Classic Movie Hub’s June picks for our CMH-Curated BCE Channel
As announced a few weeks ago, CMH is thrilled to have partnered with Best Classics Ever (BCE), a mega streaming channel dedicated to classic films and TV shows! And, we are proud to have our own Classic Movie Hub Channel there, where CMH fans can stream lots of classic movies and TV shows for free each month! We’ll be specially curating our channel, so we’ll be sure to feature a nice selection for fans, which we’ll announce each month!
That said, without further ado, here are some of the films we’re featuring this month on our channel – all you need to do is click on the image below, then click ‘play’ — you do not have to opt for a 7-day trial:
In celebration of June birthdays: Errol Flynn (Errol Flynn Theater), Gail Patrick (My Man Godfrey), Basil Rathbone (Sherlock Holmes: Dressed to Kill), Rosalind Russell and Ralph Bellamy (His Girl Friday) and Jane Russell (The Outlaw).
What a nifty little spitfire of a movie Foreign Correspondent is. Joel McCrea stands in for America in this ‘thirty-seconds-before-WWII-begins’ thriller. A Dutch ambassador (poignantly played by Albert Basserman) possesses “The MacGuffin” and the bad guys want it…by any means necessary.
“It’s a secret clause. I know it. Clause 27. But they, they mustn’t know it. It will help them if they make war.”
And here stumbling in on the world scene is beat reporter, McCrea. His newspaper upgrades him to the level of foreign correspondent but Kronkite and Murrow, he ain’t. Broad, twangy monotone voice, trading in a fedora for a bowler he can’t keep track of, and a cavalier attitude towards world events…heck, that ain’t even our fight. Added to this fish-out-of-water trope are two more Hitchcock ingredients stirred in to make this a bona fide Hitchcock movie:
1. a feisty and pretty girl (this time not necessarily a blonde)
and
2. a smooth, sleek, cultured villain.
“It’s true then, what I wouldn’t believe”
Well, he’s got that in Laraine Day and Herbert Marshall. There’s a slight twist…they are father and daughter, so loyalty gets a good going over. Now, I never really quite buy them as father and daughter no matter how many times Day says ‘cahnt’ instead of ‘caint.’ But what the hey. What matters is Marshall cares very much for her and she can be used as a pawn against him.
“He’s not your friend, Mr. Van Meer.”
George Sanders makes a jolly good showing in this film. I love him as a journalist wanting to join forces with McCrea. He’s fast-talking, playful, charming and free-wheeling, physical and shows emotion. I’ve never seen Sanders like this again in his career.
Hitchcock has all sorts of set-pieces in Foreign Correspondent as it moves along at a clip:
* a chase underneath a sea of umbrellas
* a windmill turning the wrong way (mind your trenchcoat Joel)
* an assassin sent in as a body guard
* that spectacular plane crash (before CGI)
Two aspects in Foreign Correspondent are explored more and less in two later Hitchcock films. One is Lifeboat (1944) for reasons obvious after you see this 1940 film. And if I might stretch this a bit, the father ~ daughter relationship in Foreign Correspondent is given a nod in Notorious (1946) by the Alicia Hubermann character though it’s only touched upon there.
Boy-meets-girl, spy meets future son-in-law. And it all hangs in the balance by a kindly white-haired gentleman. Hitchcock’s works are such a many layered thing… there’s enough there to mine for its parts.
Theresa Brown is a native New Yorker, a Capricorn and a biker chick (rider as well as passenger). When she’s not on her motorcycle, you can find her on her couch blogging about classic films for CineMaven’s Essays from the Couch. Classic films are her passion. You can find her on Twitter at @CineMava.
Silents are Golden: A Closer Look At – Safety Last! (1923)
Few images from cinema are more iconic than the
1920s, black-and-white photo of a young man in round glasses dangling from a
clock. Even if you’ve never seen a silent film, it’s guaranteed that you’ve
seen this famous still at some point – and
you’ve probably seen more than a few homages to it, too.
Harold Lloyd in the famous clock scene from Safety Last!
Yet relatively few people have seen the film it’s from – Safety Last!(1923), Harold Lloyd’s silent comedy classic. This is a shame because it’s not only timelessly funny, but it can still give audiences a thrill even in this age of elaborate special effects (not for nothing did the American Film Institute include it on their “100 Most Thrilling Movies” list).
By the early 1920s, Harold Lloyd was flying high. He had energetically worked his way up from being a bit player and supporting comedian to becoming one of Hollywood’s biggest box office stars, with an appealing “everyman” persona in signature round spectacles. Usually called “The Boy” in his comedies, Lloyd portrayed hardworking, optimistic go-getters who strove for success – characters very much in tune with 1920s culture.
Harold Lloyd
At the time, “thrill comedies” were a popular subgenre, with comedians braving dizzy heights, out-of-control automobiles, speeding steam trains, and other assorted terrors all in the name of laughs (often doing the dangerous stunts themselves). Stunt work had been common in slapstick films since the earliest days of cinema and only accelerated as the years went by. Studios like Keystone Film Company were legendary for their goofy stunts, and comedians like Larry Semon specialized in crazy spectacles. The thrill comedies of the Roaring Twenties were the natural result of years of comedians trying to outdo each other, one spinning Model T or lengthy fall from a window, at a time.
Stunts weren’t only popular in the movies,
either. Fairs often included frenetic shows involving everything from diving
horses to people being shot out of cannons — even staged locomotive crashes.
Stores used “ballyhoo,” or publicity stunts, to attract fresh crowds of
customers, which could be as simple as paying someone to wear a sandwich board
all day or as dangerous as having someone bungee jump off the store building.
In general, folks in the 1920s seemed to have an endless appetite for crazy
stunts.
Just a few of the daring “barnstormers” of the era.
In fact, it was witnessing a man perform a public stunt that gave Harold Lloyd the idea of making Safety Last! Years later he recalled: “Without too much ado he started at the bottom of the building and started to climb up the side of this building. Well, it had such a terrific impact on me, that when he got to about the third floor or fourth floor, I couldn’t watch him anymore. My heart was in my throat, and so I started walking up the street…but, of course, I kept looking back all the time to see if he was still there…I just couldn’t believe he could make that whole climb, but he did…”
As hair-raising as this climb was to watch, it turned out to be inspiring. Lloyd decided he simply had to meet this daredevil. Nicknamed “the Human Spider,” Bill Strother had become famous for climbing buildings in front of amazed crowds to advertise various businesses. With an idea for a new comedy brewing, Lloyd got Strother a contract with his producer Hal Roach and started work on what would become Safety Last! Lloyd had made several “thrill pictures” by 1923, such as High and Dizzy (1920) and Never Weaken(1921), but he was determined that this newest film — involving the daring climb of a tall building — would top them all.
A still for Never Weaken.
Safety Last! is basically a two-part film, the first half introducing us to “the Boy” (Lloyd) who travels to the big city to “make good” so he can marry his girl (Mildred Davis). He ends up working as a lowly sales assistant in a department store. In the second half, the Boy comes up with the idea for a publicity stunt to boost the store’s sales. He enlists his pal “Limpy” Bill (played by Strother) to climb to the top of the 12-story building that houses the department store. Unfortunate circumstances keep Bill from climbing, however, and the Boy takes his place.
Parts of this hair-raising sequence were done for real. Strothers, dressed like Lloyd’s character, is shown climbing a building in several long shots, which were interspersed into the closing scenes with Lloyd.
The famous clock scene building is located at 908 S. Broadway, Los Angeles, California
But film wizardry was also heavily involved, of
course. Lloyd would build a set on top of an actual building in downtown Los
Angeles, near the edge of the roof, with a tower for the cameramen built
nearby. When angled slightly downwards, the camera captured Lloyd climbing the
faux building in the foreground with a real view of the busy downtown in the
background. A simple but convincing effect. Several buildings were used for
these shots to get footage at escalating heights — the set for the famous clock
scene was apparently atop 908 S. Broadway.
Safety Last! was selected to the National Film Registry, Library of Congress, in 1994.
