One of noir’s most twisted love affairs is depicted in Columbia’s Gilda (1946), which stars Rita Hayworth in the title role and Glenn Ford as her former lover. In celebration of the season of love, this month’s Noir Nook is serving up a bouquet of trivia about this classic noir feature.
Virginia Van Upp
The producer for the film was Virginia Van Upp, who worked her way from script reader to Executive Producer of Columbia Pictures. During her career, she also worked as a child actress, screenwriter, film editor, casting director, and agent. She was one of only three women to work as a contract producer for a major Hollywood studio during the 12-year period between 1943 and 1955.
Glenn Ford bumped heads during filming with the picture’s director, Charles Vidor. According to an interview with former journalist Ron Miller, Ford walked off the movie set when Vidor “berated” some of the film’s extras. Ford told Miller that he refused to return until Vidor apologized. “It took a couple of hours, but he finally did it and the soundman recorded his apology to the extras for me, so I went back to work.”
In one scene of the film, Rita Hayworth slapped
Glenn Ford so hard that she broke two of his teeth.
Gilda
was Ford’s favorite film, according to his son, Peter. “It’s because he was in
it with Rita,” Peter Ford said. “They had a very tender, lifelong affection.”
Surprisingly, although the film was a hit at the
box office, not all critics fell in love with the film. The critic for The Hollywood Review referred to the
movie’s “hard to follow and often cheaply melodramatic and theatrical story.” Variety’s reviewer judged the picture
“trite and frequently far-fetched” and found that Glenn Ford was a “far better
actor than the tale permits.”
George Macready
George Macready played a featured role as Ballin Mundson, whose close friendship with Ford’s Johnny is fractured when Ballin returns from a business trip with Gilda as his new wife. Macready had a distinctive scar on his right cheek, which was the result of a car accident during his sophomore year at Brown University – he went through the windshield of a Model T Ford when the car hit a telephone pole, according to his son, Michael Macready. “The only doctor for miles around was a veterinarian, who sewed him up,” Michael said, “but he woke up with scarlet fever because the guy hadn’t washed his hands properly.”
Rita Hayworth performs two musical numbers
during the film – Put the Blame on Mame
and Amado Mio. For the latter number,
Hayworth wore a two-piece gold and white outfit that was sold at auction in
2014 for $161,000.
Hayworth’s songs in the film were dubbed by Canadian singer Anita Kert Ellis. She also dubbed Hayworth’s singing in Down to Earth (1947), The Loves of Carmen (1948), and The Lady from Shanghai (1948). In 1979, Ellis revealed that she suffered from “crippling” stage fright. “It just stops me cold,” Ellis said. “I don’t sing.” She ended her career less than 10 years later, and she died in 2015 at the age of 95, due to complications from Alzheimer’s disease.
The all-seeing, uber-wily police detective, Maurice Obregon, was played by Joseph Calleia. Born Joseph Alexander Caesar Herstall Vincent Calleja in Malta, Calleia was a professional opera singer before becoming an actor. He retired to Malta in 1963; less than 10 years later, he was offered the role of Don Corleone in The Godfather (1972), but he had to decline due to health reasons.
Rita Hayworth
The famed black satin dress that Hayworth wore for the Put the Blame on Mame number was designed by Jean Louis, who worked as head designer for Columbia from 1944 to 1960. He also designed the gown that Marilyn Monroe wore when she sang “Happy Birthday, Mr. President” to John F. Kennedy in 1962. The following year, Louis married actress Loretta Young, whose wardrobe Louis had designed throughout the eight-year run of TV’s The Loretta Young Show. During his career, Louis was nominated for 13 Academy Awards and won for The Solid Gold Cadillac in 1956.
Visit the Noir Nook again for more trivia about your favorite noirs. And let us know which ones you’d like to see in the spotlight!
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– Karen Burroughs Hannsberry for Classic Movie Hub
Welcome to the first Cinemallennials monthly column for Classic Movie Hub! For those of you who are unfamiliar with Cinemallennials, it is a bi-weekly podcast in which I, and another millennial, watch a classic film that we’ve never seen before, and discuss its significance and relevance in today’s world.
In today’s episode, I’ll be talking with my cousin Sean about Akira Kurosawa’s 1954 epic film Seven Samurai– a film rightfully lauded as one of the greatest and most referenced films of all time.
Akira Kurosawa is often considered to be one of, if not the greatest filmmakers of all time. Kurosawa heightened the art form of filmmaking by making celluloid his canvas – from his use of rain to elevate the emotional depth of his film’s tone to his use of bringing in all of the colors of the rainbow to symbolize the feelings of the subjects of his film. In addition to his painter’s touch, Kurosawa’s camera placement and movement is second to none as he is able to keep audiences’ attention as the characters in his films never seem to stop moving. From Seven Samurai to Dreams, Kurosawa has been well-respected by the some of the most influential directors over the nearly 60 years he worked in the film industry. Bergman, Fellini, Tarkovsky, Herzog, Kubrick, and probably most famously, Steven Spielberg and George Lucas all were influenced by Kurosawa’s films.
Toshiro Mifune who plays Kikuchiyo and director Akira Kurosawa on the set of Seven Samurai
The film follows the story of a
village of poor farmers under the constant threat of being raided by a
group of bandits during one of Japan’s deadliest periods. After overhearing the
bandits’ plan to plunder and pillage yet again, the farmers are set on a quest
to find samurai who are willing to defend the village for only a stomach full
of food. The farmers achieve their goal, but both the villagers and the samurai
themselves might not be who they exactly claim to be.
During the episode, Sean and I will
be discussing the film’s significance as a classic period piece and how they
are gateways into learning about history, and the overall philosophy of the
samurai code of honor. We’ll also talk about the cultural references from Seven Samurai that millennials like us
grew up with, whether it be Star Wars, The Lord of the Rings: The Two
Towers, A Bug’s Life or even basic history classes in middle and high
school, not to mention,for even younger generations, the recent
videogame Ghost of Tsushima.
