Betty Compson was born Eleanor Luicime Compson on March 19, 1897, in Beaver, Utah. Her parents were Virgil and Mary Compson. Her father worked as a mining engineer and gold prospector, in addition to owning a grocery store. Her mother worked as a maid.
Compson’s father passed away when she was young and she
began to seek employment opportunities in her teen years. After completing her
second year of high school at Salt Lake High School, she worked as a violinist
at a Salt Lake City, Utah, theater at the age of 16. Later, she would begin
playing in vaudeville sketches and touring with her sketches, until she was
noticed by Hollywood producers. Producer Al Christie offered her a contract,
paving the way to her first silent film, Wanted,
a Leading Lady (1915).
In 1916, she appeared in over 20 films, with the vast majority of them being for Christie. After the success of The Miracle Man(1919), she went on to work for Paramount. Compson followed this experience with the creation of her own production company, Betty Compson Productions, offering her autonomy and control over financing and screenplays. Her company’s first film was Prisoners of Love (1921), in which she appeared in the role of Blanche Davis.
Compson on the cover of Motion Picture Classic Magazine, March 1922
After Paramount refused to give Compson a raise, she signed a contract with a film company in London, starring in four films, including Woman to Woman (1923) and The White Shadow (1923). Both of these films were written by Graham Cutts and Alfred Hitchcock. They proved to be popular and Paramount offered her a raise.
Compson returned to Hollywood and appeared in The Enemy Sex (1924), directed by James Cruze, whom she married in 1925. They divorced years later, close to the release of her first sound film, The Great Gabbo(1929). Her divorce left her nearly bankrupt, forcing her to sell her home and several possessions.
When Comspon’s Paramount contract was not renewed, she turned to freelance work for low-budget studios. She appeared in The Belle of Broadway (1926), The Ladybird (1927), The Big City (1928), Court-Martial (1928), The Docks of New York (1928), and The Barker(1928). She received an Academy Award for Best Actress for her role in The Barker but lost to Mary Pickford for Coquette(1929).
Compson’s final success was The Spoilers (1930) with Gary Cooper. She tested for the role of Belle Watling in Gone with the Wind (1939) but did not receive the role. However, she secured a small role in Hitchcock’s Mr. and Mrs. Smith (1941).
Betty’s Paramount portrait
Compson married twice more. She married producer Irving Weinberg in 1933, though the marriage ended in 1937. Next, she married boxer Silvius Gall and stayed married to him until his passing in 1962. Her final film role was in Here Comes Trouble (1948).
After leaving the film industry, Compson started a cosmetic
line and assisted her husband with his Ashtrays Unlimited business.
Compson passed away on April 18, 1974, from a heart attack
at age 77. She was interred alongside her mother at San Fernando Mission
Cemetery in San Fernando, California.
In 1910, Compson and her family resided at 273 S. 400 E.,
Salt Lake City, Utah. By 1930, she lived at 4400 Oakwood Ave., Los Angeles,
California with Cruze. In 1934, she resided at 7315 Hollywood Blvd., Los
Angeles, California, with Weinberg. The homes no longer stand.
Compson’s 1940s home remains at 441 Randolph St., Glendale,
California. She lived here with her mother and a lodger named James Kinney.
Compson 1940’s residence at 441 Randolph Street, Glendale, California
Compson has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, honoring
her work in motion pictures. Her star is located at 1751 Vine St., Los Angeles,
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.
Final Resting Places, Western Sidekicks & Supporting Actors
This month I’ll be sharing additional photos of
the final resting places of several Western movie actors.
My chief focus in this column is on some of the great Western sidekicks and supporting actors, and we’ll begin with George “Gabby” Hayes. Hayes appeared in films alongside William “Hopalong Cassidy” Boyd, Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, John Wayne and more. Hayes, who passed away at the age of 83, is buried at Forest Lawn Hollywood Hills.
George “Gabby” Hayes (1885 – 1969) Forest Lawn Hollywood Hills Cemetery
Also at Forest Lawn Hollywood Hills, near his longtime costar Gene Autry, is sidekick Smiley Burnette, who was only 55 when he passed on in 1967. Relatively early death seems to be a recurring theme in this month’s column, as will be seen below.
Smiley Burnette (1911 – 1967) Forest Lawn Hollywood Hills Cemetery
I was touched to note that Gene Autry’s good friend, fellow cowboy star and singer Monte Hale, is buried just a couple spots away from Autry. Hale and his wife Joanne cofounded the Autry Museum of the American West along with Gene and Jackie Autry. You can read more about the museum in my January 2019 column. Hale lived to be 89.
Monte Hale (1919 – 2009) Forest Lawn Hollywood Hills Cemetery
Fuzzy Knight, who was born John Forrest Knight, was a familiar sidekick and supporting player in countless “B” Westerns. He died at age 74 and is at Valhalla Cemetery in North Hollywood.
Fuzzy Knight (1901 -1976) Valhalla Cemetery, North Hollywood
Also at Valhalla is Douglass Dumbrille. One may not associate this Canadian-born supporting actor with Westerns, but he periodically appeared in the genre. I fondly recall him as the Marshal in one of my favorite “B” Westerns, Flame of the West (1945), which starred Johnny Mack Brown. An interesting bit of trivia is that late in life Dumbrille married the much younger daughter of his friend, actor Alan Mowbray (memorable in the Western My Darling Clementine); despite their considerable age difference, the marriage was a success and lasted nearly 14 years, until Dumbrille’s passing in 1974 at the age of 84.
Douglass Dumbrille (1889 – 1974) Valhalla Cemetery, North Hollywood
James Millican was a longtime bit player who became an outstanding supporting player of the ’50s in Westerns such as Dawn at Socorro (1954) and Red Sundown (1956). Sadly his life was cut short by cancer at the age of 44; he was buried at Forest Lawn Glendale.
James Millican (1910-1955) Forest Lawn Glendale Cemetery
Also at Forest Lawn Glendale is character actor Louis Jean Heydt, whose resemblance to Millican sometimes causes confusion among film fans. Millican and Heydt even played brothers Ed and John Jennings in the Western Al Jennings of Oklahoma (1951), with Dan Duryea in the title role. Heydt died relatively young himself, only 56 when he had a heart attack while performing in a play in Boston.
Louis Jean Heydt (1903 – 1960) Forest Lawn Glendale Cemetery
Another great character actor who died young was Millard Mitchell, who passed on at the age of 50; he’s buried at Holy Cross Cemetery in Culver City. Mitchell’s great Western roles were in a pair of Anthony Mann Westerns starring James Stewart; Mitchell played “High Spade” in Winchester ’73 (1950) and grizzled Jesse Tate in one of his last films, The Naked Spur (1953).