This being the 1920s, those rooftop sets weren’t
all that safe, either. Lloyd still could’ve gotten injured in a fall, or even
fallen from the rooftop itself. Apparently, the clock scenes were filmed with a
mattress underneath, which Lloyd decided to test one day by dropping a dummy
onto it. The dummy bounced off the mattress and right over the edge of the
roof. (They filmed the scene anyways.)
If this all weren’t exciting enough, Lloyd
performed those climbing scenes with a hidden disability. In 1919, he had posed
for publicity stills that showed him lighting a cigarette with a prop bomb. By
some bizarre twist of fate, the “prop” bomb turned out to be an actual
explosive. The blast blew off the thumb and index finger of Lloyd’s right hand
and left him bedridden for weeks. In time, he returned to films, using
skin-color gloves to conceal his mangled hand. That he did those rigorous
scenes so well, is a testament to his remarkable “can do” attitude.
Harold Lloyd first tested the safety precautions for the clock stunt by dropping a dummy onto the mattress below. The dummy bounced off and plummeted to the street below.
All that hard work, and throwing caution to the
wind paid off. Safety Last! was a
huge hit in its time, thrilling countless audiences. Some theaters even
advertised that they had nurses in attendance in case anyone fainted. Today
it’s rightfully considered a cultural milestone, and not only because it’s the
source of one of cinema’s most famous images. If it’s ever playing on a big
screen near you, drop everything and go experience it with an audience. You’ll
never forget all those laughs–and gasps.
…
Historian John Bengtson’s posts on Lloyd’s filming locations for Safety Last! were a very helpful source for this post–take a look at them here
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.
A raven-haired beauty. She’s a tall drink of water and commands the room with her confidence and radiance, with a wit as sharp as her perfectly slanted hat and Kalloch suit. Only Rosalind Russell as Hildy Johnson could go toe-to-toe with Cary Grant as charismatic Walter in Howard Hawks’ His Girl Friday (1940).
His Girl Friday (1940) stands out amongst the crowd pleasers of the screwball comedy classics. As a reminder, here are some of the signature elements of the subgenre of Screwball Comedy:
female-driven
plots involving courtship, marriage or remarriage
love triangles
fast-paced action, dialogue and/or repartee
chase or escapist themes
farcical, if not ridiculous, situations (often caught in a jam/tight spot)
elements of slapstick, origins in physical comedy
parody of the romantic comedy
quirky character actors
social class struggles/differences
female is usually upper-class socialite or heiress
male is less dominant, frustrated
both male and female in the couple are frequently eccentric
hints of reversal of stereotypical gender roles
mistaken identification, mix-ups
and most of all, overall tone of confusion and chaos
As you can see from the above list, this film doesn’t check a few boxes, but a majority will do. We’ll forgive Hildy for not being a scatterbrained heiress as typical in screwballs because this more empowered female role, accompanied with lightning speed dialogue and constant laughs, is absolutely brilliant.
Rosalind Russell and Cary Grant with Howard Hawks
Hawks frames the newspaper world via a love triangle of editor Walter Burns (Cary Grant), his ex and once star reporter Hildy Johnson (Rosalind Russell), and her new beau Bruce Baldwin (Ralph Bellamy). The madcap pace begins when Hildy arrives at the paper to persuade her ex to finally sign their divorce agreement. Hildy is motivated – she’s now engaged to sweetly gullible and somewhat slow-witted Bruce. He’s stable, dull and naïve so he’s the very opposite to clever, cunning and exciting Walter.
Cary Grant, Ralph Bellamy and Rosalind Russell
Wrapped in the guise of a funny take on remarriage, this film is very much a bluntly cynical look into the newspaper game. Written by Charles Lederer, based on the play “The Front Page” by Ben Hecht and Charles MacArthur, the script packs a punch in every scene. To infuse more humor into the final draft, Hawks called in Morrie Ryskind to finesse the dialogue. According to imdb: Morrie “gave the film another ending, in which Burns and Hildy are married in the newsroom then immediately start fighting, leading one of the guests to comment “I think it’s going to turn out all right this time.” Unfortunately, Ryskind revealed this ending to other writers at the studio, and before the film could go into production, another picture was shot with the same ending.” Hildy gives her biting retort on the downside on the lifestyle of an ace reporter as she announces her departure:
“Next time you see me, I should be riding in a Rolls Royce giving interviews on success…So long you wage-slaves…When you’re crawling up fire escapes and getting kicked out of front doors, and eating Christmas dinners in one-armed joints, don’t forget your pal, Hildy Johnson!”
Pay close attention, because from the get-go, you almost
miss hilarious snaps of fast-paced zingers. In addition to the spectacular
performances, it’s the writing that makes this film particularly memorable.
Here’s a fun sampling…
Walter Burns: “There’s been a light burning in the window for you!”
Hildy Johnson: “I jumped out that window a long time ago, Walter.”
Upon more than one occasion, the writing goes nearly campy
as the actors are called out by their real names: Walter: [describing
Bruce] He looks like, uh, that fellow in the movies, you know, uh, Ralph
Bellamy.”
There’s also a reference to a ‘mock turtle’ which was the role of Cary Grant in Alice in Wonderland (1933) and he even recalls a fella named “Archie Leach” (Grant’s real name).
Early on, the chemistry of their sparring ignites with crisp
wit and unrelentless charm. We know immediately that dullard Bruce could never
compete with Walter. More importantly, Hildy could never settle.
Walter pulls Hildy back into the fray of her former career with an exciting scoop – a man who faces the gallows and a jail break. Her quick-on-her-feet thinking may lead to saving this man’s life. But will her instinctive nose for news be too strong to save her engagement?
There’s a physicality to this romantic comedy that appeals to slapstick fans, which fits perfectly with Grant and Russell as our sparring duo lashes out turbo tongues of dialogue. While a typical conversation on film would deliver 100 words per minute, His Girl Friday clocks in at 240 words per minute. It remains one of the most notable examples of the best overtalking in celluloid history. Their chemistry is authentic as an old married couple, and we root for them because it’s undeniable that Hildy and Walter are cut from the same cloth.
Will Hildy find true love by choosing Walter over Bruce? That’s debatable. No doubt Bruce is not up to her speed and Walter is. But I like to believe that Hildy is smarter and more talented than all of them and perhaps being a writer – as a single, career woman who can create her own destiny – is actually the best outcome for our Hildy Johnson. At least, that’s how I enjoy fantasizing an alternate plot twist.
Hildy Johnson is a powerhouse of a character for female
empowerment, especially for a 1940 cinematic landscape. A female star reporter
was a rare sight in that male-dominated industry of that time, where few women
worked outside the home beyond domestic workers. To this day, she remains one
of my personal favorites for women role models in the movies.
I’ll leave you with an example of how Hildy holds her own
(as she debates what future she will decide for herself):
“Now get this, you double-crossing chimpanzee! There ain’t gonna be any interview and there ain’t gonna be any story. And that certified check of yours is leaving with me in twenty minutes. I wouldn’t cover the burning of Rome for you if they were just lighting it up. And if I ever lay my two eyes on you again, I’m gonna walk right up to you and hammer on that monkey skull of yours ’til it rings like a Chinese gong! [she tears up her story] Do you hear that? That’s the story I just wrote. Yes, yes, I know we had a bargain. I just said I’d write it. I didn’t say I wouldn’t tear it up. It’s all in little pieces now, Walter, and I hope to do the same for you some day. [to newsroom] And that my friends, is my farewell to the newspaper game. I’m gonna be a woman, not a news-getting machine. I’m gonna have babies and take care of them. Give ’em cod liver oil and watch their teeth grow.”
When not performing marketing as her day gig, Kellee Pratt teaches classic film courses in her college town in Kansas (Film Noir, Screwball Comedy, Hitchcock, Billy Wilder and more). She’s worked for Turner Classic Movies as a Social Producer and TCM Ambassador (2019). Unapologetic social butterfly, she’s an active tweetaholic/original alum for #TCMParty, member of the CMBA, and busy mom of four kids and 3 fur babies. You can follow Kellee on twitter at @IrishJayhawk66 or her own blog, Outspoken & Freckled (kelleepratt.com).