Seiji Miyaguchi as Kyuzo
After the Second World War, when the military side of Bushido (codes and principles of samurai culture) failed and the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki occurred, people in Japan felt that their past use of Bushido damaged the Japanese spirit. Sean and I felt Kurosawa was trying to convey to his audience that if we apply the moral codes and attitudes of the samurai including modesty, compassion, and harmony (vs individuality, arrogance and apathy), we have the chance of becoming a better society — and that is a lesson we all need to hear right now. As the leader of the samurai, Kambei says “By protecting others, you save yourself. If you only think of yourself, you’ll only destroy yourself.”
Takashi Shimura as Kambei and Isao Kimura as Katsushiro
Through the historically-based
story and detailing, Sean and I were introduced to both the samurai and
post-war people of Japan, both materially and philosophically, without ever
having to step into a classroom. Classic period pieces like Seven
Samurai will never cease to provide opportunities for future
generations to learn from the past and to create a better society.
I hope you enjoy this episode of Cinemallennials, which you can find here on apple or on spotify. Please reach out to me as I would love to hear your thoughts on Seven Samurai, especially if you’re a first-time viewer too!
Dave Lewis is the producer, writer, and host of Cinemallennials, a podcast where he and another millennial watch a classic film that they haven’t seen before ranging from the early 1900s to the late 1960s and discuss its significance and relevance in our world today. Before writing for Classic Movie Hub, Dave wrote about Irish and Irish-American history, the Gaelic Athletic Association in the United States, and Irish innovators for Irish America magazine. You can find more episodes of Cinemallennials, film reviews and historical analyses, on Dave’s website dlewmoviereview.com or his YouTube channel.
Silver Screen Standards: The Enchanted Cottage (1945)
There are many grander, more glamorous romances to choose from, but when I think of a romantic classic movie I very often think of The Enchanted Cottage (1945), in which two lonely people learn that beauty truly does lie in the eyes of the beholder. Directed by John Cromwell and adapted from the 1922 stage play by Arthur Wing Pinero, the 1945 film version stars Dorothy McGuire and Robert Young as the lovers learning to see one another with new eyes, with memorable supporting performances from Herbert Marshall, Mildred Natwick, and Spring Byington. It’s not a perfect story, but it’s a story about getting past imperfections to love the spirit within, and the spirit of The Enchanted Cottage is lovely, yearning, and kind, just like the heart of its heroine.
Although the village children think she’s a witch, Mrs. Minnett offers Laura a home because she recognizes their shared loneliness and Laura’s innate goodness.
McGuire plays that heroine, a shy, plain girl named
Laura Pennington, who returns to her native village after life with relatives
in the city fails to work out. She gets a job and a home with Mrs. Minnett
(Mildred Natwick), the widow who owns the cottage and supports herself by
renting it out to newlyweds as a honeymoon retreat. The couple who plan to use
it are Oliver Bradford (Robert Young) and his elegant fiancée, Beatrice
(Hillary Brooke), but Oliver is called away to fly in World War II before they
wed, and the engagement ends after he is wounded and disfigured in combat.
Oliver takes up residence at the cottage in order to hide from the world and
his obnoxious family, but he is slowly drawn out of his misery by the
friendship of a blind pianist (Herbert Marshall) and the patient, generous
Laura.
When they first meet, Oliver chats with Laura but little guesses how important to him she will eventually become.
One of the things I like so much about The Enchanted
Cottage is the small stage on which the events take place. It’s a quiet,
intimate story revolving around two damaged people, even though big issues like
the war loom in its background. You can feel its roots as a stage play in the
limited settings, consisting primarily of the cottage itself. As much as I love
the grand European tours and luxury cruises of other classic romances, I
understand that the protagonists of those movies inhabit a world of privilege
far beyond the reach of most people, just as the glamorous stars embody a
physical beauty that few can ever realize. This is not a love story about
beautiful people in Paris, as charming as that might be. Instead, it’s a love
story about two broken people who might be anybody, anywhere, at almost any
time, which ironically gives it a universality that a grander romance often
lacks. There are always plain girls pining for a second glance as the young men
rush by, and there are always young men turning away from the world that hurt
them to nurse their wounds in bitterness and solitude. The magic happens when
two people like that find one another and realize that they can have something
wonderful if they’ll just take the chance.
Dorothy McGuire’s beauty is hidden by Laura’s terrible hair, dowdy outfits, and lack of makeup, but McGuire’s eyes still express the gentle, longing heart of the character.
Each of the key players understands the deeper emotions at work in the characters, which helps the mostly quiet performances resonate with the audience. Dorothy McGuire is certainly too beautiful to be truly plain, but Laura’s bad haircut, frumpy clothes, and bare face strip her of any hint of glamor and make us believe in the abiding loneliness of the shy wallflower. The scene at the canteen dance, when the eager soldiers would rather stand around than dance with Laura, is especially heartbreaking. There’s a troubling equation of Laura’s plainness with Oliver’s scars, suggesting that a woman who isn’t pretty is the same as a man who is literally disfigured, but the anguish that Oliver feels is never in doubt. Although Robert Young gets to indulge in the occasional self-pitying outburst, we do feel intense sympathy for his suffering, more so perhaps in his moments of quiet despair than in his angry attempts to drive people away. Mrs. Minnett and the pianist, John Hillgrove, serve as foils to Laura and Oliver and provide further insight into the workings of the human heart. Mildred Natwick invests the widow with the self-control born of life-shattering grief held very close, but we see how her efforts to help Laura and Oliver slowly heal her long-broken heart and bring joy back into her life. Herbert Marshall, while not actually blind, brings absolute truth to his role as a WWI veteran who understands Oliver’s pain because Marshall lost a leg in the first World War. While it wasn’t exactly a secret to the public, Marshall’s prosthetic limb also wasn’t often mentioned, but in this particular role, Marshall has an understanding of the situation that very few other actors could possess. Only Spring Byington has a truly thankless role as Oliver’s noisy, fussy, insensitive mother; she’s so good at being awful that we’re relieved to see so little of her.
Herbert Marshall gives a compelling performance as the blind pianist who befriends both Laura and Oliver and has a special understanding of their story.
