Five Fifties Films that Comment on Their Era

Most people today equate the 1950s with a “time of innocence.” That cliché seems to oversimplify the period. I’m not sure how innocent it was living in a world poised for nuclear destruction at almost any moment.

When it comes to the movies, Hollywood was in the fight of its life against its biggest competitor, television. So movies were dominated by new and bigger ways to tell a story, including wide-screen formats like Cinemascope and VistaVision, 3D, and other gimmicks.

Movies featured a range of new female types, including such blonde dichotomies as Marilyn Monroe and Doris Day. New Method actors like Brando, Newman, and James Dean joined the ranks of established male stars, such as Gable and Grant. There was the quick rise of teen culture, with its rock ‘n roll, hot rods, and untamed youth. Monster movies dominated the drive-in. Broadway musicals were adapted in big productions. And westerns glorified the American West in full Technicolor.

If nostalgia illustrates a more naive cinema in the 1950s, it’s worth taking a look at a few titles from that decade that seem to exceed expectations. These are films that surprised me because they seemed to strongly comment on the era: Its morality, values, gender expectations; the idea that an old guard will soon give way to a younger, more explosive generation; and the underlying sense of doom and disappointment hovering over a post-war, nuclear age.

"It's Always Fair Weather" (1955): The Unhappy Musical

They shouldn't have come.

Maybe it makes sense that the first film in our list is a bright, energetic song-and-dance fest. But there’s a reason “It’s Always Fair Weather” is known as ‘the unhappy musical.’

The plot involves three soldiers—Ted Riley (Gene Kelly), Doug Hallerton (Dan Dailey) and Angie Valentine (Michael Kidd)—who served in the Army together. When the war ends in 1945, they celebrate at a little dive bar in New York City, vowing to remain friends forever and meet up again in exactly ten years. Their joy in being home is demonstrated in a fantastic number that has them tap-dancing with metal garbage can lids on their feet. (It’s amazing.)

Their loving departure is followed by a montage sequence that encapsulates the ensuing decade. It reveals that none of their lives turned out quite as they had hoped. Ted had dreams of becoming a lawyer, but now he’s a boxing promoter with a gambling problem; Doug wanted to be a painter, but now works in a thankless advertising job; Angie had wanted to become a chef, but now runs a hamburger stand.

When the ten-year anniversary arrives, they grudgingly meet up. And it turns out that not only do they have nothing in common anymore, they also don’t even like each other. Since this is a big Hollywood musical, their contempt is comically rendered in the song “I Shouldn’t Have Come.”

So how do we keep these guys together for the sake of the story? At the restaurant where they’ve met, Doug sees his coworker Jackie Leighton (Cyd Charisse), who gets the idea to have the men reunite on a popular TV show. Nothing says sentimental like reuniting three war veterans in front of a national audience. A guaranteed ratings grab!

That’s where the satire comes in. We meet the show’s host, Madeline Bradville (Dolores Gray), who embodies everything unctuous about television in the 1950s. Gray is iconic of the decade, born to wear her hair in the style of the day and dressed to the nines in definitive fifties fashions. I can’t envision her in any other decade. She is perfect to play the superficially silken host of a typical fifties variety show, her over-powdered persona fitting the role like a glove. But she’s in on the joke, which is what makes the scenes in the TV studio work so well from a satirical perspective.

Cyd Charisse was an amazingly gorgeous dancer and capable comedienne. When Jackie falls for Ted, she gets to do her showcase number set in a boxing gym (“Baby You Knock Me Out”). It’s not to be missed.

Actually, there are no throwaway routines in “It’s Always Fair Weather.” You get to see Gene Kelly dancing in roller skates (it’s genius), and Dan Daily’s musings on being a cog in the wheel of the ad agency (“Situation-Wise”) is a bitter comment on the work world of the 1950s.

When Ted refuses to fix a boxing match, gangsters are in hot pursuit, which culminates in a melee on Madeline’s live show. This brings the guys back together, albeit briefly, and helps re-set their lives to a certain degree. At the conclusion of the film, they part ways—more amicably this time—but it’s clear they’ll never see each other again.

And that’s the key to the movie: cynicism. At a time when musicals were typically bright and sunny, “It’s Always Fair Weather” attempts to tell a story of disappointment through song and dance. Even the title is a play on words. These guys were really just fair-weather friends, at a point in their lives when they needed each other. And is it really always fair weather? Nope, it’s not.

Although not a commercial success at the time, the movie stands as an excellent example of the Hollywood musical. And it shows that a film can be hugely entertaining and gently funny and still be sharply satirical. The director, Stanley Donen, had a light touch, but a bit of an edge too. Perhaps television was an easy target in 1955, but how many mainstream, thought-provoking—yet light-hearted—satires on any aspect of American culture have there been in recent years?

“Patterns” (1956): Big Business, '50s Style

A movie poster for "Patterns."

Fans of “Mad Men” will find the movie “Patterns” especially interesting. Despite not being set in the world of advertising (the world of Dan Dailey's character in "It's Always Fair Weather," discussed above), it's a vivid window into the world of business during the 1950s. (I realize the “Mad Men” series is set in the 1960s, but close enough.)

Fred Staples (Van Heflin) has recently joined Ramsey & Co., an industrial powerhouse headed by Walter Ramsey (Everett Sloane). Ramsey is grooming Fred to replace Bill Briggs (Ed Begley), an older executive in whom Ramsey has lost faith.

Bill is a good man who cares about his employees, but Ramsey is a ruthless executive whose primary care is making money at any cost. He repeatedly humiliates Bill in meetings and discounts his ideas. He takes every opportunity to publicly paint Bill as outmoded, out of step, incompetent, and unworthy of his current position.

Fred sees what Ramsey is doing to Bill; although Fred is ambitious and wants a greater position at the company, he encourages Bill to fight back. Ramsey, meanwhile, feels that Fred is a fool to care too deeply about the man he has been hired to replace.

After a final heated boardroom confrontation, Bill suffers a heart attack and dies. As a result, Fred realizes that he cannot in good conscience work for a man who cares nothing about his human capital. But before Fred can quit, Ramsey persuades him to stay on. Fred seizes the opportunity to sweeten the deal (a larger salary, stock options); but he lays out in no uncertain terms that he will work diligently to one day oust Ramsey. To this challenge, the venal Ramsey merely smiles.

This is a tough, intelligent little film. It takes place almost exclusively in either the boardroom or various offices at Ramsey & Co. There are a few scenes at Fred’s home and elsewhere, but the direction is very tight. This means that the dialogue is the key to the film’s power. It has a briskly intelligent script by Rod Serling (creator of “The Twilight Zone”), based on his teleplay, which was first broadcast in 1955. The film provides a historically important window on how business operated in the 1950s. In viewing it, though, one wonders how much has really changed, aside from clothing styles and office equipment.

The men—all excellent—are really the show here, which makes sense for a movie about big business in the 1950s. But fine and underrated actresses are also featured: Beatrice Straight is outstanding as Fred’s wife. Buffs should watch her in “Patterns” and then follow it up with her similar role, albeit 20 years later, in 1976’s “Network” as William Holden’s put-upon wife. (For that one, she won an Oscar.) Elizabeth Wilson, as Bill’s faithful former secretary who now reluctantly reports to Fred, is one of the best character actresses out there—and she’s still working at 93.

Since I always have to find a connection between one blog post and another, I must point out that a quick glimpse of the filmography of the late Lauren Bacall (the subject of my last post) shows that she has an uncredited role in “Patterns” as ‘Lobby lady near elevators.’ I’d love to know how she ended up in that bit part.

"Indiscreet" (1958): A Romantic Comedy for Grown-Ups

Ingrid Bergman in her fabulous art-filled apartment.

The only straight comedy in this post is Stanley Donen’s “Indiscreet,” based on a play by Norman Krasna (who adapted his screenplay). Donen also co-directed “It’s Always Fair Weather,” but this time he brings down the tone for a sophisticated romance.