I’ve always been reluctant to list my favorite films in order of preference. There are so many styles and genres of films that I love, why force an apples-and-oranges comparison? While I could easily draw up up a list of 100 movies that have had an impact on me, it would be almost impossible to organize them in some kind of ascending order. Except for one. My favorite film of all-time is Robert Altman’s Nashville.
I remember walking into Chicago’s Esquire Theatre in June 1975 to see the film during its opening weekend. It would be the first of dozens of screenings (including two cast reunions, one at the Motion Picture Academy in 2000 and one last year at the TCM Classic Film Festival in Hollywood) as well as countless viewings on video and DVD.
Altman had already made films using large ensembles and overlapping dialogue (most famously in M*A*S*H five years earlier), but he perfected this style in Nashville as he showed the interweaving stories of 24 characters over the course of five days in the country music capital. The casting of Nashville was inspired. Altman chose incredible actors such as Henry Gibson, Barbara Baxley, Barbara Harris, Geraldine Chaplin, Keenan Wynn, Karen Black, and Lily Tomlin. Each of them brought their own skills and back stories to the roles, making for one of the richest ensembles in movie history. Also in the cast were talented Altman veterans Shelley Duvall, Keith Carradine, Timothy Brown, and Gwen Welles; stalwarts like Michael Murphy, Allen Garfield, and Bert Remsen; and newcomers Cristina Raines, Scott Glenn, and 21-year-old Jeff Goldblum.
Nashville was not really about the country music industry. Nashville was about America — it was about us. And the linchpin of the entire film was Ronee Blakley’s magnificent performance as Barbara Jean.
Actress Susan Anspach was originally cast as the emotionally fragile superstar. Rumors about why she dropped out of the film ranged from her demanding more money than the rest of the cast (Altman used a two-tiered salary range that was paltry even by 1970s standards) to the fact that she just couldn’t cut it vocally. Whatever the reason, I’m grateful because Anspach’s departure opened the door for Ronee Blakley’s luminous portrayal which is the heart and soul of the film.
At the time, Blakley was a young up-and-coming singer-songwriter who happened to be friends with the film’s musical director, Richard Baskin, and had opened up her entire music catalogue for him to use in the film. Blakley had been spending a lot of time with Baskin and Robert Altman during the film’s pre-production, helping out with the music choices, and left to go on the road with Hoyt Axton. Then, out of the blue, Blakley got the unbelievable call that they wanted her to play Barbara Jean. Details of her own life were written into the script, and Blakley wrote all of her own dialogue including her two bravura breakdown scenes. It’s an extraordinary performance that bowled over the critics, including The New Yorker’s Pauline Kael:
“This is Ronee Blakley’s first movie, and she puts most movie hysteria to shame. She achieves her gifts so simply, I wasn’t surprised when somebody sitting beside me started to cry. Perhaps, for the first time on the screen, one gets the sense of an artist being destroyed by her gifts.”
After getting nominated for a Best Supporting Actress Oscar for the film (along with Lily Tomlin), Blakley went on to other film and TV projects (she was, for example, the mother in the original Nightmare on Elm Street). Blakley toured with Bob Dylan and Joan Baez and appeared as Dylan’s wife in Dylan’s film Renaldo and Clara. She directed an autobiographical documentary in 1985 called I Played it for You that touched on her six-year marriage to German director Wim Wenders but her screen and live performances became increasingly rare. For all the people I’ve interviewed over the years, whenever anyone asked me if there was one person that I’d love to talk to, my answer was always the same: Ronee Blakley. So it was an absolute thrill to get to spend time with her on the phone this week to talk about Nashville on its 45th anniversary.
Danny Miller: Ronee, I can’t even express what it means to me to be talking to you. In addition to your acting, I have been listening to your music nonstop since I was 15 years old. I can’t even tell you how often I’ve listened to your records during this crazy pandemic. Your beautiful music has helped to get me through this and many other difficult times.
Ronee Blakley: Oh, thank you, Danny, that’s so kind of you to say. And, you know, I have a new album that will be out soon.
You do? How exciting!
Yes. It’s called Atom Bomb Baby. And the single from it is Bob Dylan’s “Hurricane” which I think is really appropriate for what’s happening right now in this country. I’m now in the final stages of figuring out how it’s going to be released and distributed.
I can’t wait! I know you’ve talked about Nashville so much over the years, I hope you don’t mind going back there again to honor this week’s 45th anniversary of the film’s release.
Not at all, I never get tired it. It’s such a wonderful film!
If I had to pick one film to put in a time capsule to represent this country, for all its good qualities and bad including its political machinations and obsession with celebrity, it would be Nashville. But I find as I’ve watched it over the years, some of my perceptions of the film have evolved, including my understanding of Barbara Jean and her relationship with her husband Barnett —
May he rest in peace. You know that the wonderful Allen Garfield died of Covid two months ago, right?
Yes, so sad. I saw the moving post you wrote about him on your Facebook page.
It really took me down, I’m not over it. I’ll never be over it.
Let’s start there. How was it working with Garfield on set?
It was fantastic. We had a true friendship, a true meeting of the minds and hearts. It went very deep.
Ronee Blakley and Allen Garfield in a scene from Robert Altman’s Nashville
As I was saying, when I was young, I’d always think, “Poor Barbara Jean — this man is totally controlling every aspect of her life and is such a domineering monster.” That started to shift as I got older. While there is certainly a dysfunctional aspect to their relationship, I started to see that in some ways it was the opposite — it was Barnett who was wholly dependent on Barbara Jean. I can’t even imagine how he would have been able to survive her death.
Now I’m crying. Forgive me, Danny, this is the first time I’ve talked about Allen since his death. I feel very emotional about him. Yes, I think these kinds of relationships are very interdependent, and not necessarily healthy. I understand the aspects of it that affected you when you first saw the movie — with Barbara Jean almost being a prisoner and knuckling under to his rather aggressive managerial style. On the other hand, he really did protect her, he really did love her. He did take care of her. In my opinion, he made her career possible because on her own she most likely would have been marginalized because of her delicate and fragile mental state. I spent a lot of time back then thinking about their relationship and developing the character. I wrote all of Barbara Jean’s part except for that one scene in the hospital. And even there, Bob gave us so much freedom.
Altman really seemed like such a unique director in terms of the amount of collaboration he encouraged with his actors.
Absolutely. Bob only had two rules for working with him. He used to say, “I don’t care what you do the night before but don’t ever show up drunk.” And the other rule was to never contradict him on the set which I may have done once or twice! But he was definitely open to all of our ideas which was a miracle.
Did that spoil you for acting experiences that came later?
Oh, yes, I rarely had that kind of freedom with the other directors I worked with, except for Bob Dylan and Wim Wenders who both encouraged me to improvise and write. On all of the other projects I worked on, if I showed up with any dialogue that I’d written, they’d look at me like I was crazy.
What an amazing gift to have that be your first big experience in a movie. I know that you were initially involved with the film because they were going to use a bunch of your songs. When they first offered you the role of Barbara Jean, were you floored?
Well, yes, because Susan Anspach was cast in the role! I was already hanging out with her. She was a wonderful woman and we even went into the studio with Richard Baskin to work on some of the songs.
Did she record any of your songs?
She was going to but I can’t remember if she actually did. Isn’t that odd? There are so many things that I remember like they happened yesterday while other things have just receded into the past.
So, when she left the film and they offered you that all-important role, did you have any reservations about taking the job?
No, I didn’t, I was thrilled. By that point, I was out on the road with Hoyt Axton since Bob Altman wasn’t paying me for my help during pre-production. I had really enjoyed hanging out with them but I had to work for a living.
Oh, you mean he paid you for your songs but not for any of the other consulting work you had been doing on the film?
No, Danny, I did not get paid for my songs!
What?! Why not?