I won’t talk much about the enchantment that supposedly hangs over the cottage or the third act’s twists because I don’t want to spoil those scenes for first-time viewers, but the ending manages to fulfill the fairy tale promise without putting such happiness out of reach for real people. It’s a lovely and refreshing departure from the usual Cinderella story or magical deus ex machina one gets in so many similar tales. If you’re in the mood for more classic romances for ordinary people, pair The Enchanted Cottage with Marty (1955), or try The Spiral Staircase (1946) for another of my favorite Dorothy McGuire performances. The 1945 film is the second of three adaptations of the original play thus far; the first, from 1924, stars Richard Barthelmess and May McAvoy, while a 2016 version stars Paul D. Masterson and Sarah Navratil. The reviews for the newest adaptation are terrible, but it’s on Amazon Prime if you love the 1945 version and are sufficiently curious.
Classic Movie Travels: Allan Jones Pennsylvania, New York and California
Allan Jones
The voice of Allan Jones is one that is well-documented in classic films and a variety of recordings. Boasting a tenor range and possessing a strong on-screen presence, Jones was well established as a romantic lead in many classic films and film musicals.
Born Theodore Allen Jones on October 14, 1907, in Old Forge, Pennsylvania, Jones spent most of his early years in his home state. His parents were Daniel Jones, born in Wales, and Elizabeth Allen Jones, born in England. He was raised in Scranton, graduating from Central High School, while the men in his family – including himself – worked as coal miners. His father was also a carpenter. By 1920, Jones was one of three children, with a younger sister and brother – Madeleine and Daniel.
As the years went on, Jones would leave Pennsylvania. Though he secured a
scholarship to Syracuse University, he chose to study voice at New York
University. Singing was in his blood; both his father and grandfather had tenor
singing voices, with his grandfather also able to play on the violin and piano.
With their support, Jones pursued his passion for vocal performance.
A young Jones
While Jones trained as a vocalist in New York and London, he would
eventually appear on Broadway. Jones made his Broadway debut in 1931 as part of
the cast of Boccacio. Some of his later performances included
appearances in the stage versions of Roberta and Bitter Sweet.
Classically trained in opera, Jones intended to take on opportunities to perform in films. Among his film appearances in the 1930s were A Night at the Opera (1935), Show Boat (1936), The Firefly(1937), and A Day at the Races (1937). Though he demonstrated the ability to perform in comedy in his collaborations with the Marx Brothers, he would also be recognized for portraying dramatic and romantic roles, as was the case in Show Boat with Irene Dunne.
Jones with Irene Dunne in Show Boat (1936)
While Jones did appear in Rose Marie (1936), lead actor Nelson Eddy saw Jones as a threat and asked that most of Jones’s footage be cut from the film. Jones’s final film for MGM would be Everybody Sing(1938).
After MGM, Jones joined Universal Pictures for two musical films: The Boys from Syracuse(1940) and One Night in the Tropics(1940). Following those films, Jones appeared in B-musicals at Paramount and Universal, including a reunion film with his co-star from A Night at the Opera –Kitty Carlisle – called Larceny with Music(1943).
Throughout his film career, Jones recorded frequently with RCA Victor. His
recording of “The Donkey Serenade” would become his signature song.
A Night at The Opera (1935)
Beyond his recordings, Jones steadily appeared in stage productions, including Man of La Mancha, Paint Your Wagon, Carousel, and Guys and Dolls. He also made guest appearances on television in shows like The Love Boat, which happened to also feature his son, pop singer Jack Jones. In his spare time, Jones enjoyed raising racehorses on his California ranch.
Jones passed away on June 27, 1992,
from lung cancer in New York City at the age of 84.
Today, a tribute and some locations of relevance to Jones remain.
Jones’s alma mater of Central High School is now Scranton High School, no
longer in the original building. New York University remains an impressive
institution to this day, located in New York, New York.
In his early years, Jones and his family lived on Main Street in Old Forge,
Pennsylvania. The original home is long gone.
In 1920, Jones and his family lived at 97 Scanlon Ave. in Scranton,
Pennsylvania. This is the location of where the home once stood:
97 Scanlon Ave., Scranton, Pennsylvania
In 1927,
Jones was already residing in New York. He maintained a residence at 4 W. 40th
St in New York City. By the next year, he relocated to 102 E. 30th St in New
York, which looks like this today:
102 E. 30th St., New York, NY
In 1940,
Jones was living at 120 N. Cliffwood St. in West Los Angeles, California, with
then-wife Irene Hervey. At this point, Jones was listed as working for
Paramount Pictures.
120 N. Cliffwood St., Los Angeles, California
In 1950,
they also had a residence at 1036 Via Altamira in Palm Springs, California. The
original home no longer stands.
1036 Via Altamira, Palm Springs, California
Jones
would also live at 1470 Carla Ridge in Beverly Hills, which has since been
renovated on the interior.
1470 Carla Ridge, Beverly Hills, California
Jones also has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, located on the Southside of Hollywood Boulevard’s 6100 block.
Today, Jones is well remembered for his vocal abilities and his appearances in many musicals on the stage and screen.
Annette Bochenek of Chicago, Illinois, is a PhD student at Dominican University and an independent scholar of Hollywood’s Golden Age. She manages the Hometowns to Hollywood blog, in which she writes about her trips exploring the legacies and hometowns of Golden Age stars. Annette also hosts the “Hometowns to Hollywood” film series throughout the Chicago area. She has been featured on Turner Classic Movies and is the president of TCM Backlot’s Chicago chapter. In addition to writing for Classic Movie Hub, she also writes for Silent Film Quarterly, Nostalgia Digest, and Chicago Art Deco SocietyMagazine.
That said, here are some of our February picks available for FREE STREAMING all month long on the CMH Channel. All you need to do is click on the movie/show of your choice, then click ‘play’ — you do not have to opt for a 7-day trial.
