It's been a disquieting year, and I've questioned the relevance of doing a blog about old movies. But November 7th would have been my father's 78th birthday, and in recent months I've thought about writing something related to movies to remember him by.
I got interested in classic movies in the early 1980s, when I was about 12 or 13. I spent a lot of time reading about the people who made the movies of the so-called Golden Age of Hollywood. I developed a voracious appetite for the 1930s and ‘40s: the films, directors, actors and actresses, technicians, and the storied studios where these amazing artists did their work.
Truthfully, it probably bordered on the obsessive. Dad saw that I didn’t share his love of sports, but over time he must have sensed that watching movies was something we could do together. This dovetailed perfectly with the advent of the VCR. By the early ‘80s, you didn’t have to miss movies that ran during the work and school day, or late at night – you could watch them any time you wanted to.
So Dad would record old favorites he either first saw as a kid growing up in Youngstown, Ohio, caught on the late show when he was going through Air Force pilot training in the early ‘60s, or saw later on, as he got older – on business trips or just relaxing at home.
Together, we watched practically every genre you could think of: war films, detective stories, courtroom dramas, mysteries, adventures, comedies. His favorites spanned from the 1930s to the ‘70s. He introduced me to the term “character study,” films in which the focus was on a particular individual who triumphed over adversity, grappled with personal demons, or fought to find his place in the world.
I recall a few such studies: “Patton,” in which George C. Scott gives a towering performance as the famous but enigmatic WWII Army commander. “The Conversation,” which examines the ethical ambiguity of a wire-tapper, played by the incomparable Gene Hackman. “A Double Life,” in which the elegant Ronald Colman plays a stage actor who becomes so obsessed with his role as Shakespeare's Othello that he goes mad. I’d never seen a non-musical movie with such a pitch of grand opera.
Oh, and Dad introduced me to Humphrey Bogart. I liked Bogie because he was tough but vulnerable, and he quickly became my favorite male star. “The Maltese Falcon” and “The Big Sleep” took me into the dark, smoky world of film noir, where Bogart was always cool and composed. (In the latter, with Bacall on his arm.)
But Dad showed me the other Bogart, who could play crazy so vividly that it knocked me out. Like in “The Treasure of the Sierra Madre,” where he’s a surly gold prospector who’s been in the sun too long. Or in “The Caine Mutiny,” as the neurotic, vicious, power-hungry captain of a Navy destroyer. Bogart could even be a drunken, comically self-pitying slob piloting a clunky steamer down the Ulanga River in East Africa with Kate Hepburn in tow. That grand adventure, “The African Queen,” was another all-time favorite I got to share with Dad.
Other titles are coming to me now. In “The Flight of the Phoenix,” James
Stewart pilots a rattle-trap of a plane that crash-lands in the dessert. Led by
their captain, the crew and passengers have to decide how to survive.
Similarly, in “The Bridge on the River Kwai” and “Stalag 17,” two movies about
POWs, I learned to admire men who had to rely on their wits in the fight of their
lives. (These were men who got captured.)
But the ultimate POW film – and the movie I think of first when I think of those I watched with my pop – was “The Great Escape.” As its title implies, it’s about a group of WWII POWs who devise an ingenious scheme to break out of prison. And what a cast! Steve McQueen, James Garner, Charles Bronson, James Coburn, Richard Attenborough, and an international cast to be reckoned with. Though set in the ‘40s, it was made in ’63, and McQueen on his motorcycle was the pinnacle of early-60s cool. Its theme is something to be admired.
Then there were the courtroom dramas, like “Anatomy of a Murder.” Again,
James Stewart is the star, and the film had me riveted and awed by wonderful
scriptwriting and fine performances. And the murder mysteries – they were funny
and surprising. How could you go wrong with Agatha Christie adaptations like “And
Then There Were None” and “Witness for the Prosecution”? Their twist endings
blew my mind!