Well, you’d have to ask Bob about that. (Laughs.) I mean, nothing had been decided yet. As I said, Richard Baskin was the music director so it was up to him to select which songs of mine he wanted to use. I made all my songs available to him and I even went in the recording studio and laid them down so they could choose. But no, I was not offered money. So I took the job with Hoyt and I was on the road, but I was still talking to Baskin over the phone, we were still in touch. And then one day, when I was in Nashville of all places with Hoyt, Richard called and said, “We’re thinking of casting you in the movie as Barbara Jean.”
Was that just wild to hear?
It was pretty exciting. We were about to appear with Hoyt on the Opry, the old one. I was staying in the bridal suite at Anchor Motel in Nashville — isn’t it funny the things you remember? And I immediately started calling around to several big country stars to see if I could go study any of them. I wanted to get a feel for what they were like.
Oh, wow. Who did you meet?
I got to spent time with Dolly at the Opry. I hung out with her and she sang “Jolene” for me which was wonderful. I called Lynn Anderson’s company and Loretta Lynn’s who put me in touch with her manager, David Skepner. I told him who I was and said I was on the road with Hoyt and that I was up for a role in a movie about country music stars and could I come and spend some time with Loretta. He said, “Well, she’s going to be at this hog roast tonight, why don’t you come on down?”
Whoa, there’s an offer you can’t refuse!
Right? I said I would and he said they’d send a car for me which I thought was very nice. But then at some point, David said, “What is the Palomino ever going to do without you?” And I said, “Pardon me?” And he said, “Isn’t this Bonnie Blakely, the gal who books the Palomino?” I said, “No, this is RONEE Blakley! I’m up for a role in a movie!” And he said, “Well, I guess you can come anyway!”
Ha! And didn’t you end up getting some other musicians in Nashville into the film?
Yes, I took Bob to meet Vassar Clements who ended up appearing in the movie.
His scene with Connie White is such a great moment.
I also took Bob to meet Ry Cooder but he just had no interest in being in the film. And I took them all to the Pickin’ Parlor which became a location.
Right, Lady Pearl’s (Barbara Baxley) place! Did you have a say which characters sang your songs?
I think that was all Richard. I don’t think I had anything to do with Tommy Brown singing “Bluebird,” for example.
I love hearing your songs sung by major characters, and even minor ones like when those two young women who called themselves the Smokey Mountain Laurels sang your great song, “Down to the River.”
Oh my goodness, you really do know all the little details! How many times have you seen the movie?
I mean, at least a few dozen times. And I always see new things.
You may have seen it more times than I have!
What kind of framework for the character of Barbara Jean were you given upfront? How much did you have to delve into her psyche and figure out what was making her tick?
Oh, I really delved in. As I said, there was very little dialogue for her in the script. In her first scene, getting off of the plane at Nashville Airport, Barbara Jean faints from exhaustion. I remember for the Opryland scene, it just said in the script that she faints again. I told Bob that I didn’t think that this took the character anywhere. It needed to be like a musical phrase, like a symphony where it starts with one theme and then it builds and then you have theme two, and then it builds and then there’s a development section, you know, and then it comes back. You don’t just repeat and repeat, you take it somewhere.
And thankfully Altman was completely open to you crafting how that would play out with Barbara Jean?
Yes. I love that scene at Opryland. It has a rhythm — a beginning, middle, and end, even though you may not see it. If I put it in terms of sound, a certain section of music might be soft, but then it’ll get a little louder. It doesn’t remain static and it builds. I wanted to convey the essence of Barbara Jean and her instability. I’ve always felt that there’s a fine line between sanity and insanity and I thought of Barbara Jean as someone who was walking that fence. She needed to try to express herself, she desperately needed her audience to see her more deeply.
Ronee Blakley as Barbara Jean in the poignant Opryland sequence
That’s so interesting to me that you put it in musical terms because I always thought that Opryland scene had such a strong rhythm and tension. Even when I was watching the film last year at the TCM Festival for the umpteenth time, I remember sitting on the edge of my seat and pulling for her. “Come on, Barbara Jean, you can do it. You can get over that hump!”
I had written all of the dialogue for that scene in my journal. I remember that morning when I was in makeup, I asked Bob to come down to the trailer to talk to me. Now he was obviously very busy that morning and didn’t really want to be summoned by an actress to the makeup room, but he came and I read what I had written for the scene. He asked me, “Do you know it?” I said I did, and he said, “Okay, let’s shoot it.” And so we did. But when we were on set, it was Bob who had the great idea of breaking it up into a couple of parts. All that stopping and starting, that was Altman.
I think one of the things that makes your performance so incredible is that there’s not a trace of parody. As you know, country music stars are pretty easy to make fun of, but I didn’t feel that for one second with Barbra Jean.
Danny, thank you for saying that. You know, I’ve been at a few screenings over the years where people laugh during some of Barbara Jean’s scenes. That always bothers me, to be honest, although I guess it shouldn’t. I never wanted people to see Barbara Jean as comical in that way.
Oh, that would bother me, too. I mean, someone like Karen Black’s character, Connie White, I can see that happening, but that’s because Karen Black was in on the joke. With people like Barbara Jean and Linnea (Lily Tomlin) and Sueleen (Gwen Welles), there was such an innocence, such a vulnerability to their characters.
Oh, those two are so awesome in the film, don’t you think?
Yes, the best. I love some of those small moments of Barbara Jean’s like when she’s singing in the chapel or talking to Keenan Wynn’s character or to Timothy Brown’s character in her hospital room. You can see why Allen Garfield’s character was so necessary in her life because she just seemed so very unprotected from the world.
Absolutely. She couldn’t have survived without him. By the way, did you know that Timothy Brown died on the very same day as Allen Garfield in April?
No, I didn’t!
Yes, it’s so awful. Two of my cultural touchstones gone on the same day.
It’s sad how many of the 24 actors are gone now. It must have been terribly exciting when you got nominated for the Oscar that year along with Lily.
It was. But a little bittersweet as well. Bob told me that they were going to put up “My Idaho Home” for Best Song. I traveled that whole year publicizing Nashville at different film festivals and openings. But then Bob and I had a falling out that I don’t really want to go into, and he changed his mind about submitting “My Idaho Home.”
Oh, what a shame! That’s such a great song. It should have won!
Well, it’s okay, Keith’s song is fantastic, I was really happy that it won. And Keith was exquisite in the film, so gorgeous and perfect. I think “I’m Easy” is a great, great song but I’m just telling you what happened.
Ronee Blakley and Henry Gibson in the final scene in Nashville
The tension leading up to Barbara Jean’s assassination at the end of the film is so well constructed. Again, I’m on the edge of my seat every time even though I know what’s coming.
My biggest concern as an actor during that scene was making sure it was believable. I remember consulting with my dad who knew about guns how far back my body would fly if I was hit at that range.
Oh God, I worried for your safety when I saw that scene!
Well, I actually was injured. After Barbara Jean was shot and I threw myself backwards, my left arm went under my body and everyone jumped on top of me. I remember that Bob regretted ever afterwards that he didn’t shoot that scene in close-up. It’s still effective but he told me later that he could never forgive himself for that. What happened was that it had started to rain which caused all sorts of panic about losing the crowd, so he kept going and we never got the close-up.
In many ways, that scene seemed so prescient about what we were about to see so much more of in this country. When I see it now, I can’t help but think about what it says about violence and fame and celebrity.
I’ve often felt distress about that. I know it affected some friends of mine very deeply. Joan Baez told me that she felt sick after seeing it. And then a few years later, when John Lennon was shot, The New York Times compared it to Nashville. It’s weird because it’s not like there aren’t a lot of murders in movies, they’re all over the place, but for whatever reason the one in Nashville was pretty influential.
The death of innocence, and portent of certain attitudes to come. And the utter senselessness of it all.
Right. People used to always ask me, “Why did he shoot you?” And I would say, “How should I know? I’m dead!”
I remember talking to you briefly years ago at the premiere of Henry Jaglom’s Someone to Love which you were in. At that time, Altman had just announced a sequel to Nashville that you told me you were going to be in. It never happened, unfortunately, but how was that going to work?
Well, Bob told me that Scott Glenn’s character was going to be a Senator and I was going to be his wife.