In celebration of February Birthdays, we’re featuring Elizabeth Taylor (born Feb 27, 1932) with the 1954 romantic drama The Last Time I Saw Paris, opposite Van Johnson. We’re also celebrating Clark Gable’s birthday (Feb 1, 1901) with 1938’s Too Hot To Handle, and Ida Lupino’s birthday (Feb 4, 1918) with the 1953 film noir The Hitch-Hiker, directed by Lupino. Plus more movies from birthday boys and girls Nigel Bruce (Feb 4, 1895), Robert Young (Feb 22, 1907), director William A. Wellman (born Feb 29, 1896), Judith Anderson (born Feb 10, 1897) — and more!
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We’re also celebrating some Femme Fatales this month with some classic film noirs including Too Late for Tears, Scarlet Street and Detour! And more…
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For those of you who aren’t familiar with the service, Best Classics Ever is a new mega streaming channel built especially for classic movie and TV lovers. The idea of the channel is to make lots of classic titles accessible and affordable for all. That said, Classic Movie Hub is curating titles each month that our fans can stream for free on the Classic Movie Hub Channelat Best Classics Ever. If you’d like access to the entire selection of Best Classics Ever titles, you can subscribe to everything for a low monthly fee of $4.99/month (Best Stars Ever, Best Westerns Ever, Best Mysteries Ever, Best TV Ever) or for an individual channel for only $1.99/month.
You can read more about Best Classics Ever and our partnership here.
“How Sweet It Is: The Jackie Gleason Story” We have FOUR Books to Give Away this month!
“How Sweet It Is adds new luster, dimension and depth to an American original” – Paul Newman
It’s time for our next book giveaway contest! CMH will be giving away FOUR COPIES of How Sweet It Is by syndicated columnist James Bacon, courtesy of Doris Bacon, from now through Feb 27.
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In order to qualify to win one of these prizes via this contest giveaway, you must complete the below entry task by Saturday, Feb 27 at 6PM EST. However, the sooner you enter, the better chance you have of winning, because we will pick a winner on four different days within the contest period, via random drawings, as listed below. So if you don’t win the first week that you enter, you will still be eligible to win during the following weeks until the contest is over.
Feb 6: One Winner
Feb 13: One Winner
Feb 20: One Winner
Feb 27: One Winner
We will announce each week’s winner on Twitter @ClassicMovieHub, the day after each winner is picked around 10PM EST — for example, we will announce our first week’s winner on Sunday Feb 7 around 10PM EST on Twitter. And, please note that you don’t have to have a Twitter account to enter; just see below for the details.
Jackie Gleason and James Bacon
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And now on to the contest!
ENTRY TASK (2-parts) to be completed by Saturday, Feb 27, 2021 at 6PM EST — BUT remember, the sooner you enter, the more chances you have to win…
1) Answer the below question via the comment section at the bottom of this blog post
2)ThenTWEET (not DM) the following message*: Just entered to win the “How Sweet It Is: The Jackie Gleason Story” by James Bacon #BookGiveaway courtesy of @JBaconHollywood & CMH – #CMHContest You can #EnterToWin here: http://ow.ly/eObl50DtphB
THE QUESTION: What do you love most about Jackie Gleason or his work?
*If you do not have a Twitter account, you can still enter the contest by simply answering the above question via the comment section at the bottom of this blog — BUT PLEASE ENSURE THAT YOU ADD THIS VERBIAGE TO YOUR ANSWER: I do not have a Twitter account, so I am posting here to enter but cannot tweet the message.
NOTE: if for any reason you encounter a problem commenting here on this blog, please feel free to tweet or DM us, or send an email to clas…@gmail.com and we will be happy to create the entry for you.
ALSO: Please allow us 48 hours to approve your comments. Sorry about that, but we are being overwhelmed with spam, and must sort through 100s of comments…
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About the Author and Book: James Bacon was the ultimate insider of Hollywood’s Golden Era as a syndicated columnist for 41 years, first with the Associated Press and then with the Los Angeles Herald-Examiner. He sipped champagne with Sophia Loren, drank vodka with Joan Crawford and got a first-hand account of Marilyn Monroe’s affair with JFK. During his lifetime, Bacon compiled his memorable celebrity encounters in two books, “Hollywood is a Four-Letter Town,” (1976) and “Made in Hollywood” (1977), which the New York Times called “frank, spicy and entertaining.” He also wrote an acclaimed biography of Jackie Gleason, “How Sweet it Is” (1985) which was celebrated by notables like Paul Newman, Frank Sinatra and Laurence Olivier. His widow, Doris Bacon, has decided to reissue the books, long unavailable on Amazon, in Bacon’s spirit. They are entertaining reads, crammed with stories and inside scoop on Hollywood’s biggest names, from Monroe to Elizabeth Taylor to John Wayne to Bette Davis and more.
Noir Nook: Ripped From the Headlines – Try and Get Me (1950)
Try and Get Me (The Sound of Fury) (1950)
This is an unpleasant post about an unpleasant
movie based on an unpleasant, real-life incident.
With luck, this post will be the worst thing about
the new year. It’s uphill from here, y’all!
The movie? United Artists’ 1950s feature Try and Get Me (originally released The Sound of Fury), starring Frank Lovejoy, Lloyd Bridges, Kathleen Ryan, and Richard Carlson. In a nutshell, it centers on Howard Tyler (Lovejoy), an unemployed family man who, desperate for a way to support his pregnant wife and young son, allows himself to be lured by an acquaintance, Jerry Slocum (Lloyd Bridges), into a life of crime. At first, limited to a string of petty robberies, the two eventually escalate their endeavors to the big time – kidnapping the son of a wealthy local businessman. But like many a best-laid plan, this one goes awry when their victim ends up dead, and Howard is increasingly tortured by the role he played. And when the law catches up with the men, their troubles really begin. Spurred by a series of articles penned by a crusading journalist, the community is whipped into a frenzy of vigilantism that concludes with the mob lynching of Tyler and Slocum. It’s a harrowing, hard-to-stomach tale from start to finish, an especially grim noir made all the more disturbing by the fact that it was based on an actual occurrence.