Anna Kalman (Ingrid Bergman) is a stage actress living in London. Returning from a vacation in Spain, during which she met a man who didn’t quite live up to her expectations, she laments to her sister Margaret (Phyllis Calvert) that she will never fall in love. But just as suddenly, she meets Philip Adams (Cary Grant), a charming financier who is a work acquaintance of her brother-in-law Alfred (Cecil Parker).

Sparks fly between Anna and Philip, yet he makes it clear that he is married. Even after they fall for each other, Philip insists that, whatever happens between them, he cannot leave his wife. Their romance continues despite his marital situation, and Anna finds herself falling deeper, which creates conflict in her mind.

Then, Anna learns that Philip has been keeping something from her. (I won’t say what it is.) On a night out with Philip, Margaret, and Alfred, Anna regards Philip with muted contempt, knowing he has been lying. In a climactic comic scene in her apartment, she tries to corner him, only to discover his innocent reasons for not being entirely forthcoming.

I won’t tell you how it ends, but suffice to say that it ends on a beautiful note. The joy of this film is the subtlety of Grant and Bergman. They are both warm, witty, and urbane, and have excellent chemistry. (They worked together only once before, 12 years earlier, in Alfred Hitchcock’s “Notorious,” quite a different type of movie.)

From its opening credits with a close-up of lush roses, to its soaring music score, to the sets (especially Bergman’s art-filled London flat), to its performers, I find “Indiscreet” refreshingly grown-up, not given to the coy conventions of most films about adult relationships of the 1950s. Watching the film’s nimble direction by Donen underscores how incapable modern filmmakers seem to be of making light comedies in which adults behave like adults.

While I thoroughly enjoy this classy production on its own merits, I include it here because it seems to represent the ‘old guard’ I mentioned in the post’s introduction. Here we have a 54-year-old Cary Grant and a 43-year-old Ingrid Bergman playing two established people engaged in a romance.

But their days as relevant movie stars were numbered, for as we know in hindsight, the next decade represented the explosive younger generation, whose ideas about sexuality and morality, manners and behavior would change considerably. Grant and Bergman would soon represent the parents of that youthful generation. Ten years later, this film would have been viewed as completely square.

"Bonjour Tristesse" (1958): Le Teenager Dangereuse

One of several movie posters for "Bonjour Tristesse."

I include this next film because it picks up from “Indiscreet,” in that the focus is a teenager. Jean Seberg would quickly move on from this, her second feature, to become an icon of youthful rebellion in Jean-Luc Godard's 1960 ‘New Wave’ film “Breathless.”

“Bonjour Tristesse” opens in black and white, showing Raymond (David Niven) and his bored daughter Cécile (Seberg) lolling in a Paris nightclub, commenting on the passersby and basically idling their time. It then moves to their villa on the French Riviera, now in glorious color. (The location photography is stunning, by the way.)

Raymond is a careless playboy who spoils Cécile; they live an idyllic, decadent existence, and the daughter follows in the father’s footsteps, which he encourages. When Anne Larson (Deborah Kerr), an old friend of Raymond’s late wife, arrives at the villa, it sets off Cecile’s jealousies and fears that her carefree life will be disrupted.

Anne is an elegant, refined woman who, despite her affection for Raymond, is woefully out of her depth. He is a cad, and his affection for her is strictly superficial; he is unwilling to change from being the lothario he freely admits that he is. (In fact, he has a young mistress who basically lives with him at the villa.)

In her childish impulse to keep things as they were, Cecile aims to sabotage the relationship between Raymond and Anne. The older woman indulges Cecile’s immaturity up to a point, but circumstances lead her to flee the house in her car—which leads to a tragedy that changes Raymond and Cecile irrevocably, not necessarily for the better.

Otto Preminger’s output as a director was spotty, but I find “Bonjour Tristesse” to be an effective film that examines how similar the thought processes are for two immature, selfish people: One a middle-aged male; the other a young girl on the brink of womanhood. Raymond and Cecile are basically parasites who feed off and encourage the other’s self-indulgence.

The film closes in black and white again, this time fixing on Seberg in close-up as she considers what she has done. Her sorrow is palpable, yet the viewer wonders what, if anything, she has truly learned.

"The World, the Flesh, and the Devil" (1959): Not the End, but the Beginning

One of the striking scenes of a bereft New York City.

This post-apocalyptic drama opens after a cave-in, which has trapped miner Ralph Burton (Harry Belafonte) while inspecting a mine. He hears rescuers above, but eventually the sound of drilling stops completely. When he understands that help is not coming, Ralph digs himself out on his own. When he reaches land above, he finds abandoned buildings and vehicles, but no people.

Ralph does, however, find newspapers that herald the end of the world. It appears that an unnamed nation has used lethal radioactive isotopes to kill off humanity.

Completely alone, Ralph makes it to New York City, but still finds no one. The early scenes are especially gripping, as you see this single man grappling with a city devoid of life. The photography is stunning, with outstanding visuals that underscore Ralph’s loneliness. You feel his despair as he walks along empty streets, abandoned cars at odd angles, newspapers rustling by his feet. Long shots of cavernous streets littered with debris indicate a civilized world that has come to a complete halt.

Taking up residence in a swanky apartment, Ralph restores power so he has light, and can even play records on a hi-fi. (It’s 1959, remember.) Becoming increasingly lonely, he finds two mannequins from a clothing store and puts them in his apartment so he has some company. But fake people are almost worse than no people at all.

Ralph eventually takes out his lonely frustration on the male mannequin, pushing it off the apartment’s balcony. As it hits the ground, Ralph hears a woman’s scream from the street below. There’s someone else alive in the city!

The woman is Sarah Crandall (Inger Stevens), who is white. Starved for companionship, the two live separately but spend every moment together. Sarah eventually falls in love with Ralph. But he is the product of a segregated society, and the conventions of his time force him to maintain a distance from her.

When the two discover a moving boat on the water, they find a very sick Benson Thacker (Mel Ferrer) at the wheel. Sarah and Ralph help Ben get well, but the dynamic has shifted; Ben falls for Sarah, and Ralph becomes his rival.

The situation degenerates and Ralph and Ben commit to fighting for the affection of Sarah. In a climactic standoff, shots are fired as they roam the empty city. But when Ralph comes upon the United Nations, he reads an inscription from the Book of Isaiah 2:4: “They shall beat their swords into plowshares. And their spears into pruning hooks. Nation shall not lift up sword against nation. Neither shall they learn war any more.”

Realizing the absurdity of this hunt to the death, Ralph confronts Ben and drops his gun. In turn, Ben cannot kill Ralph. They separate, but when Sarah appears, she takes each of their hands—one black, one white—in hers.

The movie isn’t a complete success, but it’s intelligently made and well-played by the three leads. It’s worth including in this post because it had something definite to say about two touchy subjects in 1959: Race relations and the threat of atomic annihilation.

In these ways, “The World, The Flesh, and The Devil” is a pivotal film that was ahead of its time. It raises important existential questions in an atomic world, setting a tone that would be realized as the 1960s proceeded: The rise of the civil rights movement, acceptance of interracial marriage, the anti-war movement during the protracted Vietnam conflict, and the anti-nukes protests that would gather momentum in the 1970s.

Conclusion

The 1950s has been called a simpler, more naive time in America, and perhaps to a degree that is true. Certainly by comparison to today, the morals, values, fashions, and standards of behavior have changed quite a bit. 

But no era is really simple; there were many threats looming over this nation during that decade, some of which were the result of the world war that had been fought and won the decade before. With that victory came prosperity, which spurred new values (not all of them positive), as well as new threats. The decade's basic conservativsm paved the way for the upheaval of the decade that followed. In the five films discussed here, I’ve tried to capture the nascent forces that eventually changed our culture, for better or for worse.

Lauren Bacall: A Designing Woman

One of my all-time favorite people, Lauren Bacall, passed away at age 89 on August 12. In the flurry of articles about her personality, her films, her marriage to Humphrey Bogart, and countless other variations on her career, I read a piece by writer Neal Gabler. In it, he stated, “She hadn’t been so much a star as she was a flare.”