Oh, really? That makes so much sense. We know how obsessed Glenn’s character was with Barbara Jean, so it’s interesting that he would find someone to marry who looks like her!
Oh, aren’t you smart! I never actually thought of it that way.
I also remember hearing that Lily Tomlin’s character, Linnea, was going to be running for governor in the film. Ugh, I wish it had been made before Altman died in 2006.
You know, now that I think about it, I think that I was supposed to actually be playing Barbara Jean — that she didn’t actually die that day.
Oh wow, you’re kidding!
Yes, at least that’s what we talked about. But by then it was so clear in everyone’s head that she had been assassinated, so I’m not sure it would have worked.
I also remember back in the day hearing about a longer three-hour edit that was going to be on TV.
Yes, that would have included a scene I did that was cut from the film, a long scene I wrote where Barbara Jean tells a nurse about a dream she had in great detail. A friend of mine saw that and said that this scene caused the whole movie to make sense to him. It’s a shame we’ll never see it now, I don’t know if it exists anywhere.
I know you’re nothing like Barbara Jean in real life, but I wonder if you could relate to some of the things she went through after the film came out and you suddenly shot to international stardom. Did you feel any of the vulnerability and exposure that Barbara Jean must have felt?
Oh, yes, I think most actors probably do, and most musicians, too. We’re all human. I remember this great quote from Edward G. Robinson that I saw on Turner Classic Movies the other day in this wonderful tribute that Chazz Palminteri did for him. Robinson said, “Every one of us bears within him the possibility of all passions, all destinies of life, in all its manifold forms. Nothing human is foreign to us.”
Speaking of classic movies, I love Barbara Jean’s mentions of The Wizard of Oz, both in her dialogue and in her lyrics.
That was the first movie I ever saw and I had to be carried out when the witch came on. It was a very influential movie for me. I’m a huge classic movie fan but I didn’t have access to many classic movies when I was growing up in Oregon and Idaho.
When did you start watching them?
I saw a lot when I was at Julliard in New York for graduate school. I remember going to the museum to see all of Garbo’s movies. I loved them.
Do you watch TCM a lot now?
Oh yes, all the time. I would say I watch it every day — especially now.
Ronee Blakley at the 2019 TCM Classic Film Festival in Hollywood
Go to Ronee Blakley’s website for more information about her upcoming album, Atom Bomb Baby, and to purchase copies of her records, films, and paintings.
RKO’sClash By Night, Marilyn Monroe’s thirteenth film, opens with a dramatic soundtrack as waves crash against coastal rocks, director Fritz Lang’s metaphor for the sexual tension to follow.
Worldly but weary Mae Doyle (Barbara Stanwyck) returns home to a small fishing village after a ten year absence and reunites with her younger brother Joe (Keith Andes), who works for Jerry (Paul Douglas), the skipper of a trawler who lives alone with his elderly father. Mae admits defeat in having had “big ideas,” but “small results” and laments about having made a mistake by becoming involved with an older man who turned out to be married. Joe introduces Mae to his girlfriend, Peggy (Monroe), who works at the local sardine cannery. Peggy admires Mae’s sophistication and confides her own longing for excitement, as Mae had in youth, and desire not to be controlled by a man. When Peggy asks what brought Mae back home, Mae responds, “Home is where you come when you run out of places.”
Monroe and Barbara Stanwyck
Hungry to depart from the roles of secretaries and showgirls at her home studio, 20th Century Fox, Monroe campaigned for producer Jerry Wald to cast her in the relatively important supporting role in Lang’s adaption of Clifford Odets’ play with veteran actors. Originally performed in 1941 as a neo-realist Broadway play with Tallulah Bankhead in the starring role, Clash By Night’s plot involved a restless, disillusioned woman’s struggle between settling for the love of a stable but dull fisherman and risking all for a sexual thrill with an embittered film projectionist (Robert Ryan).
Monroe with Producer Jerry Wald
Wald took one look at Monroe at
of her seated across from him at the table at Lucy’s on Melrose Boulevard and
thought she looked about sixteen. After the meal, he contacted Lew Schreiber at
Fox and requested a loan of Monroe for six weeks of work at RKO. Schreiber
demanded a mere three thousand dollars.
Monroe’s role, Peggy, is a
vigorous girl engaged to the heroine’s brother and who worked in a sardine
cannery. She is warm, compassionate, and struggles with accepting the
subordinate role of a 1950s wife. Wald wanted a younger actress with sex appeal
to attract a teen audience since the film’s principals were established,
middle-aged stars.
Stanwyck and Paul Douglas
Fast-talking Barbara Stanwyck portrayed strong, self-assured, no-nonsense dames with a tinge of vulnerability in both comedies and dramas. She equally excelled as a femme fatale in the wacky The Lady Eve (1941), the selfless mother in the tearjerker Stella Dallas (1937), and as a murderous vixen in Double Indemnity (1944). Stanwyck was the obvious first choice for the role of hard-boiled Mae Doyle.
In the role of Earl Pfeiffer, the cad who betrays his best friend by sleeping with his wife, Robert Ryan had a solid career playing hyper-masculine cops and cold-blooded villains. Having served in the Marines as a drill sergeant and won a boxing championship, Ryan’s brand of toughness suited both film noir and western genres. He garnered good reviews as an anti-Semitic bully in Crossfire (1947) and as a declining boxer who refuses to take a fall in The Set-Up (1949).
Keith Andes and Monroe
Clash By Night also introduces newcomer Keith Andes as Monroe’s love interest. He remembered her attracting local and media attention while on location in Monterey. Servicemen from a nearby military base flocked around her, along with reporters and photographers. Paul Douglas complained about Monroe stealing the spotlight. “She’s younger and more beautiful than any of us,” Stanwyck matter-of-factly explained.
Director Fritz Lang with Andes
Director Fritz Lang originated from the German school of Expressionism and was dubbed the “Master of Darkness.” His most famous works were the groundbreaking German films Metropolis (1927) and M (1931) before he immigrated to the United States. Lang graciously permitted Monroe’s acting coach, Natasha Lytess, on the set under the condition Lytess refrain from coaching Monroe at home; he wanted his supporting actress pliable to his direction. Monroe was so terrified of Lang’s direction before a scene, allegedly her skin broke out in red blotches and she vomited.
To prepare for the role, Monroe
rode a Greyhound bus all through the night three hundred miles north to
Monterey, where she spoke with boat owners and cannery workers before filming
at a cannery. Journals auctioned after her death revealed her notes and
impressions of the Italian and Greek fishermen.
The plot follows Mae, flattered
by the interest of kind and simple Jerry, infatuated with her. During their
first date at a local movie theater, Jerry introduces Mae to his best friend,
projectionist Earl. Mae is attracted to the brutish and cynical Earl but is
offended by his misogynistic rants. Mae and Earl are both hardened and world-weary.
Deep down, Mae desires a man who can make her feel confident and alive, a man
like Earl.
Eventually, Jerry proposes
marriage and Mae declines, stating she is not the “wife type,” but after a
drunken flirtation with Earl, she sacrifices a chance at excitement for the
promise of security and agrees to marry Jerry. Over time, Earl senses Mae has resigned
herself to a dull life with a man for whom she feels no passion and questions
her about the stability of her marriage. At first, Mae rebuffs Earls advances,
but after a joyous Peggy interrupts them to announce her recent engagement to
Joe, Mae weakens. After Peggy rushes off to Joe, since diamonds make her
suddenly “punctual,” Earl seduces Mae.
From the moment Monroe appears
on screen in a pair of jeans and a sweater, it is clear she is playing a strong
girl, the strongest of her career, who is exploring the limited options for a
woman in the 1950s. When Joe meets Peggy outside the cannery after work as she
eats a candy bar, he warns, “You’ll spread.” Without vanity, she affirms the
possibility and changes the subject to a coworker who was recently beaten by
her husband. Joe justifies the man’s behavior based upon his role of husband.
Peggy snaps back that he might beat her, too, if they were married. Joe tries
to kiss her, and the couple playfully scraps. “When I want you to kiss me,”
Peggy says while kicking his shins, “I’ll let you know…by special messenger.”