Winchester ’73 costar Stephen McNally is also at Holy Cross; he memorably played villain Dutch Henry Brown in that film. McNally alternated between supporting roles and villains in favorite Westerns such as Audie Murphy‘s The Duel at Silver Creek (1952) and Hell Bent for Leather (1960) and heroes in Westerns such as the great Val Lewton produced film Apache Drums (1951). McNally, born Horace McNally, was originally an attorney educated at Fordham University Law School before turning to work on Broadway and in films. McNally was 82 when he passed away in 1994.
Stephen McNally (1911 – 1994) Forest Lawn Glendale Cemetery
William Bishop is another Western actor who died at an early age; he was just 41 when he died of cancer in 1959. His memorable Westerns included Coroner Creek (1948) with Randolph Scott, Thunderhoof (1948) with Preston Foster, and Cripple Creek (1952) with George Montgomery, to name just a few. Bishop was the nephew of screenwriter Charles MacArthur and his wife Helen Hayes; he was also thus the cousin of actor James MacArthur. Bishop’s ashes are at Woodlawn Cemetery in Santa Monica.
William Bishop (1918 – 1959) Woodlawn Cemetery, Santa Monica
The great character actor James Gregory wasn’t in many Westerns, but he merits mention here as he was in a personal favorite of mine, Gun Glory (1957). I wrote about Gun Glory, which starred Stewart Granger, here in a 2019 column on “Unexpected Western Leads.” I visited Gregory’s gravesite at Sedona Community Cemetery while on a 2021 trip to Sedona, Arizona.
James Gregory (1911 – 2002) Sedona Community Cemetery
When I visit these
cemeteries I appreciate the opportunity to take time to reflect on how each of
these actors enriched cinema history and indeed, my own life as I have enjoyed
their work.
For readers wondering about the absence of any actresses from this post: I intend to return to this topic in the future, focusing solely on Western Leading Ladies.
For additional photos of the burial sites of Western stars, please visit my columns from May 2019 and February 2022.
…
– 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.
“Don’t worry about me, kid. I just got outta prison, not college.”
Burt Lancaster and Kirk Douglas are a unique duo in film history. They aren’t comically inclined, like Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau, nor do they showcase the chummy camaraderie that made Paul Newman and Robert Redford such a likable pair. Their collaborations were terse, gritty, and barring the goofy swan song Tough Guys (1986), they rarely saw eye to eye. The magic of Lancaster and Douglas lied in the tension. They never quite seemed at ease with one another, and we could never take our eyes off them as a result.
Lancaster and Douglas got their start in the film noir of the late 40s. Both hit home runs in their screen debuts, and established the personas they would go on to perfect over the next several decades. The former, debuting in The Killers (1946), was a chiseled sap, a man whose chivalry and decency proved his undoing. The latter, debuting in The Strange Love of Martha Ivers (also 1946), was a shyster, a sleaze who would cross anyone he needed to in order to get ahead. They were the perfect yin and yang, which Paramount producer Hal B. Wallis took note of when he was casting the 1947 release, I Walk Alone.
The film’s kinetic promotional poster.
Contrary to the film’s title, I Walk Alone thrives on the chemistry between its stars. It’s a rare case of a star-studded cast in which none of the stars have yet broken out, and the result is a killer, often overlooked noir that kicks off the Lancaster-Douglas mythos.
The premise is simple as it is effective: Frankie Madison (Lancaster) and Noll “Dink” Turner (Douglas) are bootleggers during Prohibition. They get into a shootout with potential hijackers and the two men are forced to split up when police arrive on the scene. Frankie gets caught and sentenced to 14 years of prison, while Noll is free to build a bootlegging empire. The former gets out and looks up his old pal, expecting a cut of the profits, but Noll makes it abundantly clear that he doesn’t owe him squat. Neither man is willing to budge, and war is effectively declared.
There are power struggles abound between these three.
It’s clear from the jump that Lancaster and Douglas are dynamite together. Their approaches to characterization are radically different: Lancaster is the tortured soul fighting his bad tendencies, while Douglas is the louse who has to fight off fleeting moments of decency. They’re essentially a venn diagram of morality, which makes the overlap in the center all the more compelling. It’s generally easy to determine who will win in a given standoff, even if both sides are played by stars, but the actors bring such conviction to Frankie and Noll that the viewer is genuinely unsure of where things will go.
The supporting cast isn’t too shabby either. Lizabeth Scott plays Kay Lawrence, the nightclub singer who dates Noll and gradually falls for Frankie. It’s not a groundbreaking part, but Scott is in her element, bringing the same weary seduction that she provided in Martha Ivers and Dead Reckoning (1947). A lesser actress would have made the Kay scenes feel like filler between the meat of the plot, but Scott’s chemistry with both men ensure that they’re just as compelling.
Wendell Corey’s Dave (right) tries to play both sides.
Wendell Corey also delivers the goods in what turns out to be a crucial part. He’s Noll’s bookmaker, Dave, and while he’s spent the last decade and a half turning a blind eye, his reunion with Frankie reignites his sense of decency. He’s the character who’s most aware of the crimes that have gone on, and Corey manages to communicate said conflict through his subtly manic mannerisms. Few actors were better at being externally calm while being internally conflicted. He’d made his debut alongside Lancaster and Scott the year prior, in the supremely bizarre Desert Fury (1947), and the Dave character proved he was no flash in the pan.
Byron Haskin was a journeyman filmmaker whose biggest credits were as the special effects artist for household names like John Ford and Raoul Walsh. He never reached the A-list, but as evidenced by this film and Too Late for Tears (1949), he could snap off a taut film noir with the best of them. There’s no fat on the bone here, given the 97-minute runtime, and Haskin avoids the narrative detours that would (and did) sink other noir releases of the era.
The film was one of many Wallis releases starring Lancaster and Scott.
I Walk Alone is not a flawless release, and Lancaster and Douglas would go on to have more notable collaborations, but it’s criminally underrated in terms of giving fans what they want. It’s a perfect encapsulation of what made both actors so appealing at the start of their careers, and better yet, it gives them a chance to showcase their talents alongside one another. It’s no classic, but it’s a cult film ripe for rediscovery.
TRIVIA: Lux Radio Theater aired an hour-long adaptation of I Walk Alone in 1948. Lancaster and Scott reprised their roles.
Danilo Castro is a film noir aficionado and Contributing Writer for Classic Movie Hub. You can read more of Danilo’s articles and reviews at the Film Noir Archive, or you can follow Danilo on Twitter @DaniloSCastro.