I never thought about her as anything but a star, in the truest sense of the word. In fact, she managed to maintain her star status for seven decades, which says a lot, since audiences tend to forget famous, pseudo-famous, and infamous people quickly. She was a woman who was identified with Hollywood’s “golden age,” yet worked steadily literally to the end.

Perhaps in terms of initial fame, Gabler’s statement is true. When she hit the scene, she was unlike anything anyone had yet seen on the screen. Sleek, silky, and sexy, she was perfect for a genre of melodrama that later gained respectability as ‘film noir.’ She had the right look and the right tone for stories of intrigue in shimmering black and white.

It’s arguable that Bacall’s best period was the 1940s, but that was just the groundwork. In 1944, she came out of nowhere and made a smashing debut opposite Bogart in “To Have and Have Not.” She would marry him shortly after, and between 1946 and 1948, they would make three more films together. (She made a fifth film without him in 1945, which was a noted flop.)

But even after the film noir style faded in the 1950s, Bacall had moved on to other things. She showed a wry humor in a couple comedies in the '50s, which she had never been called upon to do in the previous decade. She also tried out other genres, including adventure, psychological drama, pure soap opera, and even a western. Meanwhile, she made some notable television appearances, including an adaptation of Noel Coward's "Blithe Spirit"—co-starring with Coward himself—and reuniting with Bogart in “The Petrified Forest,” an adaptation of the play—and subsequent movie—that made him famous 20 years earlier. Interestingly, Bacall’s role was originally played by her film idol, Bette Davis.

The lady did it all, and she did it with a lack of pretense. Let’s take a look at some essential titles that encompass classic Bacall during her heyday:

Bacall in the 1940s
When she hit the scene, Bacall didn’t have much acting experience. She had been a model, and her brand of sultry sexiness was new. Maybe it was the eyes, the tilt of her head, the shoulder-length hair, or the way she held her body; but it was nothing that had been seen up to that point. Looking at her still images now, there is an undeniable dynamism; the images seem to move. Film stardom in a certain kind of black-and-white cinema seemed to be her destiny.

“To Have and Have Not” (1944)
This was Bacall’s first film, and it made an indelible impression. A story of wartime intrigue, it capitalized on Bogart’s image as the ambivalent hero, which he created in “Casablanca.” This time, the story is set in Martinique, with Bogart as Harry Morgan, an expatriate American who agrees to help transport a Free French Resistance leader and his wife. But the story is mere backdrop to the fireworks set off between Bogart and Bacall, as 'Slim' Browning, an itinerant lounge singer. The atmosphere is classic ‘40s Warner Bros., all dark shadows and stark light, with rich detail and set pieces. Bacall has some electric moments with Bogart, and even sings one song. Justin Timberlake sang about bringing sexy back, but watching her in this movie, you may think it never left.

“The Big Sleep” (1946)
Although confusing as heck, “The Big Sleep” contains all of the visual and tonal tropes we have come to expect from film noir. You’ve got the hardened gumshoe Philip Marlowe (Bogart again) getting caught up in a convoluted story involving a wealthy family with secrets, including the eldest daughter, the mysterious Vivian Rutledge (Bacall). There are various characters, none of whom can be trusted; and story angles that lead to dead ends while opening yet another door. Above all, “The Big Sleep” is about the atmosphere and the dialogue; the most entertaining bits are between Bogart and Bacall, of course.  She is sultry and funny, and never sexier or more glamorous than she is here. Worth noting: '50s star Dorothy Malone has a small role as a bookshop clerk in a single scene opposite Bogart. She would pop back into Bacall's filmic periphery ten years later. Read on.

“Dark Passage” (1947)
It’s Bacall with Bogart again, in another black-and-white noir, this time with a twist: Bogart is Vincent Parry, an escaped convict who has plastic surgery to change his appearance; the first 20 minutes or so of the film are told entirely from his point of view, so we don’t see him as Bogart until his “new” face is revealed. To hide from the police, he is taken in by Irene Jansen (Bacall), an artist with a fabulous modern apartment. (I had to point that out.) She willingly conceals him from everyone, including the police and a nosey society friend played by Agnes Moorehead, who is marvelously monstrous. (She has the best exit scene ever. Must see.) This revenge tale is exciting and features some neat on-location San Francisco photography. Bacall is a softer version of herself in “To Have and Have Not” and “The Big Sleep,” but she comes off as sharp, smart, and sympathetic here. For film noir fans, this is essential viewing.

Just like Bogie and Bacall

“Key Largo” (1948)
In this final teaming of Bogart and Bacall, the setting changes from exotic or urban to the Florida keys. Here, the war-weary Frank McCloud (Bogart) visits a hotel on Key Largo to honor a friend who died during the war. He meets the friend’s widow, Nora Temple (Bacall) and her father (Lionel Barrymore). As a hurricane whips up, the three find themselves prisoner of a notorious gangster (Edward G. Robinson) and his drunken, pathetic moll (Claire Trevor). The story involves Bogart’s increasing resolve to take action despite his revulsion toward violence after everything he lived through—and lost—during the war. There is an exciting climax, and the undeniable chemistry between Bogart and Bacall that have made each of their films together classics. It may be this, their final film, that cemented their legend. (Remember that pop song in the '80s? "Sailin' away to Key Largo...")

One of my favorite pics.

Bacall in the 1950s
By the time the '40s ended, Bacall was already backsliding a bit, making way for a different kind of female movie star. While she was still relevant, the new decade would be dominated by sexy broads like Marilyn Monroe; squeaky-clean girls next door like Doris Day or June Allyson (all of whom would eventually be her co-stars); elegant ice queens like Grace Kelly or Deborah Kerr; and impish gamines like Audrey Hepburn or Leslie Caron. By contrast, Bacall’s image during this decade had a crisp, down-to-earth edge. She adapted herself to fit the post-war world.

“Young Man with a Horn” (1950)
In this serious drama, Bacall was second-billed after Kirk Douglas, but the real female star was third-billed Doris Day, who had made only a couple of musical comedies up to this point. The movie documents the rise and fall of brash trumpeter Rick Martin (Douglas). Bacall’s Amy North is the rich girl who causes him trouble, paving the way for Jo Jordan (Day) to save him from alcoholism and self-destruction. The film is often cited for an early portrayal of lesbianism, which is implied between Amy and another young woman. It sure does tick off Rick in one confrontation scene, although it’s tame by today’s standards. This is a transitional film for Bacall, as she's moving out of noir films and into a new decade. She was no longer the sultry heroine, and she had to find new ground.

“How to Marry a Millionaire” (1953)
This time around, Bacall is part of a triumvirate of filmic females, and she is sort of sandwiched between co-stars Marilyn Monroe (then a rising star) and Betty Grable (then a descending star). They represent three types of '50s femininity: There’s earthy, flirty Loco Dempsey (Grable); sexy but dingy Pola Debevoise (Monroe); and no-nonsense, practical Schatze Page (Bacall). It's a fun, bright Technicolor comedy rooted in its time, but still hugely entertaining because it's so well-crafted and written, about three models in New York City who are trying to snare a millionaire husband. Bacall has some of the best lines. To whit:

Loco: "I wouldn't mind marrying a Vanderbilt."
Pola: "Or Mr. Cadillac."
Schatze: "No such person. I checked."

Also: “I've always liked older men... Look at that old fellow, what's-his-name, in ‘The African Queen.’ Absolutely crazy about him." (In this little Hollywood in-joke, she's referring to husband Bogart.)

Looked good in slacks

“Written on the Wind” (1956)
Bacall had her greatest successes in the 1950s when she was part of an ensemble, and in “Written on the Wind,” she’s part of a good one. This is a big-budget Douglas Sirk production, which promises high drama and a glossy Technicolor sheen. Spoiled oil heir Kyle Hadley (Robert Stack) marries Lucy Moore (Bacall), who is secretly loved by Kyle’s best friend Mitch Wayne (Rock Hudson). The Hadleys are a troubled bunch, as Kyle is an alcoholic, and his volatile sister Marylee (Dorothy Malone) is a nymphomaniac who’s got her addled eyes on Mitch. Yes, this is pure soap opera, but it’s almost operatic in its crescendos and climax. Bacall’s characterization is suitably muted, although she was never given to overdone histrionics. The showiest part belongs to Malone, whom I mentioned had a small part as a nameless bookstore clerk in the “The Big Sleep” ten years before. (By the 1950s, Malone was a top-tier star in the brittle blonde mode, somewhere between M. Monroe and Grace Kelly.)