In another scene, Peggy and Joe dry off after a swim in the ocean and join Mae and Jerry at a waterfront dance hall. Earl makes a scene, and Peggy admires his brutish energy. “He’s kind of exciting, and attractive,” she tells Joe. Jealous, he wraps a towel around her neck and pulls her close to him.
“Who’s attractive?” Joe demands
while playacting strangulation.
“You are,” Peggy says as she
struggles to loosen his grip. She then punches Joe in the mouth.
In Monroe rare acting depiction
of intoxication, Peggy gets drunk at Mae and Jerry’s wedding reception and
stands on a table to make a toast. She grabs a sandwich off a tray, takes a
bite, and throws the remaining sandwich on the floor. Never again would Monroe
portray an earthy, working-class character.
A pivotal scene gives Monroe an
opportunity for dramatic acting. When Joe condemns his sister’s transgression,
Peggy offers sympathy and understanding. “You don’t have the right to judge,”
she tells her fiancé. Joe questions Peggy’s commitment and announces that he
will not tolerate being used until someone better comes along. This is a
wake-up call to Peggy, and Monroe effectively conveys her character’s sudden
realization of her deep love and fidelity. Peggy embraces Joe with strong
emotion.
Using Michael Chekhov’s techniques and seeking realism in her role, Monroe rejects the costume jewelry engagement ring the wardrobe department gave her to wear, and instead borrowed the diamond ring belonging to wardrobe attendant Marjorie Pletcher.
At a preview in Pasadena’s
Crown Theatre, Monroe received “terrific applause,” and the audience’s preview
cards raved about her. “Before going on any further with a report on Clash
By Night, perhaps we should mention the first full-length glimpse the
picture gives us of Marilyn Monroe as an actress,” Alton Cook wrote in the New
York World Telegram and Sun. “The verdict is gratifyingly good. This girl
has a refreshing exuberance, an abundance of girlish high spirits. She is a
forceful actress, too, when crisis comes along. She has definitely stamped
herself as a gifted new star, worthy of all that fantastic press… Her role is
not very big, but she makes it dominant.”
“As for Miss Pash-pie of 1952,
otherwise Marilyn Monroe, the calendar girl, clad in dungarees,” began the Los
Angeles Examiner, “she proves she can also act and can hold her own with
top performers.”
Produced by a rival studio,
Clash By Night showcases Marilyn Monroe’s early talents before her
ascension to musical comedy queen at 20th Century Fox. “There was a
sort of magic about her which we all recognized at once,” Barbara Stanwyck
recalled of Monroe during this period. “She seemed just a carefree kid, and she
owned the world.”
Today, we know the “It” in It Came from Beneath the Sea, the nature of the beast in The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms and what was causing the Beginning of the End.
But not so when these films were originally released. When people attended films decades ago, it was without the benefit of social media, television ads and detailed interviews with stars. Today we can learn almost as much as we want before seeing a movie, photos and all. Where’s the fun in that? Instead, imagine going to see a movie where you had no idea what horror awaits.
Many of these indistinct words were repeated so often, they created their own genre.
Even this lobby card doesn’t tell you much about The Brain Eaters.
A favorite title (and movie) is Them! (1954) which features a great B-movie title drop when a traumatized little girl awakens from a catatonic state and repeatedly screams “Them!”
If you come across a classic horror film you haven’t seen that has a cryptic title, do yourself a favor and don’t look it up. The unknown is usually better or at least more fun – even if the monster looks like a cucumber.
* * * * *
The “it” movies
Here’s a brief look at five “it” films, one of my favorite genres.
I love that lobby cards and posters for 1950s horror films often focused on the romance, not the monster as this one for It Came From Beneath the Sea.
It Came From Beneath the Sea (1955). Top of the list for me and a true genre classic. The title at least gives us a hint that something horrible is coming from the sea. Still, I don’t think 1955 audiences would have expected a giant octopus of such size and strength that its tentacles could rip apart the Golden Gate Bridge. Our creature again comes from the fertile imagination of stop-motion wizard Ray Harryhausen.
It Conquered the World (1956). Roger Corman produced and directed this “it” film about an alien from Venus that wants to take over Earth. A misguided scientist (Lee Van Cleef) believes the creature when it says it wants to help us by ridding us of our emotions. He learns the truth – but is it too late? It might be scary if the triangle-shaped “it” didn’t look like a cross between a cucumber and watermelon. Peter Graves and Beverly Garland co-star.
It Came from Outer Space (1953). One-eyed creatures are the inhabitants of an alien spaceship that crashes in the desert. Richard Carlson is the amateur astronomer no one believes; Barbara Rush is his smart girlfriend who lends a hand. I like these aliens. They have the power to transform into anything they want, including humans, without killing the original. “We have souls and minds and are good,” as one says. I enjoy that funky eye-vision effect as we get the point-of-view shot through that alien eye. I also like that this film has deeper meaning as the aliens repeat they mean no harm but are pushed to extremes by scared humans. Notable co-stars are Charles Drake as the doubting sheriff and Russell Johnson (the professor on Gilligan’s Island).
It! The Terror from Beyond Space (1958). In 1973, rescuers head to Mars and find the lone survivor of a previous mission. They return to Earth not knowing their ship carries a killer stowaway. Hmmm … sound familiar Ridley Scott? This film, starring Marshall Thompson, often is cited as the inspiration for Alien and I can see why. Unfortunately, “it” looks like what it is: a guy in a suit with oversized three-fingered claws and a creepy reptilian face.
From Hell It Came (1957). Good idea for something different. “It” is a killer tree and the location isn’t the often-used desert, but Polynesian Islands. But the film looks cheap and the acting is bad. Baranga, the killer tree, is the result of a curse from a wrongly accused man put to death. The creature is person inside a static costume who shuffles along at a slow pace. You’ll be reminded of the talking tree in The Wizard of Oz, but in Oz the tree’s face moved and it talked, adding to a creepy factor missing here.
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. 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.
In my Noir Nook a couple of months ago, I shined the spotlight on one of my favorite noir bad boys – Walter Neff in Double Indemnity (1944). Inspired by this rare departure from focusing on the femme side of noir, I’m delighted to devote this month’s column to a celebration of some of my favorite actors behind the great characters.
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Dan Duryea
Dan Duryea and Lizabeth Scott in Too Late for Tears (1949)
Unlike his on-screen persona, Dan Duryea was educated at an Ivy League university, was married to the same woman for 35 years, was an active member of the PTA at his sons’ school, and dabbled in gardening, oil painting, and building sailboats in his backyard. “I make a great effort to be extra pleasant the first time I meet anybody,” Duryea once said. “If I’m lucky, I can overcome the aversion they’ve already built up.”
In Woman in the Window and Scarlet Street, he was teamed with Joan Bennett, Edward G. Robinson, and director Fritz Lang; in the first, he was a financier’s bodyguard who tries to extort money from the stodgy college professor played by Robinson, and in the second, he was a completely reprehensible con man (and thinly veiled pimp). In The Great Flamarion, he wasn’t quite the heel that he usually was – in this underrated feature starring Erich von Stroheim and Mary Beth Hughes, Duryea played an alcoholic, third-rate vaudevillian who has the bad luck to be married to a sweet-faced dame with a steely heart and a wandering eye. He was back to form in Criss Cross, though – as Yvonne De Carlo’s mob boss spouse, he was ruthless, vengeful, and downright scary. And, finally, in Too Late for Tears, playing a crook who’s trying to recover a satchel of cash that’s fallen into the hands of a fatal femme, Duryrea was part crafty villain, part hapless sucker.
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Sterling Hayden
Sterling Hayden and Jean Hagen in The Asphalt Jungle (1950)
Sterling Hayden lived a life that could have easily served as the screenplays for three movies. He sailed the seven seas (or at least one) as a teenager, waged a bitter public battle over custody of his children, was an outspoken proponent of the virtues of marijuana, and made no secret of his disdain for Tinseltown and the profession of acting. (“I never knew what the damn hell I was doing,” he was known to admit.)