Karen Burroughs Hannsberry Talks about the Launch of her “Good Times” Blog with CMH
I’m so happy to share that Karen Burroughs Hannsberry, author of Classic Movie Hub’s Noir Nook column, has launched a new blog! It’s called “Ain’t We Lucky We Got ‘Em,” and it focuses on the 1970s television series Good Times. We sat down with Karen to find out more about her latest writing project!
You’ve been writing about classic movies for many years – what made you want to venture into classic TV?
I’ve always loved classic TV – for me, it goes hand-in-hand with classic film. Even when I was little, I was watching TV shows that were before my time, like Leave it to Beaver and Blondie and, of course, I Love Lucy. And now, I still love the shows from the past. In fact, my favorite TV show of all time is The Dick Van Dyke Show.
Why Good Times? And why now?
I have the entire Good Times series on DVD, and for
the last few years, I’ve been watching it every day. It seemed that whenever I’d
watch an episode, I would notice something different, something interesting,
something I wished I could share with other fans of the show. Then, in 2020, I
was interviewed by Will McKinley for GetTV
about Good Times, and that just served to increase my obsession with the
show. I initially thought of writing a book, especially with the 50-year
anniversary of the show coming up in 2024, but I ultimately decided on a blog.
It’s more immediate and it fits better with the other projects I have going on.
It was the perfect marriage!
What do you like about Good Times?
How much time do you have? There are so many reasons. It’s
set in my hometown of Chicago. It made history by being the first network
television show to depict a Black nuclear family. It employs comedy to discuss
a variety of societal ills, from poverty to child abuse to gang violence. It’s filmed in front of an enthusiastic and
vocal live studio audience. The characters have numerous personality traits to
admire and even emulate. And it’s funny!
What will you be writing about on your blog?
I will write about each of the 133 episodes of the show,
including an overview of the plot, my personal insights, information about
guest stars, and a discussion of the pop culture references, which are such a
significant part of this series. I’ll also have posts that focus on each of the
principal cast members, trivia, character analyses, and much more!
And what is the meaning behind the name of your blog?
It’s taken from a line in the show’s theme song (remember in
the Stone Age when shows had words to their theme songs?): “Ain’t we lucky we
got ‘em – Good Times!”
…..
A Big Thank You to Karen for doing this interview with us!
You can visit Karen’s new blog at goodtimesblog.com – there are already a few articles posted for you to enjoy!
For last month’s Noir Nook, I started one of my favorite lists to date – the best film from each year of the classic noir era; Part 1 covered 1940 through 1949. For some of those years, I’ll admit, it wasn’t easy to come up with a single film, but it was always fun. And this month, I’m serving up Part 2: the years 1950 through 1959. Here goes…
1950:
Sterling Hayden, Anthony Caruso, Sam Jaffe, and James Whitmore in The Asphalt Jungle (1950)
Next to 1947, I think that 1950 may just be one of the greatest years for noir – in fact, I’m going out on a limb to say it just might be even better! After all, this is the year that gave us so many gems: The Breaking Point, D.O.A., Gun Crazy, In a Lonely Place, Night and the City, No Man of Her Own, Shakedown, Sunset Boulevard, The Damned Don’t Cry, Where the Sidewalk Ends… it’s an embarrassment of riches – how’s a person supposed to choose??? But I finally made my pick: The Asphalt Jungle. This classic heist film tells the tale of a motley crew of men who come together to knock off a jewelry store. Led by notorious career criminal Doc Reidenschneider (Sam Jaffe), the participants include the getaway driver (James Whitmore), who has a hunchback and loves cats; the expert safecracker (Anthony Caruso) with a devoted wife and young baby; and the small-time hood (Sterling Hayden) with a dream to return to his old Kentucky home. With a first-rate cast that also boasts memorable performances by Marilyn Monroe and Jean Hagen, The Asphalt Jungle is a nearly perfect noir.
1951:
Kirk Douglas and Richard Benedict in Ace in the Hole (1951)
Interestingly, my choice for 1951 came down to two films starring Kirk Douglas: Ace in the Hole and Detective Story. As it happens, Detective Story is freshest in my mind, as I recently saw it on the big screen at a film noir festival in Chicago. Still, I have to go with Ace in the Hole. This ripped-from-the-headlines film centers on Chuck Tatum (Douglas), a former big-time reporter who’s now stuck in the sticks covering quilting bees and county fairs. That is, until he learns that a local man is trapped in a cave, and he sees his path back to his former glory – as long as the luckless man stays put.
1952:
Jack Palance and Joan Crawford in Sudden Fear (1952)
I gave serious thought to Scandal Sheet. And Narrow Margin almost made the cut. But for 1952, I had to give the nod to Sudden Fear: it stars Joan Crawford and Gloria Grahame, and it’s got a cracking good story with a perfectly satisfying noir ending. Crawford is Myra Hudson, a wealthy and successful playwright who marries actor Lester Blaine (Jack Palance) after a whirlwind romance. Myra is blissfully happy, but her joy subsides when she finds out that (1) her husband doesn’t love her, (2) her husband is stepping out with his old girlfriend, and (3) her husband and his old girlfriend are planning to kill her. Bummer.
1953:
Gloria Grahame and Lee Marvin in The Big Heat (1953)
Yikes – two excellent films for this year, either one of which could, on any given day, be considered the best noir of the year: The Big Heat and Pickup on South Street. On this given day, I decided to go with The Big Heat. Even if you’re not familiar with this film, you probably know about its most iconic scene, where Gloria Grahame gets a face full of scalding coffee courtesy of her brutish boyfriend, played by Lee Marvin. Glenn Ford stars as a crusading cop who is determined at all costs to find the man behind the murder of his wife. Toss in standout performances by Jeanette Nolan as the steely widow of a corrupt cop, and Alexander Scourby as a refined but scary gang leader, and you’ve got yourself a first-rate noir.
1954:
John Agar and Edmond O’Brien in Shield for Murder (1954)
So far, 1954 is turning out to be my easiest year – my pick, hands-down, is Shield for Murder. One of my favorite underrated noirs, Shield for Murder stars Edmond O’Brien as Barney Nolan, described on the cover of the paperback source novel as “a trigger-happy cop who hid behind the law.” The film opens with Nolan murdering a local bookie and covering it up as self-defense. What he doesn’t know is that there is a witness to his crime. Three guesses as to what he does when he finds out – and the first two don’t count.