Dad introduced me to directors that any film lover must know: Orson Welles’ “Citizen Kane,” “The Magnificent Ambersons,” and the wonderfully weird “Touch of Evil,” all about man's cruelty to himself and others; John Ford’s “The Informer,” about duplicity’s power to destroy, and his “Grapes of Wrath,” about the power of faith in mankind; Alfred Hitchcock’s “Strangers on a Train," which riveted me with that merry-go-round finale; and Billy Wilder, better known for comedies, but whose “Lost Weekend” was a character study of the first order – in which Ray Milland grapples with alcoholism in the most vivid way.
I got to know so many great actors through Dad’s refined taste in films. Bogart and Milland, William Holden, Lily Palmer, Charles Boyer, Mary Astor, Henry Fonda, Jessica Tandy, Dirk Bogarde, Trevor Howard, and a slew of other fabulous American, and British, actors… the list goes on.
Dad appreciated characters who demonstrated ingenuity, grit, and perseverance. But he appreciated their flaws too. (All those character studies!) He was not naive, but he was optimistic, and he tended to admire people who illustrated what he saw as the best in us.
For my part, good or bad, I've followed that through and looked to film for admirable traits to emulate in real life. When Dad and I watched Cary Grant, Douglas Fairbanks, Jr., and Victor McLaglen fight a vicious cult in colonial British India in the rollicking "Gunga Din," I discovered through their adventures what bravery, sacrifice, and heroism could look like.
He would have done it regardless, but through the films he introduced me to, Dad underscored basic values: humor, humility, common sense, level-headedness, resourcefulness, and respect for other people. He showed me how to aspire to be my best through the plots, dialogue, characters – and the actions they take – in these films.
I got interested in classic movies in the early 1980s, when I was about 12 or 13. I spent a lot of time reading about the people who made the movies of the so-called Golden Age of Hollywood. I developed a voracious appetite for the 1930s and ‘40s: the films, directors, actors and actresses, technicians, and the storied studios where these amazing artists did their work.
Truthfully, it probably bordered on the obsessive. Dad saw that I didn’t share his love of sports, but over time he must have sensed that watching movies was something we could do together. This dovetailed perfectly with the advent of the VCR. By the early ‘80s, you didn’t have to miss movies that ran during the work and school day, or late at night – you could watch them any time you wanted to.
So Dad would record old favorites he either first saw as a kid growing up in Youngstown, Ohio, caught on the late show when he was going through Air Force pilot training in the early ‘60s, or saw later on, as he got older – on business trips or just relaxing at home.
Together, we watched practically every genre you could think of: war films, detective stories, courtroom dramas, mysteries, adventures, comedies. His favorites spanned from the 1930s to the ‘70s. He introduced me to the term “character study,” films in which the focus was on a particular individual who triumphed over adversity, grappled with personal demons, or fought to find his place in the world.
I recall a few such studies: “Patton,” in which George C. Scott gives a towering performance as the famous but enigmatic WWII Army commander. “The Conversation,” which examines the ethical ambiguity of a wire-tapper, played by the incomparable Gene Hackman. “A Double Life,” in which the elegant Ronald Colman plays a stage actor who becomes so obsessed with his role as Shakespeare's Othello that he goes mad. I’d never seen a non-musical movie with such a pitch of grand opera.
Oh, and Dad introduced me to Humphrey Bogart. I liked Bogie because he was tough but vulnerable, and he quickly became my favorite male star. “The Maltese Falcon” and “The Big Sleep” took me into the dark, smoky world of film noir, where Bogart was always cool and composed. (In the latter, with Bacall on his arm.)
But Dad showed me the other Bogart, who could play crazy so vividly that it knocked me out. Like in “The Treasure of the Sierra Madre,” where he’s a surly gold prospector who’s been in the sun too long. Or in “The Caine Mutiny,” as the neurotic, vicious, power-hungry captain of a Navy destroyer. Bogart could even be a drunken, comically self-pitying slob piloting a clunky steamer down the Ulanga River in East Africa with Kate Hepburn in tow. That grand adventure, “The African Queen,” was another all-time favorite I got to share with Dad.