“Designing Woman” (1957)
This was the first film Bacall made after Bogart’s death from cancer. Perhaps she chose a chic comedy as a way to distract herself. It’s typical battle-of-the-sexes in the Hepburn-Tracy mold (she and Hepburn were bosom pals). Mike Hagen (Gregory Peck) is a sports writer and Marilla Brown (Bacall) is a fashion designer. True to comic form, their styles clash. The storyline has Mike trying to prove that a mobster is fixing boxing matches, which causes some complications with Marilla. The film is enjoyable, but I never thought Peck was very good at comedy. He tries his best, but he is a little stiff. (I would have loved to have seen Cary Grant in this role.) Bacall, by contrast, is marvelously loose and alive. It’s this film that seems to have solidified her enduring persona as a chic, sophisticated woman of the world who not only dressed well, but was also smart, funny, and wise. “Designing Woman” was directed by the great Vincente Minnelli (Liza’s papa) and co-stars the furiously funny Dolores Gray, so you really can’t go wrong.

Looking fresh.

By the 1960s, Bacall’s leading lady stardom had already slipped. She made sporadic film appearances, but in 1970 starred in a huge hit on stage in “Applause,” a musical adaptation of “All About Eve” (which, side note, also starred her idol Bette Davis). She was entering yet another phase of her career: An established film star of Hollywood's "Golden Age" and a respected stage personality. She could have retired, saying she’d done it all; but she had three books to write yet, she had more stage work to perform, she had yet to become a sought-after character actress, and she had a lot of filmmaking lore to share in countless fascinating interviews.

It's worth noting that she was married to Bogart for only 13 years; but her career didn't stop when he died. In fact, her richest work was to come, and she continued at it for another six decades. Over the last 25 years alone, Bacall did more than most actresses of her generation: Voiceover work in cartoons (Scooby Doo, Madeleine, Family Guy); a small role in a Stephen King adaptation (“Misery”); playing Barbra Streisand’s mother, which won her an Oscar (“The Mirror Has Two Faces”); co-starring in two weird, arty Lars von Trier films (“Dogville” and “Manderlay”); lending her presence to many (often inferior) pictures... and who can forget those Fancy Feast commercials? All the while she preserved the Bogart memory, and may be largely responsible for ensuring his important, iconic status over the last 50+ years.

Lauren Bacall has been an enduring presence all these years and has always stood for something worth admiring: Strength of character, integrity, a no-nonsense approach to life. She was a dame with class and dignity, a gritty and glamorous personality who commanded attention. She never disappeared, until she finally did—after living a long and damn useful life.

The writer I cited earlier in this post contended that, “In the end, she was a glamorous figure from another, darker era…and the wife of Humphrey Bogart.” I contend that she must have struggled with loving and keeping alive Bogart's memory, yet trying since his death to come out from his shadow to establish herself without him. I’d say that, in the end, she did just fine.

Here's a neat little tribute via Turner Classic Movies.

The Enduring Appeal of James Garner

One of my favorite leading men passed away this month, so I wanted to dedicate this blog post to him. What was it about the late James Garner that appealed so much? For me, it wasn’t just that he was devastatingly handsome in a completely approachable way; it’s what he represented to America during the course of his career.

Watching his films, you detect something so natural, so easygoing about Garner that you always felt like he could be someone you knew. A neighbor, a coworker, a pal you could have a beer with. Someone who would be a lot of fun, but who wouldn't embarrass himself or anyone else.

By contrast, male movie stars today seem remote or unapproachable. They’re George Clooney or Tom Cruise, floating somewhere in the stratosphere living a life no regular person can even imagine. They’re uncouth Adam Sandler-type slobs with whom you can’t envision being able to carry on a conversation without them burping or swearing. They’re a man-child like Seth Rogen, those guys who can't grow up enough to know when to stay off of Twitter or otherwise embarrass themselves in the media.

James Garner was just a different animal altogether.

His film roles represent the Garner style: An unassuming, charming gentleman with a sense of humor. But while his style seems effortless, he had a pretty substantial film career during most of the 1960s, his filmic heyday. He tackled comedies, adventures, war films, westerns, and serious dramas. He was able to bring a sly humor to any role he played. He wasn’t a brooding Brando; rather, he was natural and smooth, sort of Cary Grant’s younger brother.

Garner’s first big break in television was in 1957 in the western “Maverick,” which was the earliest indication of his easygoing charm. After a few parts in films both large and small, he was cast in William Wyler’s “The Children’s Hour” (1961), one of the first mainstream Hollywood films to deal with homosexuality. (This isn't surprising for a lifelong fair-minded Democrat.) He lent the requisite masculinity to a film dominated by Audrey Hepburn and Shirley Maclaine, and revealed an easiness that would serve him well in subsequent roles in both film and television.

His follow-up was as an ensemble cast of virile male stars in “The Great Escape,” John Sturges’ fantastic WWII adventure movie about a band of inmates in a German camp who plot an elaborate escape. Just look at this list of co-stars: Steve McQueen, Charles Bronson, James Coburn, Richard Attenborough and a raft of solid British supporting players. Garner brought his affable charm to bear, but he also demonstrated tenderness in several key scenes as the men desperately attempt their escape. In a cast of watchable men, he commands the most attention throughout the film.

Garner with Doris Day

After this big-budget, all-star war film, Garner stepped into a type he was most comfortable with: light comedy. In 1963 alone, he co-starred in big-budget, Technicolor romantic comedies opposite the delicious and underrated Lee Remick (“The Wheeler Dealers”) and box-office goldmine Doris Day (“The Thrill of It All” and “Move Over, Darling”). It wasn’t just Rock Hudson who helped Day shine in these light comic stories.

A more substantive seriocomic role came next, in 1964’s “The Americanization of Emily” (which Garner claimed was his favorite film). He played a reluctant Army man stationed in England during WWII who falls in love with a noncommittal nurse (played by a pre-“Mary Poppins” Julie Andrews). The film deals with the meaninglessness of war, the meaning of bravery (and cowardice), and existential themes that rose above mere romance (although the film has romance in spades). Garner and Andrews made a marvelous pair of dubious lovers, although you could argue that Garner had good chemistry with all of his leading ladies.

During the mid-to-late ‘60s Garner coasted on still more light comedies opposite such sixties ladies as Elke Sommer, Angie Dickinson, Sandra Dee and Debbie Reynolds, as well as the occasional western. None of these stand out in retrospect. However, one that does is 1966’s “Grand Prix” (opposite Eva Marie Saint). Looking back, it seems fitting that Garner should appear in a film about auto racing, which became one of his passions.


Garner as Jim Rockford

At the close of the decade, Garner appeared in one more successful film, returning him to his western roots but with a comic spin in “Support Your Local Sheriff!” He followed it up in 1971 with “Support Your Local Gunfighter” but by then his starring days were over. It was back to television, with what would arguably be the role in which he would be best remembered: Jim Rockford in “The Rockford Files.” It was this role that encompassed everything we knew about the James Garner persona: Tough but sweet, funny and self-deprecating, a man of action who wasn’t afraid to show the bumps and bruises.

What I admire about James Garner is his lack of pretense. It comes through in every role. He is never flashy. He comes off as a man who respected his profession but didn't take himself too seriously. He seemed like a nice person, someone you could trust, who was fair. He was a man of action, yes, but he did not embrace violence. He was not Schwarzenegger, Willis, or Stallone. He was not absurdly indestructible.