1955:
Richard Conte, Jean Wallace and Cornel Wilde in The Big Combo (1955)
Yikes. From the easiest year to the hardest. How to choose between The Big Combo and New York Confidential?? I gave it lots of thought and finally had to select The Big Combo. It’s one of those films that I can see a hundred times and still catch myself smiling with appreciation. Cornel Wilde stars as Lt. Leonard Diamond, who has two obsessions: a ruthless gang leader named Mr. Brown (Richard Conte), and Mr. Brown’s alluring but unstable girlfriend, Susan Lowell (Jean Wallace, Wilde’s then-wife). Also on hand are Mingo (Earl Holliman) and Fante (Lee Van Cleef), two of Mr. Brown’s loyal minions, and Joe McClure (Brian Donlevy), the number two man in Mr. Brown’s operation who meets an end that will be seared into your consciousness.
1956:
Sterling Hayden as Johnny Clay in The Killing (1956)
A no brainer year. My pick is one of my all-time favorite films: The Killing. This time-bending masterpiece directed by Stanley Kubrick tells the story of an unusual assortment of men – mostly non-criminals, in the traditional sense – who unite to execute a flawlessly planned racetrack heist. The men include ex-con Johnny Clay (Sterling Hayden), the mastermind of the scheme; racetrack bartender Mike O’Reilly (Joe Sawyer), who needs the cash from the heist to care for his invalid wife; and mousy racetrack cashier George Peatty (Elisha Cook, Jr.), who’s hoping the big payday will build some esteem for him in the eyes of his buxom, gold-digging wife, Sherry (Marie Windsor). The Killing, for my money, is not just the best noir of 1956, but one of noir’s best offerings overall – I’ve seen it on the big screen, I own it on VHS as well as DVD, and I never miss it when it airs on TV. (Am I being clear on how much I love this one?)
1957:
Burt Lancaster and Tony Curtis in Sweet Smell of Success (1957)
I’d love to choose Plunder Road as the best film of 1957 – it’s a neat little noir, rarely discussed, but thoroughly time-worthy. But I simply must pick Sweet Smell of Success. Riveting from start to finish, this film stars Burt Lancaster as Walter Winchell-like columnist J. J. Hunsecker, who rules the streets of New York like a king with his realm, and Tony Curtis, in what I consider to be the role of his career, as Sidney Falco, a slimy press agent who’ll stop at nothing to get ahead. There’s not a dull moment in this top-notch feature – it’s one of those I can’t see enough.
1958:
Vince Edwards in Murder by Contract (1958)
I discovered Murder By Contract just a few years ago, and I’ve seen it several times since. That’s how good it is. Vince Edwards (who ain’t no Dr. Ben Casey) is spellbinding as Claude, a cold-blooded hitman with one rule: he won’t accept contracts on women. So when he’s hired to kill a witness in a mob trial, he’s thrown for a loop when he finds out his target is on the distaff side. Featuring interesting characters, first-rate writing, and a unique jazz guitar score, this is one noir you won’t soon forget.
1959:
Gloria Grahame and Robert Ryan in Odds Against Tomorrow (1959)
No question: my pick for 1959 is Odds Against Tomorrow, which is also the film that I consider to be the last of the classic noir era. Directed by Robert Wise, this story centers on former cop Dave Burke (Ed Begley), who hires ex-con Earle Slater (Robert Ryan) and musician Johnny Ingram (Harry Belafonte) to carry out a bank robbery. Integral to the success of the heist is the fact that Earle is white and Johnny is black – but the scheme is complicated by Earle’s unabashed racism. The superb cast includes Shelley Winters as Earle’s devoted girlfriend, and Gloria Grahame as their trampy neighbor. Keep your eyes peeled for the film’s climax, which is literally explosive, filled with irony, and one of noir’s most powerful.
And that wraps it up for the best noirs from each year of the classic era. What are your picks? Leave a comment and let me know!
…
– Karen Burroughs Hannsberry for Classic Movie Hub
Karen Burroughs Hannsberry is the author of the Shadows and Satin blog, which focuses on movies and performers from the film noir and pre-Code eras, and the editor-in-chief of The Dark Pages, a bimonthly newsletter devoted to all things film noir. Karen is also the author of two books on film noir – Femme Noir: The Bad Girls of Film and Bad Boys: The Actors of Film Noir. You can follow Karen on Twitter at @TheDarkPages. If you’re interested in learning more about Karen’s books, you can read more about them on amazon here:
I have a candy corn sweet tooth when it comes to classic science fiction movies. I love the wacky, B movie cult classics of 1950s sci-fi, with their low-budget monsters, stiff as cardboard authority figures, and screaming masses of hysterical townspeople. The Blob (1958) is one of the most iconic of this genre of creature features, partly because of Steve McQueen as its heroic human protagonist but even more because of its oozy, red jelly alien menace bent on absorbing every hapless victim who crosses its path. I’ve never had the opportunity to take part in the annual Phoenixville Blobfest in Pennsylvania, which recreates the famous movie theater scene at the Colonial Theatre, where it was originally filmed, but I love the idea of this movie being celebrated every year by hundreds of screaming fans. The Blob is justly beloved by Blobfest attendees and campy sci-fi horror fans because it’s just that much fun, and its shortcomings as serious cinematic “Art” are part of its appeal.
As the first people to encounter the Blob and survive, Steve (Steve McQueen) and Jane (Aneta Corsaut) struggle to get the adults in town to believe that a murderous alien goo is on the loose.
You know you’re in for silly fun the moment the rollicking bop of a theme starts the show. No creepy orchestral mood music here! The Blob gets its groove on thanks to Burt Bacharach and Mack David, who created a musical introduction that makes the alien goo sound like an older killer cousin of Slinky, the stair-climbing plastic toy (the Slinky jingle actually didn’t appear until 1962). Bacharach’s more frequent writing partner was Mack’s brother, Hal David, with whom Bacharach wrote over a hundred songs in the 1960s, including hits for Dionne Warwick. The hip beat of the theme is very much in the Bacharach style, and it connects with the novelty song craze of 50s hits like Sheb Wooley’s “The Purple People Eater,” which also debuted in 1958 and was a Billboard chart topper.
Kate the nurse (Lee Payton) tries to defend herself against the Blob with acid, but soon all that will be left is her nurse’s hat.
The movie that follows this theme is certainly more novelty than nightmare, with many common tropes of the 50s sci-fi shocker in use and Steve McQueen, at 28, alarmingly mature for a high school student, but it’s never dull and never expects us to take it seriously. Conveniently playing a character also named Steve, McQueen might be long overdue for a GED but still displays that easy charisma that would soon make him a star, and we understand why girlfriend Jane (Aneta Corsaut) and the other local teens follow his lead. Corsaut would go on to lasting TV fame as the amiable sheriff’s girlfriend, Helen Crump, on The Andy Griffith Show. Beyond the two leads, it’s not a star-studded cast – the Blob is the real star, after all – but the actors playing the adults get some fun scenes as they encounter the Blob and succumb to its relentless appetite. Horror-comedy fans can certainly see its influence on later films, especially Gremlins (1984), which would make a perfect double feature with The Blob if you’re in the mood to see small town America overrun by bizarre intruders. More recently, the legacy of The Blob can be seen in the Wellington Paranormal Season Three episode, “Fatberg,” in which a huge mass of congealed fat threatens residents of the New Zealand community.