Born Sterling Relyea Walter, the actor appeared in at least six noirs during his career, including two of my all-time favorites from the era: The Asphalt Jungle (1950) and The Killing (1956), and a third that’s rapidly moving up on my list of greatest hits: Crime Wave (1954). The Asphalt Jungle starts Hayden as a small-time hood with an innate sense of honor and an unquenchable love for horses. He’s a standout among a superb ensemble cast that includes Sam Jaffe, Jean Hagen, Louis Calhern, and Marilyn Monroe, turning a criminal into a sympathetic character that you can’t help but root for. In Stanley Kubrick’s The Killing, Hayden is the mastermind behind an intricate heist at a racetrack, grabbing and holding your focus every time he’s on the screen. And in Crime Wave, Hayden’s on the other side of the law, playing a hard-nosed, no-nonsense detective with, if not a heart of gold, at the very least, a heart.
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Robert Mitchum
Robert Mitchum and Jean Simmons in Angel Face (1953)
How could I possibly produce a list of top-notch noir actors and not include Robert Mitchum? This laconic, uber-tough, cooler-than-the-other-side-of-the-pillow actor boasted a colorful past that included a childhood in Hell’s Kitchen, time on a Georgia chain gang, and a widely publicized arrest for marijuana possession. He also, though, was known as a weaver of tall tales. “They’re all true – booze, brawls, broads – all true,” he said. “Make up some more if you want to.”
During a span of six decades, Mitchum appeared in such memorable noirs as The Locket (1947) and Angel Face (1953) – and, of course, he starred in what many consider to be the quintessential noir: Out of the Past (1947). The Locket is a thoroughly unique noir, featuring a flashback within a flashback within a flashback. Somewhere within all those reaches back in time is Mitchum’s character, a talented artist who falls – fatefully – in love with a mentally disturbed kleptomaniac, played by Laraine Day. In Angel Face, Mitchum again chooses not too wisely (and not too well) when he teams up with the innocent-looking but oh-so-deadly Jean Simmons. Although he eventually comes to his senses, his eye-opener comes a bit too late. And, then, of course, in Out of the Past, Mitchum is Jeff Bailey (also known as Jeff Markham), an ex-private detective turned gas station owner – and between careers, he falls hard for a no-good dame and finds himself embroiled in a complicated scheme of murder and mayhem. Now that I think of it, no matter how worldly-wise Mitchum’s characters appeared to be, they could also be vulnerable, sentimental, and downright dopey when it came to the opposite sex.
Stay tuned as I cover more of my favorite noir actors in future Noir Nooks. Who would you like to see on the list?
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– Karen Burroughs Hannsberry for Classic Movie Hub
Katharine Hepburn was one of my earliest classic movie star idols, and I love all of her films, but the chaotic, eccentric, funny Kate of Bringing Up Baby (1938) remains my absolute favorite.
Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant face down one of the two leopards their characters encounter in Bringing Up Baby.
The picture is a sparkling gem of comic perfection, a screwball sweetheart with a cast of supporting characters so nutty and fun that it’s hard to choose between them, and then at the top of the bill, we get Hepburn and a bespectacled, befuddled Cary Grant, whose delightful chemistry propels the picture through all its wacky turns. Who cares, more than 80 years later, if the film bombed at the box office when it first appeared? Director Howard Hawks might have regretted his choices then, but in the long run, he has been proved right about the crazy characters, the wild comedy, and the madcap atmosphere. No matter how many times I watch it, Bringing Up Baby still makes me laugh with delight from start to finish.
Chaos is queen in this story of leopards, love, and loony misadventure, with Hepburn’s heroine, Susan Vance, as its ultimate embodiment. Her arrival upends the orderly, staid life of Dr. David Huxley, who is literally on the verge of being married to his career in the form of Alice Swallow (Virginia Walker), who declares that “no domestic entanglements of any kind” shall be allowed to interrupt David’s work at the museum. Eager to secure a million-dollar gift to support the museum, Alice sends David out to schmooze with the lawyer of the wealthy patroness Mrs. Carleton Random (May Robson), but from the moment he encounters Susan on the golf course David’s day goes gloriously off the rails. He contends with a loose leopard, a stolen car, a missing dinosaur bone, and a complicated case of mistaken identity all thanks to Susan’s impulsive desire to keep him around by any means necessary. It’s hardly a surprise when their escapades put both Susan and David in danger of a straight jacket, a prison cell, or both.
Katharine Hepburn gets some close up attention from Baby the leopard.
The screwball level of Bringing Up Baby runs very high throughout, with physical comedy and rapidly fired verbal jokes constantly on offer, and Hepburn and Grant are brilliant at both. I always think of Susan’s “born on the side of a hill” bit when I walk on uneven ground, although Grant’s brief appearance in the lady’s dressing gown – “I just went GAY all of a sudden!” – is probably the most famous scene in the picture. As funny as the two leads are, they aren’t the only source of laughs; everyone they meet is daffy in his or her own way, especially the gardener, Aloysius Gogarty (Barry Fitzgerald) and the constable, Slocum (Walter Catlett). Even Susan’s aunt, the rich old lady with a million dollars, is delightfully eccentric, which helps explain her yen for a pet leopard and her romantic attachment to big-game hunter Major Applegate (Charles Ruggles). When these characters all end up in the same place pandemonium is bound to break loose. Apparently, Hawks regretted not putting any “normal” characters into the picture, but I find each of these nutty personalities endearing, and the actors who play them do such a superb job making each one memorable, from Charles Ruggles and May Robson deciding to run out of the house for absolutely no reason to Walter Catlett’s penchant for running his hand through his hair each time he veers hilariously off-topic. Each of them is always doing something funny whenever they’re on screen, which gives the viewer a lot to take in even in the rare moments when nobody is actually on the move.
“Swinging Door Susie” confounds David (Grant) once again with her imaginary confessions at the local jail.
I first saw Bringing Up Baby when I was very young, and it made a huge impression on me at the time, but I find that I appreciate it more with each fresh viewing the older I grow. I catch jokes I missed before, I notice camera tricks with the leopard scenes that I hadn’t caught last time, and I revel anew in how beautiful and hilarious both Hepburn and Grant are, she slim and gracefully athletic and he deliciously rumpled and exasperated. To me, really great comedy is all about the experience of delight in the chaos of life, which is why I have such a deep, abiding love for the screwball genre.
Bringing Up Baby is one of the purest examples of that form, which makes it must-watch viewing for anyone interested in classic comedies. It’s also a great starter classic for kids, who won’t catch the naughtier winks but will love the animals and the cartoon carnival essence of the action. If you’re stuck at home with the family right now, make a date to sit down with Bringing Up Baby and laugh all night. You’ll be glad you did.
Today’s audiences remember the iconicGentlemen Prefer Blondes and Some Like It Hotwhen they think of Marilyn Monroe. Very few are aware of Monroe’s earlier dramatic performances prior to her ascension to global prominence. Don’t Bother to Knock (1952) is a rare gem in Monroe’s filmography which showcases her considerable acting chops long before she left Hollywood to study Method Acting at Lee Strasberg’s famed Actor’s Studio in New York.
After completing Clash By Nightat RKO in 1951, Monroe returned to her home studio, 20th Century Fox, and received a screenplay adapted from Charlotte Armstrong’s 1950 novel, Mischief. A rival studio’s interest in Monroe as a dramatic actress made Fox executives reconsider the full potential of the contracted player they had relegated to minor, decorative parts such as secretaries and sirens. In fact, Fox made an about-face by considering Monroe for the substantial dramatic leading role of Nell Forbes, a psychotic babysitter who teeters on the edge of madness and eventually terrorizes the child in her charge.
Director Roy Backer with Monroe
The success of the World War II-themed Morning Departure (1950) drew international attention to the film’s British director, Roy Baker, as well as an invitation from Darryl F. Zanuck to join the team at Fox. Assigned to the new Monroe production, Baker filmed in real time; the duration of the fictional action equaling the run time of the film, both ninety minutes. He also set a tight 28-day shooting schedule involving two weeks of rehearsals, and filmed scenes in the exact sequence they appeared in the film. Busting the myth that Monroe required numerous retakes, Roy Baker printed only her first takes.