After an excellent turn in Blake Edwards' marvelous "Victor/Victoria" in 1981, which reunited him with Julie Andrews, the last really good movie in which he starred was “Murphy’s Romance” opposite Sally field in 1986. He was nominated for an Oscar for his performance, which capitalized on the easygoing manner that audiences had come to love.

Never afraid to be a goof

He made fewer appearances after the '80s, but a couple worth noting include clever casting in the 1994 remake of his series “Maverick,” and 20 years after that in the very popular “The Notebook.” By this time Garner was an old man and had the regard of several generations behind him, which made his tender scenes opposite Gena Rowlands, as the elderly versions of Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams, all the more moving.

When someone like James Garner dies, you reflect on what the man stood for in his lifetime. Movie stars are microcosms of the types of people we are as Americans; they represent what we value. In the context of movie stardom, when you compare James Garner to the male stars of today, you get a greater sense of loss because it seems as though a certain set of values and attitudes--respect, modesty, dignity, civility, kind humor--are slowly disappearing from American life.

Still, we have his movies to enjoy and be reminded.

Here's a summation of Garner via Turner Classic Movies.

Velvet Touch: The Distant Beauty of Martha Hyer

If you have never heard of Martha Hyer, you're probably not alone. She was a gorgeous blonde actress of the 1950s whose impact on film history, in retrospect, is fairly negligible. She made a few good films, a handful of forgettable ones, and was rarely the lead. She died last month at age 89, so I am writing this post in her honor because her presence—regal, poised, elegant—made an impact on me as a young film fan.

Hyer personified the “cool blonde” ideal of the 1950s. She was billed by Universal Studios as its “answer to Grace Kelly,” which is apt in that they had a similar look (blonde, patrician) and a similar bearing (chic, graceful).

One could argue that Kelly was the better actress; she certainly had better luck with her roles, in much more distinguished films (all those Hitchcock pictures!). While Kelly made a splash with just her second film, the classic western “High Noon” opposite one of the era’s biggest male stars, Gary Cooper, Hyer’s early career saw her languishing in bit parts and roles in low-budget films. She landed a part in the grade-A Rosalind Russell vehicle “The Velvet Touch” in 1948, but after that it was back to B westerns.

But in 1954, she had her first role in what would become a classic, the romantic comedy “Sabrina.” Granted, she was not the star—that honor belonged to Audrey Hepburn, who was just getting started herself. But Hyer made an impression as William Holden's upper crust girlfriend, her haughty, cool demeanor in stark contrast with Hepburn’s brunette impishness.

1963's "Wives and Lovers"

And that is the persona for which she is perhaps best remembered today: The rich girl, often conceited, sometimes sympathetic, but always chic. Hyer acquitted herself well, if one-dimensionally, in most every role she played, and she always looked great doing it. A quick survey of photos online reveals a woman who knew how to wear the fashions of the day.

The late ‘50s was the best period for her. In 1957 she played the sophisticated yet spoiled sister of June Allyson in the remake of “My Man Godfrey,” but she also got a couple rare leads opposite such hot actors as Rock Hudson in “Battle Hymn” and Tony Curtis in “Mr. Cory" that same year.

So she wasn’t always relegated to just a supporting part, but even when she was, she sometimes had a chance to shine. In 1958, she played a sympathetic small-town schoolteacher who cannot love Frank Sinatra in “Some Came Running.” It's an excellent time capsule, and it contains Hyer’s best work; she was nominated for an Oscar. But that same year, she was back to the snooty girlfriend in “Houseboat” (1958). (To add insult to injury, she loses Cary Grant to Sophia Loren.)

Where Grace Kelly quit movies to become a real-life princess in 1956, Hyer had to keep working, and there was really nowhere for the refined ice queen, a Hollywood staple of the 1950s, to go next as the decade came to a close.

"The Carpetbaggers"

The vibe of Hollywood in the 1960s was different than the previous decades; it's as if Tinsel Town, and society at large, was saying, 'We don't need your refinement anymore; we want something louder, brighter, looser, more coarse. Adapt or die.' So Martha Hyer adapted, taking roles that urged her to be a sexier, dissolute version of her old screen self. The times they were a-changin', after all. In the low-brow “The Carpetbaggers” (1964) she played a sexy call girl; in “The Chase” (1966), she played a drunk socialite. In both, she looked the part of an aging beauty queen.

Passed over for the role of Marion Crane in "Psycho," a part that immortalized Janet Leigh, Hyer took a role in 1964 in a cheap imitation called "Pyro: The Thing without a Face," a year which also saw her in something called  “Bikini Beach." Maybe T.V. was a safer haven. She appeared in guest spots on such popular ‘60s programs as Family Affair, Bewitched, The Beverly Hillbillies, and The Alfred Hitchcock Hour.


Publicity still for
"The Chase"

Over the course of her 25 years in Hollywood, Hyer played with some of the biggest stars of her time. In addition to Hudson, Curtis, Grant, and Bogart, she also worked with such disparate names as Bob Hope and Marlon Brando, Joan Crawford and John Wayne, Robert Mitchum and Robert Redford, Jane Wyman and Jane Fonda.

She hung up her acting career in 1974 to focus on her social life and marriage to Hal Wallis, the famed producer of many great Warner Brothers movies of the studio era, which had already come to an end by the time Hyer married him in 1966. The glamorous Hollywood they knew was pretty much over by then anyway.

When Wallis died in 1986, Hyer apparently found religion and left California to live out retirement in Santa Fe, New Mexico. She was glad to leave behind Hollywood, saying, “When you live with fame as a day-to-day reality, the allure of privacy and anonymity is as strong as the desire for fame for those who never had it.”

This insightful quote about the price of fame makes me wonder if the so-called stars of today (reality show and otherwise), who pursue their stardom like it’s the ultimate prize of solid gold, will ever have that revelation.

At her finest, Hyer struck a regal pose that added an elegant figure to the proceedings. She represents a pre-feminist view of femininity; but perhaps feminists can learn a thing or two from what she represents: A woman with knowing self-possession who may have been beautiful, but was also in control of herself. (Compared to the way celebrity women self-objectify today, Martha Hyer's persona seems downright radical in retrospect.)

As far as the entertainment industry goes, it’s hard to imagine that we’ll ever see her type of unreachable beauty and aloof attitude again. True, Martha Hyer has been out of the public eye for four decades, and her velvety style was passé by the time she finished with the business. Maybe we didn’t really miss her while she was away. But sometimes we don’t realize what we once had until it’s finally gone.

See a nice photo compilation here.

Fantasy, 1940s Style: Part II

In Part II of this series on fantasy films of the ‘40s, we see recurring themes that cater to fantasy: life after death, heaven and hell, good and evil, devils and angels. Some of the titles in Part II are ghost stories, but, as stated in Part I, special effects are not the focus. The characters are most important here.


The ghostly Kay Hammond

Blithe Spirit (1945)
Our one non-Hollywood film in this series is “Blithe Spirit,” which came out mid-decade. Based on Noel Coward’s play, it’s an early film by director David Lean, who later went on to direct the sprawling epics “Lawrence of Arabia” and “Doctor Zhivago” in the ‘60s.

In the mid-40s, Lean was just getting started, creating smaller, intimate films that include this witty fantasy comedy. In it, Rex Harrison and Constance Cummings are Charles and Ruth Condomine, a well-off couple living in a small town outside of London. Charles hires the hack medium Madame Arcati (Margaret Rutherford) to conduct a séance, as a way to gather background for a mystery novel. During the séance, Madame Arcati inadvertently summons the spirit of Charles's dead first wife, Elvira (Kay Hammond).

After the séance, Elvira becomes visible only to Charles, and she begins making things complicated between Charles and Ruth. To prove to Ruth that he can see this feminine apparition, Charles insists that Elvira do something obvious—so objects and furniture move on their own.

Now convinced, Ruth asks Madame Arcati to order Elvira to leave, but the dotty old medium realizes she knows how to make a ghost arrive, but she doesn't know a bloody thing about making them go. Ruth is convinced that Elivra is there to bust up her marriage, and Elvira continues to cause comic trouble, proving Ruth correct. Through jealous miscalculations, Ruth and Charles end up ‘on the other side’ along with Elvira. The machinations that get them there are witty good fun in the Noel Coward way.

