and duality reverberate through
other aspects of the story, as well. Victoria briefly reveals her home and life
before the war; she had a husband and a beautiful estate before the Nazis took
everything. We see her first as a starving, unwashed prisoner and later in
beautiful gowns with food always around her. The scene of casual abundance at
the grocery store contrasts with the opening when Victoria fights for a meager
bowl of broth to feed her friend. Glasses of orange juice – symbolic of sunny
California life – seem celebratory at first but later turn sinister. Marc first
appears as an American Army officer trying to sort out the human wreckage of
Bergen-Belsen; later he re-enters Victoria’s life as a wealthy civilian lawyer.
Marc provides an alternative to Alan and is also the object of Alan’s envy
because of his family’s greater wealth, and it’s noteworthy that no mention is
made of Alan having served in the war as Marc did. When Victoria eventually
confesses her deception to Marc, their shared knowledge of the concentration
camp makes him sympathetic. He knows what she endured there and why she might
gamble on a new life and identity. Victoria doubles for Karin, but so does
Margaret, who has raised Karin’s son and protected him for years, and the tense
relationship between Victoria and Margaret is much more about Chris than Alan.
In a later decade the story of Victoria and Margaret might have ended with more
resolution about their ultimately common goal, but the best we get in 1951 is
an open ending that suggests some tantalizing possibilities.
Victoria’s domestic situation is further complicated by her attraction to family friend, Marc (William Lundigan), whom she first met during the camp’s liberation.
Richard Basehart and Valentina Cortese must have enjoyed good chemistry offscreen in spite of their characters’ conflict; they married in 1951 and remained together until 1960, and their son, Jackie Basehart, also became an actor. For more of Cortese’s film career, see Thieves’ Highway (1949), The Barefoot Contessa (1954), and Day for Night (1973). Basehart also stars in He Walked by Night (1948), Tension (1949), La Strada (1954), and Moby Dick (1956). Fay Baker, who gets her best scenes at the very end of The House on Telegraph Hill, turns up in Notorious (1946), Double Deal (1950), and Deadline – U.S.A. (1952), but she also made many television appearances and wrote novels under the pen name Beth Holmes.