Lloyd Bridges and Frank Lovejoy
Directed by Cy Endfield, the film was adapted from the 1947 novel The Condemned, by Jo Pagano, who also wrote the screenplay. Pagano based his tale on the 1933 kidnapping of Brooke Hart, the 22-year-old heir of the L. Hart & Son’s department store, one of the most successful businesses in San Jose, California. Brooke disappeared on November 9, 1933; later that night, his family received a call that Brooke had been kidnapped and would be returned upon payment of $40,000. Just a week later, through the combined efforts of several law enforcement agencies, and the use of call tracking, the kidnappers – Thomas Thurmond and John Holmes – were apprehended. Before long, the men confessed that they had killed Brooke Hart – and that by the time they’d placed their first ransom call to the family, Brooke was already dead.
Kathleen Ryan and Frank Lovejoy
With Thurmond and Holmes detained in jail, the public’s anger over the crime began to grow, fueled in part by a front-page editorial in a San Jose newspaper that called for “mob violence” and labeled the men as “human devils.” When a mob began to form outside the jail, Holmes’s attorney sought to have the National Guard employed to ward against a possible lynching, but California governor James Rolph refused, even vowing to “pardon the lynchers.” The volatile atmosphere reached a fever pitch when Brooke Hart’s badly decomposed body was found near the San Mateo Bridge. Press reports varied widely on the number of people crowded around the jail, ranging from 5,000 to 15,000 men, women, and children. On the night of November 26th, the mob fashioned a battering ram from a long pipe, stormed the jail, dragged the men to a nearby park, and hanged them both. (A few people were eventually arrested for the lynching, but none were convicted, and a lawsuit filed against the governor by Holmes’s family was dropped in 1934 when Rolph suffered a fatal heart attack.)
Frank Lovejoy
Try and Get Me was actually the second motion picture that was inspired by this incident; the first, Fury, starred Spencer Tracy and Sylvia Sidney and was released in 1936. If you’ve never seen Try and Get Me, you really owe it to yourself to check it out. You can find it on YouTube. It’s not easy to watch (and if you’re like me, you may never want to see it a second time!), but it’s worth it. Trust me.
Just keep the lights on.
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– Karen Burroughs Hannsberry for Classic Movie Hub
Western RoundUp: Western Film Book Library – Part 4
I hope the new year is starting
well for everyone!
With many of us across the
country — indeed, the world! — still spending most of our time at home, this
seemed like a good month to share some additional classic film book recommendations.
Below are a variety of titles I
own on various aspects of Western movies. All of these books are
currently available to order online.
The Western Films of Robert Mitchum: Hollywood’s Cowboy Rebel by Gene Freese is a new book just published by McFarland in 2020.
The Western Films of Robert Mitchum: Hollywood’s Cowboy Rebel by Gene Freese
I was quite impressed with this
substantive volume, which has relatively small print and runs 236 pages,
including the index and bibliography.
Freese, who previously wrote the informative 2013 biography Jock Mahoney: The Life and Films of a Hollywood Stuntman, has a gift for researching, especially when one considers that most of those who made the films are no longer with us; the extensive quotes he found in old interviews are supplemented by new interviews by people such as Chris Mitchum, actor Don Collier, and stunt double Dave Cass.
The book covers each of Mitchum’s numerous Westerns individually, including the seven (!) Hopalong Cassidy films Mitchum appeared in during 1943, his very first year in the movie business. There’s a substantive background on the making of each film as well as appreciations of the movies and Mitchum’s performances.
The book is illustrated with black and white photographs. In my view it’s a “must-have” for fans of Mitchum and Westerns.
Last of the Cowboy Heroes: The Westerns of Randolph Scott, Joel McCrea, and Audie Murphy by Robert Nott, published by McFarland in 2000, was my “go-to” reference on these films when I first really began to seriously watch these movies around the time the book was published.
Last of the Cowboy Heroes: The Westerns of Randolph Scott, Joel McCrea, and Audie Murphy by Robert Nott
While I had grown up watching
many of McCrea’s Universal Westerns on local TV, there were still a number of
his movies I’d never seen, and Scott and Murphy’s Westerns were mostly new to
me.
Western historian Nott, who later
wrote additional books focused solely on Scott and Budd Boetticher, devotes
multiple chapters to each of the three Western stars, discussing the making of
their films and analyzing the finished movies, along with providing plenty of
biographical information and career overviews.
The book is well illustrated with
numerous black and white photographs. I learned a lot from it and still
return to it for reference.
When Hollywood Came to Town: A History of Moviemaking in Utah by James V. D’Arc is a gorgeous book that quickly became a favorite. While not exclusively devoted to Westerns, they naturally comprise a majority of the titles covered in this volume about location filming in the great outdoors of Utah.
When Hollywood Came to Town: A History of Moviemaking in Utah by James V. D’Arc
The book is neatly organized by county and has beautiful spreads of high-quality photos printed on glossy paper, with plenty of informative text to go along with the attractive visuals.
The photos are presented in both
black and white and full color. Here are a typical couple of pages:
A look inside
D’Arc is a top historian; his commentary track for the 2003 DVD release of Brigham Young(1940) remains, in my view, one of the finest such tracks ever recorded.
When Hollywood Came to Town was first published in 2010; an
updated edition with additional text and photos was published in 2019.
Lone Pine (Images of
America) by
Christopher Langley is a short paperback by one of the preeminent historians on
Lone Pine, California. It was published in 2007 in Arcadia Publishing’s
Images of America photo book series.
Lone Pine (Images of America) by Christopher Langley
Lone Pine, California is where countless Westerns were filmed, as I’ve previously written about here on multiple occasions. Langley presents a concise yet thorough look at the area including its natural history, Native American history, the battle for water, and of course Lone Pine’s role in movie history.
The book is illustrated with black and white photographs from Lone Pine’s Museum of Western Film History, as well as from the Eastern California Museum located in Independence, California. (The latter museum will celebrate its centennial in 2028.) The book serves as a solid primer on the Lone Pine area, essential background for anyone who loves Westerns.