Kay Hammond, not well-known to American audiences, created the role of Elvira in the stage version of “Blithe Spirit,” and she is an insouciant delight in her otherworldly green makeup and flowing gown. (The film was shot in color.) Harrison is charmingly befuddled, and Cummings is at her clipped best as his irritated wife. But it’s Rutherford, the quintessential dotty Englishwoman, who steals the show in her hysterical turn as Madame Arcati. (You may remember Rutherford as the film incarnation of Agatha Christie’s spinster sleuth Miss Marple.) This is a very British, very droll drawing room comedy with a spirited twist, and highly entertaining.

It’s a Wonderful Life (1946)

George Bailey finally gets it.

Everyone knows this perennial holiday favorite, and I include it here as a film that goes beyond its Christmas theme. While there are many lighthearted moments, it is fundamentally a dark tale about George Bailey, a man who has done the right thing his whole life, at the expense of his own dreams. His frustration eventually leads him to a desperate attempt to commit suicide—until an angel intervenes.

It’s a simplistic storyline, but this movie has many layers that make it fascinating on multiple levels. The fantasy element bookends it; like a few of the films I’ve discussed here (for example, “Heaven Can Wait”), the fantastic element merely frames the story, but it doesn’t interfere with the telling of the story itself. In "It's a Wonderful Life," the tale is told in flashback, finally leading up to the very moment at which the film began.

The movie is set in a small town and spans from 1919 to the present (1946), and you see the characters grow and age. What makes the film so special is the great effort put into creating many small moments that capture each character. Every character has their time to shine, by turns funny, touching, or repulsive, helping you understand him or her and their relationships with others. There are many flawed people in Bedford Falls, and George Bailey is definitely one of them; but at the root of him and most of the people around him are good intentions and a desire to help others.

I love this movie because it is a time capsule not just of the post-war years, but of the decades preceding it. It shows George as a young boy in the second decade of the 20th century, still a new century; following to when he’s a young man embarking on a college career in the late ‘20s, before the Crash of 1929; when he’s a young married man struggling in the lean Depression years; and in middle age, as a loving but frustrated father of four young children and the devoted husband of the love of his life, the former Mary Hatch (winningly played by the underrated Donna Reed).

The director, Frank Capra, is famous for populist films like “It Happened One Night” (1934), “Mr. Deeds Goes to Town” (1936), “You Can’t take it With You” (1938), and “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington” (1939) that resonated strongly with Depression-era audiences and still delight today. He spent the war years working for the War Department, creating documentaries and other propaganda films. “It’s a Wonderful Life” marked his return to feature films, but it was a different America. The movie was not a financial success at its release, but of course has gone on to become a treasured American classic.

Very few films of this type have this film's depth. It probably takes multiple viewings to really get all the details in script flourishes, character development, art direction (the town of Bedford Falls and home and shop interiors have as much personality as the characters), all under masterful guidance by Capra. It’s funny, moody, moving, atmospheric, and evocative of times past, and asks an eternal, basic existential question about why we are here and what life is for.

At the film's center is a devastating portrayal by James Stewart, an actor who, as he aged, became a cuddly sort of grandfatherly figure in America, but whose film acting skill should not be dismissed. As George Bailey, he navigates the development of an idealistic, dreamy boy to an embittered, disillusioned middle-aged man who thinks that life is no longer worth living—that he’s “worth more dead than alive”—but who, through spiritual intervention, learns that life for his loved ones would have been very different without him. His life, he realizes, is of value, in all its imperfection and disappointments.

For a master class in screen acting, watch Stewart’s face and listen to his whispered delivery in the bar scene toward the end of the film, at the height of George's desperation. When Stewart was really good, he was brilliant.

Angel on My Shoulder (1946)
In this little-known fantasy, gangster Eddie Kagle (Paul Muni) is released from prison, but one of his nefarious cohorts knocks him off before he gets to enjoy his newfound freedom. A bad guy in life, Eddie winds up in hell, where the devil, "Nick" (Claude Rains) offers him a second chance—but only if Eddie does Nick a favor.

Just for kicks, Nick wants to ruin the reputation of Judge Frederick Parker, an honest man who is running for governor. Eddie is a dead ringer for the judge, so Nick arranges for Eddie’s soul to enter the judge's body. This will give Eddie a chance to get back at the man who killed him—and get out of hell.

His motivations aren’t noble, of course; but despite his best efforts at destroying Judge Parker to fulfill Nick's request, Eddie (in Parker’s body) ends up doing just the opposite. When he actually falls in love with the judge’s spunky fiancé Barbara (Anne Baxter), he starts to wonder if his deal with devil was really worth it.

Paul Muni was sort of the male Meryl Streep of his day. He played a number of grand biographical leads in the 1930s (“The Story of Louis Pasteur,” “The Life of Emile Zola,”) but began his career in the early ‘30s in gangster roles (he’s the original “Scarface”), which makes his late-career turn as bad-guy Eddie in “Angel on My Shoulder” a neat nod to his filmic past. While the film is light-hearted, it does have its heavy moments, as when Eddie/Judge Parker confronts the man who knocked him off.

Claude Rains played the heavenly guardian angel in “Here Comes Mr. Jordan,” so it’s a treat to see him playing the devil here. Interesting tie-in trivia: “Angel on My Shoulder” was written by Harry Segall, who also wrote the screenplay for “Here Comes Mr. Jordan” and the play “Heaven Can Wait,” the basis of the 1943 movie.

The Bishop’s Wife (1947)
Do you remember the 1996 Whitney Houston movie “The Preacher’s Wife”? Well, this is the film on which the Houston vehicle was based. It’s all about Bishop Henry Brougham (David Niven), who is having difficulty raising money for a new cathedral. Due to the stress of dealing with several wealthy but stubborn parishioners from whom he is hoping to get funding, his marriage to his wife Julia (Loretta Young) is under strain.

Suddenly a mysterious man named Dudley (Cary Grant) appears. He sets out to charm nearly everyone in the Bishop’s orbit, including Julia, the Brougham’s agnostic friend Professor Wutheridge, and the ornery parishioners, particularly crotchety Mrs. Hamilton, who holds the purse strings on the church funding. Only the Bishop himself is unmoved by Dudley’s philanthropy. In fact, he’s a little irritated by Dudley’s presence.

Wouldn’t you be a little jealous of a magnanimous stranger who looked like Cary Grant? Dudley’s intentions are good but go beyond just helping raise money for a new church; his mission is to help restore faith to the Bishop and those around him.

In the hands of Cary Grant, Dudley is urbane and charming. Grant was a genius at making every performance look effortless, and when you’re playing an angel, you’d better be nimble. By 1947, Niven and Young were seasoned professionals, and the cast is rounded out by some plumb performances by terrific character actors like Monty Wooley (irascible and funny as the Professor), Gladys Cooper (as the mean but wounded Mrs. Hamilton), Elsa Lanchester (as the Brougham’s befuddled housekeeper Matilda), and James Gleason (appearing for the third time in this blog series in a small role as a taxi driver who ends up believing in angels). Fans of “It’s a Wonderful Life” will recognize two children in this movie: Karolyn Grimes, who plays George Bailey’s daughter Zuzu, and Bobby Anderson, who plays George as a boy. Ain't old movies fun?

Like most of the films in this series, special effects are not central to the development of the story, but there are some fun moments when Dudley decorates a Christmas tree in seconds, dictates a sermon on a typewriter that types by itself, and continually refills the Professor’s glass of wine with the knowing wave of a finger.

As in “A Guy Named Joe,” the guardian angel in "The Bishop's Wife" is a figure of calm who is there to guide the protagonist (in this case, Niven’s Bishop Brougham). Once the angel's mission is accomplished, he can head back to heaven, satisfied that his job is done. It's a nice thought, that there is a guardian angel for each of us.

This is a holiday movie that, oddly, doesn’t make it onto a lot of favorite Christmas films lists, but it’s a quiet, carefully paced picture with a lot of charm.