In the movie’s most celebrated scene, the Blob threatens the Colonial Theatre during a packed midnight horror show.
The special effects created by Bart Sloane and Valley
Forge Films hold up surprisingly well, thanks to a practical approach that
employs simple techniques like stop motion to bring the goo to life. The use of
garish DeLuxe Color pays off, too; we can see the Blob grow more bloated and
crimson as it absorbs more townspeople, until it’s rolling over the Downingtown
Diner like a giant mass of raspberry jam. More humanoid aliens from 50s sci-fi
suffer from the limitations of a guy in a suit, but the Blob doesn’t have a
face, or a voice, or any trappings of sentience about it. It’s just a
relentless, devouring mass that absorbs frightened old men and nurses as
eagerly as it consumes whole bars full of patrons. By the time we reach the
climax, local police officer Dave (Earl Rowe) estimates that the oozy alien has
killed 40 or 50 people, most of those entirely offscreen. We don’t need to see
the actual process to understand the fate of those digested by the Blob, and
the picture wisely suggests deaths without trying to document the gruesome
stages by which live people are dissolved.
Undaunted by doors or windows, the Blob just oozes under, around, and through all obstacles, making the basement of the Downingtown Diner a poor choice of hiding places.
Despite its general sense of fun, The Blob ends with a disturbingly timely warning, as the ooze will only stay safely contained “as long as the Arctic stays cold.” Its final message of “The End?” has already inspired a 1972 sequel, Beware! The Blob, and a more graphic 1988 remake, also called The Blob. For more silly sci-fi scares from the 1950s, check out some of my other favorites, including Them! (1954), Fiend Without a Face (1958), The Alligator People (1959), and Attack of the Giant Leeches (1959). Director Irvin Yeaworth, who mostly made religious and educational films, also turned out a handful of other shockers, including 4D Man (1959), but The Blob is far and away the best known of his films.
It’s October and
everyone wants to watch a horror film.
Here at Monsters and Matinees – where we watch horror movies all year – we understand and are prepared to help out by offering suggestions of films that would be good introductions to classic horror.
Nosferatu (1922) is an easy place to start especially since it returns to movie theaters and screening rooms every October, usually with musical accompaniment that makes it quite an event to see in person.
And there’s a century of horror that follows. So pick your favorite to share with someone. Or try one of the suggestions below. They are listed by topic, and many have familiar titles or names attached which can make it easier to get someone’s interest.
Universal Monster films are a great introduction to classic horror because of their familiarity. Pictured are Boris Karloff and Elsa Lanchester in The Bride of Frankenstein.
Or start with the entertaining comedy homage Young Frankenstein(1974) and explain how it used the basic story and sets from the 1931 film. Also consider Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein (1948) which provides a Universal monster fix and laughs.
This scene from The Haunting with Julie Harris is the one I consider the scariest in classic horror. I won’t spoil what has happened.
Ghostly terror
The Haunting (1963 – not the lame 1999 remake) is the most terrifying film on this list especially if you believe in ghosts and spirits like I do. Robert Wise (yes, he of West Side Story and Sound of Music) directed the taut adaptation of the Shirley Jackson novel about a paranormal researcher who brings two female mediums to a 90-year-old haunted mansion called Hill House with a disastrous outcome. You won’t see a ghost in the traditional sense, but you will feel the presence of malevolent spirits through chilling sounds and imagery of a house that’s alive. Never will the static shot of a door be as terrifying as it is here. The film is the stuff of nightmares and I mean that literally as one scene – pictured above – has affected my bedtime habits since I first saw it. (If you’ve watched the film, you know that scene. )
The cinematography is gorgeous in The Uninvited, starring Ruth Hussey and Ray Milland.
On the other end of the spectrum of ghost stories is The Uninvited (1944) a film also set in a haunted house but with a much more poetic and graceful approach. Ray Milland and Ruth Hussey are the siblings who buy an old seaside house that is already “occupied.” They meet a young lady who has a strong connection to the house and its inhabitant. It’s a beautiful film in many ways, yet it’s scary and a good mystery yarn, too. The gorgeously atmospheric cinematography is by Charles Lang. The Uninvited is a curl up on the couch with a hot chocolate kind of film.
Giant ants terrorize people from New Mexico to California in Them!, universally considered the best of the big-bug movies.
Big bugs
This is my favorite horror genre. While we can downplay some horror films because they “couldn’t really happen,” but that’s not true of big bugs since they could be real – right? If you know someone with an aversion or phobia to a particular creature, there’s a big-bug film for that. Many are obvious from their title: The Black Scorpion (1957), The Deadly Mantis(1957), Attack of the Giant Leeches (1959) and the greatest of them all Tarantula(1955) directed by the equally great Jack Arnold.
Putting aside my attachment to Tarantula, start with the film that created this genre, the exceptional Them! (1954). James Arness, James Whitford and Edmund Gwenn lead the charge against giant ants that make their way from New Mexico to Los Angeles. The scene that gave the movie its title remains effective today.
Women in horror films could terrorize as much as the men. The Gorgon, in fact, could turn you to stone with one look.
Bride of Frankenstein should be a given under the great ladies of horror.
Michael Redgrave and friend are terrifying in The Ventriloquist’s Dummy, a segment in the horror anthology Dead of Night.
Anthologies
If you can’t get someone to agree to watching a full classic horror film, try an anthology. These bite-sized pieces of horror usually had three separate stories and casts that boasted multiple favorite horror actors. You can treat an anthology film like a regular feature and start at the beginning or pick a segment if time or attention is short.
Perhaps the most famous segment in a horror anthology is The Ventriloquist’s Dummy from the greatly admired Dead of Night (1945) in which an increasingly disturbed Michael Redgrave fears his creepy doll has come to life. (Also in Dead of Night is The Haunted Mirror which I find so effective that I have been known to avoid mirrors after watching it.)
Other anthologies include Mario Bava’s Black Sabbath, narrated by the disembodied head of Boris Karloff. I recommend the creepy Drop of Water segment that shows us what it looks like to be scared to death.
Tales of Terror (1962) features Vincent Price, Peter Lorre,Debra Paget, Richard Matheson and Roger Corman collaborating on tales from Edgar Allan Poe. Do you need to know anything else?