52Weeks, 52 Western Movies: Film Classics and Modern Masterpieces by Scott Harris, Paul Bishop, and Wyatt McCrea is an enjoyable paperback that provides fun reminisces for longtime Western fans and a great introduction for those new to the genre.
52Weeks, 52 Western Movies: Film Classics and Modern Masterpieces by Scott Harris, Paul Bishop, and Wyatt McCrea
As its title suggests, the book covers a year’s worth of Westerns. Each short entry, typically a two-page spread, presents a variety of facts and insights regarding the film. In addition to the three named authors, who wrote a majority of the entries, there are additional contributions from Western experts including James Reasoner and the late Bill Crider.
The book covers many expected classics such as Red River (1948), The Searchers (1956), and Rio Bravo (1959), but it also focuses a spotlight on lesser-known gems such as Ramrod (1947), Four Faces West (1948), and Four Fast Guns (1960). I wrote about the latter film here recently in my post: Hidden Gems, Vol. 2.
In addition to the written content, this book, published in 2018, is beautifully designed; it’s filled with photos and posters printed on quality paper. The majority of the photos are in color. Here’s a sample spread celebrating the Westerns of Joel McCrea:
An inside look
Tall in the Saddle: Great
Lines from Classic Westerns by Peggy Thompson and Saeko Usukawa is another nicely
produced little book, published in 1998 by Chronicle Books.
Tall in the Saddle: Great Lines from Classic Westerns by Peggy Thompson and Saeko Usukawa
The quotes of Western dialogue that appear throughout the book are, in my view, a relatively small part of the fun; more important are the fine photos printed on glossy paper.
The book includes both color and black and white photos, with attention paid to both major classics and lesser-known Westerns such as Along Came Jones (1945), which is seen on the book’s cover, and Roughshod (1948), another title from my recent column on “Hidden Gems.” It’s an enjoyable book for Western fans to peruse and, like 52 Weeks, 52 Western Movies, provides those new to the genre with numerous ideas for future Western viewing.
My shelves are filled with even more books on Western film history, so it’s likely I’ll share another list a few months from now! In the meantime, for more ideas on Western film books, please visit my lists from July 2019, November 2019, and May 2020. Meanwhile, recommendations are always welcome in the comments.
Happy reading!
…
– 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.
Casablanca and the Battle over “As Time Goes By” (Exclusive by Author Steven C. Smith)
By mid-1941, Max
Steiner had already scored over thirty films at Warner Bros. since becoming that
studio’s highest paid staff composer in 1937.
Many of his projects had been prestigious and highly profitable. The list included Jezebel, Angels With Dirty Faces, Four Daughters, Dark Victory, and The Letter. But at age 53, the Vienna-born composer was physically and mentally exhausted, after more than a decade of nonstop, night-and-day work in Hollywood.
Max Steiner, portrait 1936 (image courtesy of Steven C. Smith)
Lack of sleep, studio
pressure, two alimonies, IRS trouble, and worsening eyesight were turning the genial,
well-liked Steiner into a short-tempered man on the verge of a breakdown.
On July 11, 1941, it
finally arrived.
What began as a minor
disagreement with his wife Louise, who was also principal harpist on his scores,
exploded into a violent argument. Days later Louise left her husband, and her recording
career, to pursue a new life in New York.
Steiner was devastated.
For the next three years, he wrote Louise almost daily, imploring her to return
to him and their young son, Ronald.
As their correspondence
grew increasingly bitter, Max buried himself in work, channeling his loneliness
and romantic longing into some of the greatest music of his career.
1942’s Now, Voyager, starring his friend Bette Davis, earned Steiner his second Academy Award, and a popular song hit: “It Can’t Be Wrong,” based on his love theme from the film.
Just days after recording that score, Max moved with typical speed onto his next Warners project. It would ultimately become his best-loved.
The
unproduced play Everybody Comes to Rick’s found its genesis in 1938 in a
French café, La Belle Aurore. There, a visiting writer named Murray Burnett met
French patriots and Nazi soldiers, along with a black pianist who delighted listeners
with performances of American jazz.
At
Belle Aurore, Burnett heard about Casablanca, a Moroccan city flooded with
Europeans trying to escape Hitler. Returning to America, Burnett teamed with
writer Joan Alison on a play that melded his impressions of the club with the
latest news about war in Europe. They incorporated Belle Aurore’s pianist, now
named Sam, who played a tune from Burnett’s college days: “As Time Goes By.”
Although
never produced, Everybody Comes to Rick’s was brought to the attention
of Warner Bros.’ head of production, Hal Wallis, in 1941. Pearl Harbor brought
extra relevance to the drama’s themes of patriotism and sacrifice.
One
day after the attack, Wallis optioned the play.
A new deal with Warners allowed him to personally produce four movies a year for the studio. Casablancawas among them — and as a result, no detail was too small for his eye.
Humphrey Bogart (Rick) and Ingrid Bergman (Ilsa)
Wallis
considered music a character in the film: it cemented the backstory of its
lovers, Rick Blaine and Ilsa Lund, and their favorite song re-inflicts old
wounds and rekindles their passion. In one scene, music even becomes a weapon,
as free Europeans sing the French national anthem in defiance of the Nazis, on
the battleground of Rick’s Café.
The
decision to retain “As Time Goes By” was Wallis’s. The song was written in 1931
by Herman Hupfeld, a prolific but little-known composer, for the Broadway revue
Everybody’s Welcome. Despite the
show’s inviting title, it ran only 139 performances. A few recordings of the song
were made, but it was mostly forgotten by 1942.
Wallis reflected more about the music of Casablanca than he had on any previous film. Four days before shooting began, he wrote a lengthy memo listing which popular songs he wanted used in scenes set at Rick’s Café. He also wrote detailed comments about underscore – noting that as Humphrey Bogart’s Rick drunkenly recalls his romance with Ilsa, Sam’s playing of “As Time Goes By” would segue into an “orchestral treatment” of the theme.
With
the music of Now, Voyager fresh in
his ears, Wallis assigned Steiner to the film on July 11th, 1942,
three weeks before principal photography was complete. The likelihood that Max
was not consulted during shooting is supported by one surprising fact.