The Ghost and Mrs. Muir (1947)

"It was only a dream."

Viewers of a certain age will no doubt remember the 1960s sitcom “The Ghost and Mrs. Muir,” which starred Hope Lange and Edward Mulhare, with comic relief by the inimitable Charles Nelson Reilly. But before it made it to television, it was a feature film.

Set in early 1900s England, Lucy Muir (Gene Tierney) rents a cottage at the seaside with her little girl Anna (an eight-year-old Natalie Wood). Her first night in the cottage, she is startled by a visit by the ghost of its former owner, Captain Daniel Gregg (Rex Harrison). He’s a salty but unthreatening old rascal who insists that Lucy write down his colorful memoirs of life at sea in the old days.

Lucy brings her manuscript to a London publisher, where she meets children’s author Miles Fairley (George Sanders). Miles, intrigued by the lovely Lucy, helps facilitate a meeting with his publisher, and Lucy’s book is a hit, enabling her to buy the captain’s cottage.

Miles courts Lucy, which raises the ire of Captain Gregg; the crusty captain, although dead, fell in love with the earthly Lucy during his dictation. But being an honorable ghost, he decides to leave her entirely so as to not interfere with her burgeoning romance. So, while she sleeps, he whispers in her ear that he was only a dream.

While visiting London, Lucy surprises Miles at home, where she discovers that he is not as innocent as his pen name of “Uncle Neddy” would indicate. He has been lying to her; married with children, Miles has a well-known reputation as a philanderer. Humiliated, Lucy vows to return to the cottage and live out the rest of her life by herself, with no romantic entanglements.

Through the years, she senses that something is missing. Years pass, and Lucy is now elderly. One evening, she sits in the chair facing the ocean, where she first encountered the captain. Content with her life, she dozes off. Just before she dies, Captain Gregg comes back and Lucy, young again in spirit, takes his hand, steps out of the old char, and they walk out of the cottage together to eternity.

Sounds corny, but through a sumptuous production, atmospheric cinematography, and excellent characterizations by Harrison and Tierney, this film is a highly rewarding experience. Unlike his flummoxed character in “Blithe Spirit,” Harrison is handsome, grouchy, imperious, funny; like Tierney's role in “Heaven Can Wait,” she is beautiful, strong, dignified, noble. Captain Gregg and Lucy are a mis-match that matches, a pair that was destined. This handsomely-mounted film is anchored in old-fashioned, but arguably admirable, notions about kindred spirits who can’t connect in life, but reunite in death—reaffirming a romantic notion that love is eternal.

Conclusion
The types of fantasy films I've discussed in this post, which deal in frivolous or serious fashion with the ideas of life after death, second chances, the meaning of existence, and beneficent spiritual intervention, all but dried up by the end of the decade; maybe it was the advent of television, which irrevocably changed Hollywood’s output in many ways, or the increasingly serious-minded post-war world. But the films I’ve discussed in the last two installments of In a Movie Place stand as thought-provoking and entertaining examples of a specific genre during a transitional decade of film.

Fantasy, 1940s Style: Part I

When we think of Hollywood in the 1940s, we think of a decade dominated by the war. From 1941 to 1945, war films were being made regularly, and even comedies, romances, period pieces and westerns used the war as a backdrop to varying degrees.

What we often don’t think of today are the number of fine fantasy films made in that decade, during and after the war. Certainly special effects have always been a part of fantasy filmmaking, but what differentiates ‘40s fantasies from the big-budget, special effects-laden fantasy films of the last 30 years is subtlety.

Compared with the CGI of today, 1940s special effects seem quaint, if not crude, but technical wizardry was never the focus. Perhaps because of the technical limitations, it's always the basic storyline, and especially the characters, that take center stage. The films I’ve selected here aren’t scary ghost stories; they blend a fundamentally romantic spirit (no pun intended) with existential themes in both light-hearted and serious fashion.

Here Comes Mr. Jordan (1941)

Robert Montgomery, as the
saxophone-playing boxer Joe Pendleton

I mentioned WWII, but this film was released in August of 1941, before the United States entered the war after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. So it has more in common with the feel of the late 1930s than it does with the ensuing decade. All that is really immaterial, as we have a film rooted in its era but somehow transcendent.

Boxer Joe Pendleton (a wonderful Robert Montgomery) dies in a plane crash and finds himself among the billowy clouds of heaven. Here he meets Mr. Jordan (Claude Rains), a sort of guardian angel who realizes Joe has mistakenly died 50 years ahead of his true destiny. His actual body has already been cremated, so Mr. Jordan acts to correct the situation by placing Joe’s spirit in the body of Bruce Farnsworth, a millionaire who has just been murdered by his wife and her lover.

Apparently Farnsworth was not a very sympathetic man in life, and Joe’s jovial, unpretentious personality confuses those who knew Farnsworth, including Bette Logan, whose father Farnsworth was trying to bankrupt. Through the course of the story, Bette falls for Joe/Bruce, while Joe/Bruce convinces Max Corkle, Joe’s former trainer, that the boxer Max knew and loved truly has been reincarnated as the despised millionaire. (The scenes in which this occurs are brilliantly played by the wonderful character actor James Gleason.)

Robert Montgomery, who usually plays debonair characters, is marvelous as Joe, a real diamond in the rough. Claude Rains, who could do no wrong as one of the finest character actors of his time, is witty, urbane, and empathetic as Mr. Jordan. And the supporting cast, including the perpetually flustered Edward Everett Horton as the spirit who caused Joe’s heavenly problem in the first place; sweet Evelyn Keyes as Bette; and Rita Johnson as the nefarious Julie Farnsworth, are all good.

The film has no special effects, as everything is implied—it’s all about the actors’ acting and reacting. What’s magical about it is how moving it becomes as it builds to its climax; Joe gets more than a second chance at life, something he wasn’t willing to give up so quickly in the first place. The conclusion between Joe and Bette is sweet and satisfying.

“Here Comes Mr. Jordan” is gorgeously filmed and a true classic that represents the best that Hollywood could produce at that time. It was remade in 1978 with Warren Beatty as “Heaven Can Wait,” not to be confused with a movie from 1943 with the same title, which is also featured in this post. (Side note: For fans of the '60s sitcom "Bewitched," Robert Montgomery is the father of its star, the fabulous Elizabeth Montgomery. Which brings us to our next film...)

I Married a Witch (1942)


"Love is stronger than witchcraft."
- Veronica Lake as Jennifer

Veronica Lake is an iconic figure of 1940s Hollywood. Her career flamed out as quickly as it began, but in 1942, she was at the top of her game with “I Married a Witch.” She is perfectly cast as Jennifer, an enchantress in colonial Salem who, along with her warlock father Daniel (Cecil Kellaway), are burned at the stake by Jonathan Wooley (Fredric March), a Puritan who then buries their ashes under a tree.

Jennifer curses Wooley and all his male descendants, dictating that they will always marry overbearing, domineering women. In a series of comic vignettes, we see how her curse affects generation after generation of Wooley men.

Which leads us to the modern day. Wallace Wooley (March again) is running for governor and engaged to marry the spoiled and bitchy (looks like the curse is working) Estelle Masterson, whose father is Wallace’s chief political backer.

During a storm, lightning splits the tree where Jennifer and Daniel have been stuck for centuries. They escape as plumes of smoke, and seek out Wallace to continue their mayhem. In order for Daniel to incarnate Jennifer as a human, he needs fire, so he burns down a hotel. As Wallace passes by the burning building, he heroically rescues Jennifer, who poses as a helpless damsel in distress.

She tries to seduce him with a love potion, but this is where her plan goes awry: She accidentally drinks the potion herself, and ends up falling in love with Wallace. Now she's busy chasing after him while trying to keep her vengeful father from carrying through with their initial plans. Complications ensue, as Wallace’s pending marriage to Estelle and his race for the governorship are put in repeated jeopardy. The contrived plot is handled cleverly by director Rene Clair, who makes the movie a lot of fun to watch. This time there are plenty of special effects of the “objects moving on their own” variety, but they’re always there to advance the plot, and the effects are actually quite fun to see even today.