Vincent Price and Carol Ohmart make a handsome couple in House on Haunted Hill – too bad they’re trying to kill each other.
Familiar faces
A good place to start for a classic film newbie is with a familiar face like that of Vincent Price, especially in the easy-to-digest House on Haunted Hill. It is one of the easier classic horror films to see, especially in October. It’s quite entertaining, too, with its mix of horror, cleverness, laughs (some unintentional) and pure showmanship from director William Castle. An underrated facet of the film is the delectable and vicious verbal sparring between Price and his onscreen wife played by Carol Ohmart.
There are so many other Price horror films: The Tingler, an underappreciated gem also from Castle about a creature inside us that grows as we become frightened, the vampire tale The Last Man on Earth (1964), and the campy revenge thriller The Abominable Dr. Phibes (1971).
Or go for a Christopher Lee/Peter Cushing pairing in one of the three Dracula films they made together for Hammer Films, starting with Dracula (1958, known as Horror of Dracula in the U.S.).
If this acting duo is appealing, Cushing and Lee took on other creatures for Hammer in films such as The Curse of Frankenstein (1955), The Mummy (1959) and the Sherlock Holmes tale Hound of the Baskervilles (1959). For something different, I offer Horror Express (1972) where they are trapped on a train with a shape-shifting prehistoric creature. It has my favorite line from classic horror: “The brain has been drained; the memory removed like chalk on a blackboard.”
The face of the boogeyman as personified by the character of Michael Myers in John Carpenter’s Halloween.
The boogeyman
Finally, we can’t introduce people to classic horror without John Carpenter’s influential 1978 Halloween. This film created a genre and has changed the face of horror in the 40-plus years since it was made. The boogeyman has never been portrayed in such a realistic and terrifying way. Just the name Michael Myers sends chills up my arms.
I hope you find something to share from this list of horror films. If you have a favorite not mentioned, send it along. I’m always looking for a new classic horror film to watch.
Toni Ruberto, born and raised in Buffalo, N.Y., is an editor and writer at
The Buffalo News. She shares her love for classic movies in her blog, Watching Forever and is a
member of the Classic
Movie Blog Association. Toni was the president of the former Buffalo chapter
of TCM Backlot and now leads the offshoot group, Buffalo Classic Movie Buffs.
She is proud to have put Buffalo and its glorious old movie palaces in the
spotlight as the inaugural winner of the TCM in Your Hometown contest. You can
find Toni on Twitter at @toniruberto.
Silents are Golden: Silent Directors – The Daring Tod Browning
Tod Browning
Known chiefly for his macabre masterpieces Dracula(1931) and Freaks(1932), Tod Browning is widely considered one of the all-time greatest horror film directors. But his cinematic roots stretched back much further than those early ‘30s talkies. Some people might know about his mid- to late-1920s collaborations with silent film legend Lon Chaney, but interestingly, he got his start even earlier than that.
Browning’s backstory is appropriately colorful, fitting for a man who was always fascinated by the bizarre. Born Charles Albert Browing Jr. in 1880 to a middle-class family in Louisville, Kentucky, during his childhood he developed a fascination with the circus. While his home life was comfortable it was too prosaic for the rebellious Charles, and at age 16 he decided to, quite literally, run away and join the circus. After working his way up from laborer and to sideshow barker to song-and-dance man, he also worked as a contortionist and a clown. One of his employers was none other than the Ringling Brothers circus. He also showed his flair for the macabre early on with his live burial act “The Living Hypnotic Corpse” and his adoption of the name “Tod Browning”– “Tod” being the German word for “death.”
In the mid-1900s Browning married Amy Louis Stevens but soon left her for another fascination: vaudeville. Working for several years in comedy and magic acts, he would also clown alongside comedian Charlies Murray in a sketch based on the comic strip characters Mutt and Jeff. By 1913, like many stage actors he had begun transitioning to the entirely new medium of film–and funnily enough, the future master of the grotesque would get his start in slapstick comedies.
Hired by the Biograph studio in New York, Browning was put to work in its “Komic Comedies” unit that was supervised by D.W. Griffith. His fellow performers included Fay Tincher, Max Davidson, Elmer Booth and Edward Dillon, who was also the director. Their fast paced schedule resulted in one comedy short a week, and Browning learned about the filmmaking process very quickly, ultimately deciding he wanted to start directing himself.
A publicity image from the Komic Comedy A Flurry in Art (1915).
His first effort at directing is thought to be The Lucky Transfer(1915), about two robbers who accidentally give away the hiding place of their loot. But a tragic event in 1915 was certainly a strong influence on Browning’s future leanings towards the dark and grotesque. While driving drunk one night with friends Elmer Booth and George Siegmann, he collided with a railroad flat car loaded with steel rails. Booth was killed instantly, and both Browning and Siegmann were badly injured. After months of slow recovery Browning would turn to screenwriting, and he started directing again in 1917, his acting days now behind him. He would also marry Alice Watson (this marriage would last until her death in 1944).
He would lean heavily towards melodrama in his directing career, and themes of guilt, moral or sexual frustration, criminality, hypocrisy, and freakishness would pop up repeatedly. He directed films for Fine Arts/Triangle, Metro Pictures, and Bluebird Photoplays. With titles like The Jury of Fate(1917) and The Eyes of Mystery(1918), these films were consistently profitable and gave him the reputation of being a successful director. Moving over to Universal, where he would direct until 1923, some of his most popular films starred Priscilla Dean, often in “underworld dame” types of roles. Universal was also where Browning worked with the great Lon Chaney for the first time, starting with The Wicked Darling(1919). This would be followed a couple years later by Outside the Law(1921), where Chaney played a dual role of both a virtuous character and a villain. A highlight was a much-admired trick photography scene where Chaney’s villain character appeared to murder his virtuous counterpart.
Chaney in Outside the Law (1921).
Chaney, with his sensitive acting skills, flair for grotesque characters, and tough features that lent themselves well to crime stories, was an excellent match for Browning’s kind of films. When Universal’s vice president Irving Thalberg moved over to MGM, Chaney and Browning decided to follow him. The eight MGM films they made together are considered some of the finest of both their careers, the plots revolving around “freakish” characters, circuses, and more of those criminal underworlds.
A set still from the production of The Unholy Three (featuring Browning on the right).
Examples include The Unholy Three(1925), their first MGM film, which had Chaney playing a cross-dressing ventriloquist who teams up with a dwarf performer and a strongman to become jewel thieves–a decidedly eclectic start. In The Blackbird(1926) Chaney played a criminal known as “The Blackbird” who creates a saintly (and physically deformed) alter ego called “The Bishop.” The shocking The Unknown(1927), probably the best of the Browning/Chaney collaborations, presented Chaney as a circus performer in love with his beautiful assistant, who has a pathological fear of being embraced by men. He decides to have his arms amputated for her, but the results become tragic in more ways than one.