Max
Steiner hated “As Time Goes By.”
“He
absolutely detested the Hupfeld tune,” Louise confirmed. “He said, ‘They have
the lousiest tune, they already have it recorded, and they want me to use it.’”
Today,
after more than eight decades of acclaim for the song, Max’s judgment seems
especially flawed. His hostility also seems curious, since he often
incorporated other composers’ melodies into scores without complaint.
But
his reasons were threefold.
Weeks
after writing Now, Voyager’s love theme, Steiner was confident he could
give Casablanca a memorable song of
its own. Secondly, he knew that such a song could yield him desperately needed
royalties. He also believed that Hupfeld’s syncopated tune was rhythmically
unsuitable for use as a short recurring theme, which Wallis wanted heard throughout
the underscore.
Dooley Wilson (Sam), Humphrey Bogart (Rick) and Ingrid Bergman (Ilsa) (image courtesy of Steven C. Smith)
In 1943, Max told a reporter that Wallis would have let him write his own theme. But unfortunately, “As Time Goes By” was referenced in dialogue and performed onscreen, and Ingrid Bergman, currently under contract to David O. Selznick, had already had her hair cut for her next film, making reshoots impossible.
That
story was a cover for Steiner’s wounded ego. Jack Warner always balked at
retakes: if a movie’s ending was in doubt, two versions were shot during
production. Also, film stock had become more costly due to the war. Re-shooting
entire sequences of Casablanca, with
Bergman re-loaned from Selznick at additional cost, to please a staff composer?
Calling that scenario unlikely is, to quote Claude Rains’s Captain Renault, a gross understatement.
Wallis
wrote in his autobiography that he “insisted” Max use the Hupfeld tune, after
which “Steiner grudgingly began his work.” But Wallis conceded that “under
great pressure, and with countless arguments, Max Steiner produced a rich,
romantic score.”
It
is a testament to Max’s professionalism that listening to Casablanca, one would assume that he not only loved “As Time Goes
By” but had written it himself.
Steiner
set aside his disappointment to hear the Hupfeld melody from Rick and Ilsa’s perspectives.
He was aided by his orchestrator, Hugo Friedhofer, who later said that Max “had
a concept of it as being kind of a square tune, which requires translation from
what’s in the printed piano part to a more relaxed version. You can’t play
‘Ta-ta, ta-ta, ta-ta’…which is what it is in the original. So, I say
this with all modesty, I said, ‘Max, think of it this way.’ [sings] With
triplet [waltz-like] phrasing. He thought about it, and that’s the way it came
out.”
The
theme’s effectiveness is enhanced by Steiner’s limited, specific use of it. Sam
plays “As Time Goes By” at Ilsa’s request 33 minutes into the film. Rick storms
over and orders him to stop. At this moment, the tune appears for the first
time in Steiner’s underscore, played with chilly astringency by solo oboe, mirroring
Rick’s shock at seeing Ilsa.
Not
until the flashback to pre-war Paris do we hear the melody played ecstatically,
in the waltz-like form Friedhofer recommended. Here, and later during Rick and
Ilsa’s final goodbye at the airport, Steiner lifts the Hupfeld melody into a
near-delirious statement of romantic ecstasy.
The
composer had no difficulty seeing Ilsa as Rick did: Max was besotted by
Bergman’s performance and beauty. She is the only cast member he mentions when
discussing the film in correspondence. She “is masterful in it,” he told
Louise.
The crowd sings a defiant “La Marseillaise”
The
score features a second theme no less important than “As Time Goes By.” The
French anthem “La Marseillaise” is a love theme of its own…the embodiment of the
liberty our heroes fight for. Its performance still elicits cheers at
screenings, as freedom fighters in Rick’s Café sing it in defiant counterpoint
to the Nazis’ bellicose rendition of “Die Wacht am Rhein.”
That scene’s effectiveness is due not only to director Michael Curtiz’s brilliant staging, and its pivotal role in the story (it is the turning point for Rick rejoining “the fight”), but also due to the music’s arrangement. On September 2nd, Wallis instructed Steiner: “On the ‘Marseillaise,’ when it is played in the café, don’t do it as though it was played by this small orchestra. Do it with full scoring orchestra, and get some body to it.”
Steiner
did so with such effectiveness that few viewers ever notice that the
instrumentation is larger than what we see onscreen.
Significantly,
“La Marseillaise,” not “As Time Goes By,” is the theme that concludes the
score, in an arrangement that starts with shimmering, quiet promise as Rick and
Louis walk into the fog, then ends in a call-to-arms fortissimo. As he often would do, Max uses music in the final
seconds of a film to tell us where the characters are going next.
Max Steiner conducts 1939 (image courtesy of Steven C. Smith)
Steiner’s
score for Casablanca would earn him an Academy Award nomination, and
praise from tough critics like Hal Wallis, Jack Warner and Michael Curtiz. From
his first viewing of the film, Steiner had been captivated by its romanticism;
and as an Austrian whose family was endangered by Hitler, he was invested in
its philosophy.
By
the end of his writing, he could even joke about the most frustrating aspect of
its creation.
“THE END,” Max writes on his final page of
the score. “Dear Hugo: Thanks for
everything! I am very pleased with you! Yours, Herman Hupfeld.”
Steven has produced over 200 documentaries for television and other media. They include The Sound of a City: Julie Andrews Returns to Salzburg; A Place for Us: West Side Story’s Legacy; and Thou Shalt Not: Sex, Sin and Censorship in Pre-Code Hollywood. He can be reached at www.mediasteven.com
You can purchase Steven’s book on amazon by clicking on the below images:
Silents are Golden: A Closer Look at – Way Down East (1920)
One of the most influential early directors of all time was D.W. Griffith, who rose to acclaim for the excellent short dramas he directed for Biograph and went on to create some of the biggest features of the 1910s. Controversial today because of The Birth of a Nation(1915) (you might be aware of it), his experimental epic Intolerance(1916) and masterful dramas like Broken Blossoms(1919) have nevertheless remained landmarks of early cinema.