Veronica Lake is delightful and sexy as the witch, her famous peak-a-boo hairdo lending itself deliciously to her character. Frederic March is paired well with her, carrying off the physical comedy quite well. (He was one of those versatile actors of his generation who could do just about anything.)

Cecil Kellaway makes the most lovable warlock in film history, consistently flubbing every attempt to wreak havoc due to his habit of converting to smoke and hiding in a bottle of booze (thus getting drunk). This was an early role for Susan Hayward as Estelle, who would go on to dominate Hollywood in the ‘50s as one of the most bankable stars. Humorist Robert Benchley, who enlivens any film he is in with his brand of dry, wry humor, has some great moments as Wallace’s friend Dr. Dudley White.

The very witty screenplay is based on the novel “The Passionate Witch” by Thorne Smith, who also wrote a number of other humorous fantasies that were made into films, including the famous “Topper” (about two sophisticated ghosts who help an old friend ultimately find happiness) and justly less well-known “Turnabout” (about a man and woman who switch bodies to see how the other half lives).

Rene Clair also directed a couple other notable film fantasies, including 1944's “It Happened Tomorrow” (featured later in this post), as well as the 1935 comedy, “The Ghost Goes West .” (Note: I am almost positive that “I Married a Witch” was the inspiration for the sitcom “Bewitched,” which I mentioned in the synopsis above about “Here Comes Mr. Jordan.”)

Heaven Can Wait (1943)
I referred to the 1978 remake of “Here Comes Mr. Jordan” above, called "Heaven Can Wait," but the 1943 “Heaven Can Wait” is a different story entirely. The film opens with Henry Van Cleve (Don Ameche) as an old man, who has just died and is arriving in Hell to review his misspent life. He meets a very elegant Satan (the deliciously venal Laird Cregar), who will judge whether he was bad enough to gain entry.

The bulk of the movie concentrates on how Henry evolves into a philanderer from a very early age. The film looks at his life at different stages, beginning at age 10 when he meets his pretty governess; to age 25, when he meets his future wife Martha (Gene Tierney); to his tumultuous 25-year marriage; and on to middle and old age, with Henry getting into one ill-advised dalliance after another.

Directed by Ernst Lubitsch, who was a master of sly, elegant comedy, the film is not laugh-out-loud funny, but does deliver a light story underscored by the heavy question of “What is life for?” The fantasy element of the film is really in the opening and closing of the film, with Henry’s interactions with Satan as his life is assessed. Was he really bad enough to go to hell? Or is his soul destined for "the other place"?

Ameche, who is a star we don’t hear much about these days, is perfectly cast as a charming rogue who eventually proves his unsuitability for hell. Gene Tierney, who appears later in the decade in another fantasy film discussed in this blog post, always lent an air of ethereal elegance to any film in which she appeared.

The supporting cast includes old pros like Charles Coburn as Henry’s irascible grandfather; Louis Calhern and Spring Byington as his clueless parents; and Marjorie Main and Eugene Pallette as Martha’s feuding parents. All of them have a chance to comically shine, but Pallette has perhaps the funniest scene opposite Main as they share a rather unpleasant breakfast.

A Guy Named Joe (1943)
"Either I'm dead or I'm crazy." So says Pete Sandidge, standing among billowing clouds after crashing his B-25 bomber. It doesn’t take long to realize he isn’t crazy.

In this wartime fantasy, Pete (Spencer Tracy) is a pilot who is sent back to earth to pass on his wisdom to another, younger, pilot, Ted Randall (Van Johnson). Pete’s unseen spirit guides Ted, and he watches with some dismay as Ted falls in love with Pete's old flame Dorinda Dunston (Irene Dunne), a Women Airforce Service Pilot who is still grieving Pete’s death.

The film hinges on Tracy’s characterization of Pete, a tough but appealling man’s man. In life, his relationship with Dorinda was tender, which makes his jealousy as he watches her and Ted’s relationship develop touching as well as funny. Their chemistry is terrific, which is fascinating since Tracy and Dunne didn't like each other in the least in real life. (I guess that's a testament to good acting.) The scene in front of a fireplace is a case of great natural acting, and it gives Dunne a chance to demonstrate her character's plucky personality. She's a feminine woman, but she's a spunky pilot completely at home among all these guys.

In an implausible conclusion, Dorinda begs Ted not to take on a mission to bomb the largest Japanese ammunition store in the Pacific. She opts to fly for Ted to keep him out of harm's way, and Pete’s ghost helps her execute the mission. The final scene of Pete realizing his earthbound assignment is finished, and coming to terms with the fact that he is dead, is sweet and moving. It’s a film firmly rooted in wartime, but the “guardian angel” storyline is timeless.

In addition to some excellent aerial special effects, mixing miniatures and actual aerial photography, “A Guy Named Joe” also features some grade-A supporting actors. These include Lionel Barrymore (Drew's great-uncle) as the celestial “General” who gives the ghostly Pete his earthly assignment; Ward Bond, who lights up every seen he's in as Pete’s best friend Al; and James Gleason (again) as the rather unsympathetic commanding officer “Nails” Kilpatrick. Swimming-turned-movie star Esther Williams also has a small role, which kicked off her successful career in films at MGM.

I think the point of this morale-boosting film is summed up in a frank conversation between the spirits of Barrymore and Tracy, when the General tells Pete: "No man is really dead unless he breaks faith with the future; no man is really alive unless he accepts his responsibility to it. That’s the chance we are giving you here; the opportunity to pay off to the future what you owe for having been part of the past. It’s another way of saying, I’m glad I lived; I’m glad I was alive.”

Side note: Steven Spielberg is a long-time fan of this film, and he remade the basic story as “Always” in 1989, changing the setting from WWII to aerial firefighters. On a fun related note, “A Guy Named Joe” is playing on a television in the background in the decidedly more frightening ghost story “Poltergeist,” which Spielberg produced (but may as well have also directed) in 1982.

It Happened Tomorrow (1944)



Dick Powell and Linda Darnell

Larry Stevens (Dick Powell) is a newspaper reporter in the early 1900s who wishes he could see the news a day before it actually happens. His old friend Pop Benson gives him a copy of a newspaper, which Larry stuffs into his jacket and forgets.

That evening, Larry discovers that the newspaper Pop gave him has printed tomorrow’s news; and it continues to do so with each subsequent day. Larry uses this advantage to get the scoop on his competitors, but also finds he can get rich at the racetrack by betting on winning horses.

But his ability ends up bringing about more problems than he anticipates, especially as he learns about a hold-up before it happens, which makes him the main suspect. When Larry sees the news of his own death, he finally realizes this visionary ability has gone too far.

This all sounds very serious, and the film does exhibit enough drama to make the story engaging, but under the helm of French film Rene Clair (who also directed “I Married a Witch” a couple years before), the film has a light touch, and setting it during the turn of the 20th century gives it a charming quaintness. It's a nice take on the idea of "careful what you wish for" theme.

Dick Powell, who has been featured on In a Movie Place in my earlier post on film noir, is always a solid leading man, capable of heavy drama or light comedy. Anyone would agree that Linda Darnell, as Larry's girlfriend Sylvia, niece of the phony clairvoyant, was one of the era’s most beautiful actresses. And with old comic veterans Jack Oakie (as Sylvia’s clairvoyant uncle); Edgar Kennedy (as Inspector Mulrooney, the cop who’s after Larry); and the always hilarious Edward Brophy as one of Larry’s fellow newspapermen, this fantastic story requires no special effects, but rather tells its tale with finesse and style and a good deal of humor.

I am guessing that this film was the inspiration for the late ‘90s hit TV show “Early Edition,” which starred Kyle Chandler as a man who mysteriously gets the daily news one day before publication, and how he uses that knowledge to help curtail various disasters.

In Part 2 of this installment, we'll look at four more movies, all made after the war, that continue our look at fantasy in the films of the 1940s.