Chaney and Joan Crawford in The Unknown (1927).
Today, however, the most famous Browning/Chaney film also happens to be the most famous lost silent of all time: London After Midnight(1927). Chaney plays a detective investigating a murder at a London mansion. Events turn surreal when the bizarre “Man in the Beaver Hat” and a pale, goul-like woman take up residence in the abandoned mansion and start frightening the neighbors. Ah, but could there be a connection between the detective and the Man in the Beaver Hat? Much of the lost film’s mystique revolves around Chaney’s iconic spooky makeup, where he widened his eyes with wires and added shark-like teeth. While the film itself was tepidly reviewed back in the day, tantalizing stills of Chaney amid creepy, quasi-German Expressionist surroundings make London After Midnight the most eagerly sought-after lost silent.
One of those tantalizing London After Midnight (1927) stills.
Browning’s last silent was Where East is East(1929), starring Chaney as an animal trapper in Laos. He worked with Chaney in one talkie, Outside the Law(1930), a remake of his own 1921 film. But sadly, Chaney would pass away from lung cancer during the filming of Dracula (1931), and was famously replaced as the lead by Bela Legosi. The rest of Browning’s directing career, as we know, is history, lasting until 1939 and leaving bizarre classics like Freaks (1932) and The Mark of the Vampire(1935) in its wake. He lived a reclusive life in Malibu until 1962, isolated from the Hollywood establishment that once thought of him as “the Edgar Allan Poe of the cinema.”
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.
This spring I wrote here about watching Forty Guns (1957) for the first time.
Forty Guns was an outstanding Western directed by Samuel Fuller, with Barbara Stanwyck leading a top cast. Finally catching up with that film has now prompted me to also watch The Violent Men (1955), another Stanwyck Western with an impressive cast.
The Violent Men (1955)
While I classed Forty Guns as a
top-of-the-line Western, I rank The Violent Men somewhere
lower; I found it solid and quite entertaining yet somewhat disjointed.
Sometimes I felt that the pieces were better than the whole.
Glenn Ford plays John Parrish, a Civil War veteran who’s been living in the West for a few years to aid his recovery from a lung injury.
When the town doctor (Raymond Greenleaf) gives
John a clean bill of health, John plans to sell his spread and move east with
his fiancee, Caroline Vail (May Wynn).
Lita Milan and Richard Jaeckel in The Violent Men (1955)
Lew Wilkinson (Edward G. Robinson), the crippled but powerful owner of the massive Anchor Ranch, essentially orders John to sell his ranch to him for a low price and gives him 24 hours to respond, with the implication John won’t like the outcome if he refuses. Pressured by his fiancee, who’s desperate to leave town, John initially intends to agree, and then one of his hands is murdered by Anchor Ranch thugs. That changes everything.
John prevents his own ranch hands from retaliating in order to protect them, then sets out to deal with the situation on his own. When John confronts the man (Richard Jaeckel) responsible for the murder and he refuses to turn himself in, John ends up killing him in self-defense.
Richard Jaeckel as Wade Matlock
Lew’s brother Cole (Brian Keith) and wife Martha (Stanwyck), who are secretly having an affair and want to take control of Lew’s empire, escalate the warfare, including burning down John’s ranch. John, however, has a good understanding of tactics due to his military background and gives the Wilkinsons a much tougher battle than they expect.
When the Wilkinsons’ own ranchhouse is burned
down, the coldly calculating Martha leaves the struggling Lew to die in the
fire instead of helping him escape the house. She believes she and Cole will
take over the ranch and rebuild it bigger than ever, but surprises are in
store.
There’s a lot of good stuff in this film, a Shakespearean-style tragedy which reminded me a bit of Broken Lance (1954). The cast, down to supporting players like Jaeckel, Basil Ruysdael, Jack Kelly, and James Westerfield, is absolutely top-notch.
Stanwyck doesn’t enter the film until around the
half-hour mark, but as ever, she’s one of the main reasons to watch. Initially
it appears butter wouldn’t melt in Martha’s mouth, as she seems to be Lew’s
concerned, caring wife; she only wants Cole there to lighten Lew’s load, given
that Lew can barely walk with crutches. But why won’t her daughter Judith
(Dianne Foster) talk to her?
Edward G. Robinson, Dianne Foster, and Glenn Ford
Gradually Martha’s malevolent, grasping side
becomes clear, as we learn that Judith is disgusted by the fact her mother and
uncle are having an affair behind her father’s back. Judith feels trapped and
uncertain what to do, given that she doesn’t want to hurt her father with the
news. Judith sees John as someone who might help by taking on the fight against
Martha and Cole.
It’s interesting to compare Stanwyck’s Martha to
her character in the later Forty Guns. In The Violent Men Martha
seeks power by manipulating men to do her bidding and provide her with the huge
ranch of her dreams, whereas in Forty Guns Stanwyck’s
character has more agency, being personally powerful; in that film, unlike
Martha, she ultimately shows she has a conscience.
Glenn Ford, Brian Keith, Edward G. Robinson, and Barbara Stanwyck
Like Martha, Cole is of extremely low character;
not only is he one of the brutal “violent men” of the title and
carrying on an affair with his sister-in-law, he’s also having a fling with
Elena (Lita Milan), a girl in town.
Like Stanwyck, Keith completely embraces the
evil; my job dropped in the scene when, believing Martha will make him rich, he
rejects the loyal, loving Elena and flings her to the ground in the middle of
the street. It’s a shocking moment with significant consequences.
This is one of a couple strong Western performances by Keith in the late ’50s; he was also in the excellent Clint Walker–Virginia Mayo Western Fort Dobbs (1958), a film I enthusiastically recommend. Milan is touching as the woman who (somewhat inexplicably) loves Cole. The actress would later make an impression in a larger role as Anthony Quinn‘s equally loyal girlfriend in the Western The Ride Back (1957), a film which deserves to be more widely known.
Ford and Robinson are likewise very solid as
well. Ford is right on target as someone who would rather be a “peaceable
man,” but when pushed he will always do the right thing, particularly in
defense of others. Robinson is interesting as the ostensible villain of the
piece who turns out to be more misguided and pathetic than villainous; those
honors go to Stanwyck and Keith’s characters.
Stanwyck and Keith
Other strong points are the cinematography,
largely filmed on location in Lone Pine by W. Howard Greene and Burnett Guffey,
and a score by Max Steiner.