Richard Widmark and Anne Bancroft
The suspenseful plot of Don’t Bother to Knock
followed an airline pilot who is dumped by his girlfriend at a hotel and
pursues another guest, a beautiful young woman babysitting a child for a couple
in town for an award ceremony. The babysitter becomes psychotic, confusing the
man for her boyfriend—also a pilot—who was killed in the war.
In the leading male role of pilot Jed Towers, Fox considered Montgomery Clift before selecting Richard Widmark. The actor later became Monroe’s neighbor after she married Arthur Miller and lived in Roxbury, Connecticut.
Fifteen years before her iconic role as Mrs. Robinson in The Graduate (1967) Anne Bancroft made her screen debut beside Marilyn Monroe as Jed’s girlfriend, Lyn Lesley, a singer in the hotel’s western-themed lounge.
Monroe with Donna Corcoran and Jim Backus
As the father of Monroe’s babysitting charge, Peter Jones, Jim Backus makes the most of his screen time. Before playing James Dean’s father in Rebel Without a Cause (1955) Jim Backus voiced the near-sighted Mr. Magoo, in a series of animated cartoons beginning in 1949. During the production, Monroe invited him into her dressing room and begged, “Please do Mr. Magoo!”
Monroe with Lurene Tuttle
Dubbed “The First Lady of Radio,” Lurene Tuttle appeared in fifteen broadcasts per week before transitioning to film and television in roles of wives and mothers. Tuttle is effective as the child’s mother, Ruth Jones. Monroe’s charge, Bunny, is portrayed by nine-year-old Donna Corcoran.
Monroe and Elisha Cook Jr.
Elisha Vanslyck Cook, Jr.portrays Eddie, Nell’s empathic and supportive uncle who works at the hotel and obtains the babysitting position for her. He had played neurotic characters and villains such as Wilmer, who tries to threaten Sam Spade (Humphrey Bogart) in The Maltese Falcon.
The screenplay by Daniel Taradash (awarded the 1953 Oscar for From Here To Eternity) provides a suspenseful character reveal, as we discover that Nell isn’t just a pathetic waif, but a psychotic woman, in classic film noir style and dialogue.
Four years before she set foot into the Actors Studio, Marilyn gives a Method Acting performance, beginning with her entrance. Nell enters the hotel’s revolving door in a simple cotton dress, low heels, a black sweater, and a beret. From behind, we see her outfit is wrinkled as if she had been sitting on the subway for a long time. Apparently, Monroe bought the dress at a discount store in place of wearing a costume designed by Fox’s wardrobe department. Nell’s backstory is cloaked, and Monroe builds the character through use of her body in a manner studied with Chekhov. She moves with hesitancy and scans her environment in a way that suggests she has not been in public for a long time.
Nell meets her Uncle Eddie who introduces her to Mr. and
Mrs. Jones and Bunny. After Eddie and the couple leave and Bunny is tucked in
bed, Nell restlessly wanders the suite. Alone, her mask is removed, and her
expression exudes deep pathos and despondency. She rifles through Mrs. Jones’
jewelry and clothing and tries on a negligée, earrings, and a bracelet.
Slowly, Nell transforms from an introverted waif to into a
glamorous woman, much in the way Norma Jeane Baker Mortensen metamorphosed into
Marilyn Monroe. When Nell entertains Jed in the suite and is stunned to learn
he is a pilot. Her fingers nervously trace the scar on her wrist as she becomes
delusional and believes Jed is her deceased boyfriend, a pilot who died in the
war. “You were rescued!” she cries while embracing him. “You came back!”
Bunny unexpectedly enters the room and reveals Nell is her
babysitter. Nell sends the child back to bed, and Jed expresses concern when he
hears her crying in the other room. Nell reveals her own background of neglect
when she coldly remarks, “If you don’t pay attention to them, they stop.” At
Jed’s insistence, Nell goes to Bunny. “Don’t utter a sound,” she harshly orders
the child. “Then we’ll all live happily ever after.” The effect is chilling and
demonstrates Marilyn’s talent at this early stage in her career.
After Jed leaves in frustration, Eddie checks on Nell and
admonishes her for wearing Mrs. Jones’ clothes. “Now stop it, all of you!” Nell
shouts with terrifying rage, her eyes wide and crazed. She reaches for an
object to throw at him but gains control. Enraged, she hits him over the head
with ashtray. Not until The Misfits will Marilyn again have an
opportunity to emote such anger and aggression in a role.
According to Anne Bancroft, Marilyn disagreed with both
Baker and acting coach Natasha Lytess on how to play the final climatic scene,
ignoring their advice. “The talent inside that girl was unquestionable,”
Bancroft told John Gilmore. “She did it her way and this got right inside me,
actually floored me emotionally.”
Nell Forbes is a fragmented personality with a blank
expression. Sadness, fear, and rage register in Monroe’s face with credibility.
She fluctuates from an introverted waif to someone who seems ruthless, even
dangerous. Having worked with Chekhov, Monroe learned to delve deep into her
own reservoir of painful memories and accessed her own natural talent for
portraying vulnerability and madness. Employing Chekhov’s technique of
physicality, she frequently held her waist as if the character were preventing
herself from succumbing to madness. Perhaps Monroe’s mother, Gladys, served as
inspiration. Gladys was diagnosed with Schizophrenia and institutionalized for
long periods of time.
Monroe gives a stunning, riveting performance as a damaged
woman, and suggests an alternative path her career might have taken if her
physical beauty had not dictated the roles Fox gave her. Indeed, her comic
performances were gems, which ultimately led to her legendary status, but what
heights might she have achieved had she been allowed to experiment with more
dramatic roles earlier in her career? Sadly, the film is rarely emphasized as a
part of her body of work.
“It was a remarkable experience!” Anne Bancroft said of her
work with Monroe. “Because it was one of those very rare times in Hollywood
when I felt the give and take that can only happen when you are working with
good actors… There was just this scene of one woman seeing another who was
helpless and in pain. It was so real, I responded. I really reacted to her. She
moved me so that tears came into my eyes. Believe me, such moments happened
rarely, if ever again, in the early things I was doing out there.”
Retrospectively, Don’t Bother to Knock offers
chilling biographical elements from Monroe’s life. Like Monroe, Nell is both
vulnerable and sexy. Jed lusts after her, unaware of her damaged psyche, just
as the public celebrated Monroe’s beauty while knowing nothing of her mental
illness and suicide attempts. Monroe was admitted to two psychiatric hospitals
in New York eighteen months before her death.
Fox capitalized on Marilyn’s sexy image and the sexual
tension between the leading characters for the film’s advertising. Lobby
posters promoted sex appeal by featuring a pin-up style rendering of Monroe in
a strapless red dress beside copy describing her as “a wicked sensation as the
lonely girl in room 803.” The trailer touted Marilyn as “America’s most
exciting personality” and “the most talked about actress of 1952…every inch a
woman…every inch an actress!” With obvious allusions to sex, Richard Widmark is
“the guy who didn’t knock,” and Marilyn is “the girl who didn’t care.”
In a positive review, Variety announced Monroe “gives
an excellent account of herself in a strictly dramatic role which commands
certain attention…the studio has an upcoming dramatic star in Miss Monroe.” In
his 1952 essay “Blame the Audience,” film critic Manny Farber he pointed to the
film as one of the ten best of the year: “Monroe takes her character through
several successive changes of mood and makes her transitions from lethargy to
seductiveness to sadness to desperation very compelling.” Newsweek
hailed her: “Monroe—hitherto typed as a glamour girl—easily comes off best with
a surprisingly effective impersonation of a mousy maniac.”
Arguably, Monroe effectively channeled her mentally ill mother and gives a believable performance as a vaguely written character in a script without any description of her personality. Monroe later told friend Hedda Rosten that Don’t Bother to Knock was one of her favorite films and considered Nell her strongest performance.