But the ultimate POW film – and the movie I think of first when I think of those I watched with my pop – was “The Great Escape.” As its title implies, it’s about a group of WWII POWs who devise an ingenious scheme to break out of prison. And what a cast! Steve McQueen, James Garner, Charles Bronson, James Coburn, Richard Attenborough, and an international cast to be reckoned with. Though set in the ‘40s, it was made in ’63, and McQueen on his motorcycle was the pinnacle of early-60s cool. Its theme is something to be admired.
Dad introduced me to directors that any film lover must know: Orson Welles’ “Citizen Kane,” “The Magnificent Ambersons,” and the wonderfully weird “Touch of Evil,” all about man's cruelty to himself and others; John Ford’s “The Informer,” about duplicity’s power to destroy, and his “Grapes of Wrath,” about the power of faith in mankind; Alfred Hitchcock’s “Strangers on a Train," which riveted me with that merry-go-round finale; and Billy Wilder, better known for comedies, but whose “Lost Weekend” was a character study of the first order – in which Ray Milland grapples with alcoholism in the most vivid way.
I got to know so many great actors through Dad’s refined taste in films. Bogart and Milland, William Holden, Lily Palmer, Charles Boyer, Mary Astor, Henry Fonda, Jessica Tandy, Dirk Bogarde, Trevor Howard, and a slew of other fabulous American, and British, actors… the list goes on.
For my part, good or bad, I've followed that through and looked to film for admirable traits to emulate in real life. When Dad and I watched Cary Grant, Douglas Fairbanks, Jr., and Victor McLaglen fight a vicious cult in colonial British India in the rollicking "Gunga Din," I discovered through their adventures what bravery, sacrifice, and heroism could look like.
He would have done it regardless, but through the films he introduced me to, Dad underscored basic values: humor, humility, common sense, level-headedness, resourcefulness, and respect for other people. He showed me how to aspire to be my best through the plots, dialogue, characters – and the actions they take – in these films.
I’ve been reflecting on how much has changed in America since Dad died in 2009. I wonder what he’d think about the climate in this country today. How many of the adjectives I’ve used here are undervalued, scoffed at by the powers that be, if not seen as downright quaint? Maybe no one cares about civility and humility, bravery and sacrifice anymore. We're certainly not seeing it in our national discourse or leadership. We have no profiles in courage.
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| Dad in the '50s, when the future lay before him. |
If he were here today, I think he’d wonder what happened to the country he served for 20 years. He'd be mystified that a self-serving narcissist – the type of boastful, nouveau-riche weasel he disdained – became the president of the United States. ("Weasel" was his preferred word for sleazy, disreputable, or contemptuous people.)
One of the ways Dad conveyed to me values worth preserving was through the films we shared together. So as I go on in my life, I’ll try to hold on to the intangibles he instilled in me.
And as I watch these movies again, I’ll imagine he’s there with me. And I'll strive to remember fairness, tolerance, reason, and, yes, optimism.
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| A birthday card from Dad in the '80s |
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| And his inscription inside |
Great Memories
The first time I saw "The Great Escape," in the 1980s, Dad and I were in the family room of our house outside of Pittsburgh. As usual, I was sprawled out on the blue couch, and Dad lay on the carpeted floor, his head resting in his hand as he faced the T.V. That was his usual movie-watching position. Inevitably there was a bag of Red Twists at the ready. (Dad loved his Red Twists.)
Years later, in the early 2000s, the Byham Theater in downtown Pittsburgh was holding its annual classic film festival. “The Great Escape” was on the docket, and I bought two tickets. How cool to see Steve McQueen on his motorcycle again, riding around the countryside of Nazi Germany – this time on the big screen. It's one of my fondest memories of movies with Dad.
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