The film’s flaws are due more to the screenplay,
written by Harry Kleiner from a novel by Donald Hamilton, and the direction by
cinematographer-turned-director Rudolph Mate.
The script is crammed with characters, and the
story, told in 96 minutes, could have been tighter. For instance, there’s
really not much point to the character of John’s fiancee Caroline, who
apparently has been using John more as a way out of town than truly loving him;
when he refuses to leave, she gives him back his ring and she completely
disappears from the film.
John already had reason enough to leave town
after regaining his health, and the added pressure from a whiny woman doesn’t
add a whole lot. Caroline’s complete disappearance has a bit of a feel of
“What was that even all about?” wondering why we’ve invested any time
in her character.
At the same time, John and Judith’s relationship
is underdeveloped, so that the last lines of the film are almost — but not
quite — a surprise. Any screen time invested in Caroline should have instead
been spent developing Foster’s Judith, who could have used fleshing out, and
her relationships with each character, especially John.
Without being too spoilerish, I also felt
director Mate could have done much more with the buildup and reveal of a couple
of twists in the final action sequence, which instead of being exciting have an
almost perfunctory feel. There are some great ideas to utilize in this scene,
and the director almost throws them away with “blink and you miss it”
moments.
Mate directed other films I love, notably Tyrone Power‘s The Mississippi Gambler (1953), and he does a great job staging the Ford-Jaeckel showdown midway through this movie, but his work here is inconsistent.
A couple fun odds and ends regarding the cast: This was the second Western in which May Wynn and future Maverick TV star Jack Kelly appeared; they had also played supporting roles in They Rode West (1954). They would marry in October 1956 and remain married for eight years.
Dianne Foster, whose additional Westerns included The Kentuckian (1955) and Night Passage (1957), retired from films and television in 1966. She had married a dentist, Dr. Harold Rowe, in 1961, and they remained married until his passing in 1994. Imagine my surprise a few years ago when I was reading an article about Foster and it suddenly dawned on me that the oral surgeon who had removed all my children’s wisdom teeth was her son, who followed his father into dentistry.
While visiting Lone Pine last June I had the opportunity to visit the location of Robinson and Stanwyck’s Anchor Ranch on Moffat Ranch Road. Budd Boetticher’s Randolph Scott film Comanche Station (1960) filmed scenes in the same area.
Edward G. Robinson and Barbara Stanwyck’s Anchor Ranch location in Lone Pine
Our location guide told
me that Stanwyck’s final scene was shot here:
Stanwyck’s final scene was filmed here on Moffat Ranch Road
Somewhat confusingly, there is a real Anchor Ranch south of Lone Pine, on Highway 395, which predates the film and was often used as a movie location. For the history of Anchor Ranch and filming in Lone Pine, please visit my Western RoundUp column fromSeptember 2018.
After the filming of The Violent Men concluded, the anchor seen at the ranch entrance in the film was moved to the entrance of the actual Anchor Ranch; today a replica anchor hangs there, which has caused some visitors — including myself, at one point! — to erroneously believe it’s the ranch location used in the movie.
Here’s a look at the
real Anchor Ranch entrance and the replica anchor today:
Anchor replica at the entrance of the real Anchor Ranch in Lone Pine
I hope to dig deeper
into the locations for The Violent Men when I’m in town again
for the Lone Pine Film Festival in October 2022.
In summary, I rank The
Violent Men as a good, interesting film, though a tighter script and
more thoughtful staging would have elevated it from simply “good” to
“outstanding.”
Despite the flaws, it’s well worth taking the time to watch. It’s available on DVD from Sony/Columbia. It had a VHS release and is currently available to rent for streaming. I hope that at some point it will also be out on Blu-ray.
…
– Laura Grieve for Classic Movie Hub
Laura can be found at her blog, Laura’s Miscellaneous Musings, where she’s been writing about movies since 2005, and on Twitter at @LaurasMiscMovie. A lifelong film fan, Laura loves the classics including Disney, Film Noir, Musicals, and Westerns. She regularly covers Southern California classic film festivals. Laura will scribe on all things western at the ‘Western RoundUp’ for CMH.
Classic Movie Travels: Marcy McGuire – Iowa and California
Marcy McGuire
Marcy McGuire
was an actress and singer who was already working in the entertainment industry
by her teenage years. She was born on February 22, 1926, in Kansas City,
Kansas, as Marilyn Jeanne McGuire, to film projectionist James McGuire and his
wife, Annona. Her parents divorced during her childhood.
In the 1940s, McGuire’s mother remarried
to vet Carroll F. Alexander. They lived in a Des Moines, Iowa, home, along with
a housekeeper. There, she attended Roosevelt High School.
Soon after, McGuire sang in nightclubs
and signed with RKO Pictures and was cast in Seven Days’ Leave (1942) at
the age of 16. Her bright, spunky personality shone through in additional film
roles, including Higher and Higher (1942), Career Girl (1944), It
Happened in Brooklyn (1947), and You Gotta Stay Happy (1948). RKO
sporadically made use of her talent, typically casting her as a boy-crazy
character. This is best evidenced in Higher and Higher, in which McGuire
acts as a housemaid who swoons over Frank Sinatra. Sinatra portrays himself.[
Frank Sinatra and Marcy McGuire
In September 1947, McGuire married actor
Wally Cassell. Their marriage produced two children. McGuire and Cassell
remained married until his passing at age 103.
McGuire also appeared in Jumping Jacks
(1952) with Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis. After appearing in an
uncredited role as a maid in Summer Magic (1963), McGuire retired from
Hollywood.
McGuire passed away on August 7, 2021, in
her Palm Desert home. She was 95.
McGuire’s Kansas City home was located at
2503 N. 20th St., Kansas City, Kansas. The original home no longer stands.
McGuire’s next home exists today at 3937
Douglas Dr., Des Moines, Iowa.
McGuire’s home in Des Moines, Iowa
Her alma mater,
Roosevelt High School, stands at 4419 Center St., Des Moines, Iowa.
McGuire’s alma mater, Roosevelt High School in Des Moines
When McGuire
passed, her residence was located at 681 Red Arrow Trl., Palm Desert,
California. This home remains today.
Annette Bochenek of Chicago, Illinois, is a PhD student at Dominican University and an independent scholar of Hollywood’s Golden Age. She manages the Hometowns to Hollywood blog, in which she writes about her trips exploring the legacies and hometowns of Golden Age stars. Annette also hosts the “Hometowns to Hollywood” film series throughout the Chicago area. She has been featured on Turner Classic Movies and is the president of TCM Backlot’s Chicago chapter. In addition to writing for Classic Movie Hub, she also writes for Silent Film Quarterly, Nostalgia Digest, and Chicago Art Deco SocietyMagazine.