By the end of the 1910s, having established such a high reputation and having just made a string of lower budget films like A Romance of Happy Valley(1919), Griffith felt the pressure to churn out more ambitious masterpieces. How would he follow up on a massive, multi-hour feature like Intolerance? Or even the wartime propaganda piece Hearts of the World(1918), made at the request of the British government? Surprisingly, Griffith was inspired by the last thing anyone would’ve imagined: the old, tired Victorian melodrama Way Down East.
Way Down East (1920)
Written by Lottie Blair Parker and producer
William A. Brady and first performed in 1897, Way Down East was a genuine old-school “mellerdrama,” about the
innocent, naive Anna lead astray by a dastardly seducer, abandoned by him and
forced to bear her subsequent baby alone. The baby dies, Anna quietly finds
work as a lowly servant on the Bartlett farm, but in time her secret past is
revealed. The showpiece of the play was a scene where Squire Bartlett points
dramatically at the door and orders the girl to leave. Lillian Gish recalled, candidly:
“We all thought privately that Mr. Griffith had lost his mind.”
Lillian Gish, Richard Barthelmess, Kate Bruce, Creighton Hale, Mary Hay, Burr McIntosh, Edgar Nelson, George Neville, Vivia Ogden, Lowell Sherman, and Porter Strong in Way Down East (1920)
To Griffith, this cliched, over-familiar play had a deeper meaning than first met the eye. It wasn’t just melodrama, it stood for many struggles suffered by generations of innocent people, especially women. Its predominantly rural settings and “rustic” characters were both nostalgic and reflected many of the very audiences who had enjoyed the play so much over the years. It was, Griffith felt, a humble piece of Americana that was worthy to be retold in a fresh way and elevated to the status of art.
Richard Barthelmess, Lillian Gish, and Lowell Sherman
Accordingly, Griffith paid an astonishing $175,000 for the rights to the play and started production at his studio in Mamaroneck, New York. It would take over six months to film–a long time for even the big features–largely because Griffith wanted to film a number of outdoor scenes that depended on authentic changes in season. Most importantly, he would need a real blizzard for the climax of the film–and apparently took out insurance in case it didn’t appear by a certain date.
The great Lillian Gish, who’d been with Griffith’s studio since 1912, was cast as the virginal Anna, and the up-and-coming young Richard Barthelmess was cast as David, the farmer’s son (he had also been in Broken Blossoms). The dastardly Lennox Sanderson would be played by Lowell Sherman, who specialized in similarly dastardly characters. Other actors originally included Clarine Seymour, who’d made a splash as a proto-flapper in True Heart Susie(1919), but unfortunately, she died of an intestinal ailment and was replaced by Mary Hay (Hay would later marry Barthelmess).
Souvenir Book
Numerous details were carefully poured over.
Anna’s clothes were designed to be plain and not that noticeable. In the
ballroom scenes, her gown was inspired by Greek clothing, in contrast to the
fashionable ladies around her (that included the real-life socialite Mrs.
Morgan Belmont). “It wasn’t in style then, and it wouldn’t be in style now,”
Gish recalled, “but it has never been out of style.” Anna’s childhood home is a warm and nostalgic
place, with old-fashioned furniture and lilac bushes in the front yard. The
Bartletts’ country home is equally comfortable, with oil lamps and
quaintly-patterned tablecloths.
Way Down East abounds with beautiful shots and romantic details, like the pastoral scenes of Anna and David by a lake, or a dove perching on Anna’s shoulder when she’s at a well. The comic scenes involving several village characters like gossipy Martha Perkins and nerdy Professor Sterling haven’t aged quite as well and were probably hearkening back to rural comedies from the stage. The dramatic scenes, however, more than make up for them.
Richard Barthelmess and Lillian Gish
Some of these scenes were among the most effective Griffith had ever done. The heartbreaking scene of Anna losing her baby was shot at night, for as quiet and solemn a background as possible. The baby’s father watched the shooting and Gish later claimed he fainted at one point. The brief scenes of Anna in labor, showing a doctor dabbing sweat from her face while servants listened outside the door, seem pretty basic today but were considered shockingly realistic in their day – critics wondered if that much realism was necessary.
But the crown jewel of the film was the impressive frozen river sequence. Griffith had insisted on waiting for a real blizzard before shooting it, which didn’t come until March. He and his crew worked day and night to get the shots they needed of Gish floundering through the snow in her light dress–several closeups captured the ice that started forming on her face and eyelashes. Many of the river scenes were shot at White River Junction, Vermont, with the actual river ice broken into floes by the crew. Gish, who was a trooper throughout the whole ordeal, suggested that when Anna collapses on a floe she should trail her hand in the water. Until the end of her life, her hand would ache whenever it was exposed to the cold.
Lillian Gish on a frozen lake
Some of the shots with the waterfall were later done in the spring at a small river in Farmington, Connecticut, with plywood ice floes. But the shots of David running across the ice floes to save Anna were authentic as they could be. Barthelmess had to jump from floe to floe in his bulky fur coat, at one point almost sinking into the freezing water – a moment that made it into the finished film.
Filming the ice scene
Dangerous and time-consuming as the shoot could be, in the end, Griffith had made another masterwork that became a huge box office draw. The premiere was a triumph, with the audience cheering and whistling by the end of the river sequence. Most critics gave the film high praise, one of them stating, “There is a real and unaffected poignancy about the betrayal of a young and ignorant girl by a sophisticated seducer which can easily be brought home to vast audiences. Here the moving picture has the advantage over the play.”
Barthelmess and Gish
Gish recalled reminiscing with Barthelmess about
Way Down East’s shoot, and how he
talked about how dangerous the ice floe sequence had been. “I wonder why he
went through with it,” he had said to her. “We could have been killed. There
isn’t enough money in the world to pay me to do it today.”
To Gish, Griffith’s most devoted and hardworking
actress, the answer to this was simple: “But we weren’t doing it for money.”
Advertisement for D.W. Griffith’s Way Down East (1920)
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 Quarterlyand has also written for The Keaton Chronicle.