Mr. Wonderful Video

I'm still playing around mixing DVD video with music, and I finished putting together my second You Tuber in this vein, featuring my favorite classic and modern male movie star (Mr. Newman bridges the gap, IMO). Click here to watch my tribute to a mega-talent, entrepreneur, and all-around good guy, via the sultry tones of Sarah Vaughan and clips from Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, The Long Hot Summer, The Hustler, Sweet Bird of Youth, Hud, The Verdict, and several others. The video quality looks better than in my first attempt. Not sure why, but I'll take it.

Hunting Down Laughton's Haunting Night

Last Saturday night brought an amazing highlight for me as a classic movie buff, as I was able to finally watch a presentation of The Night of the Hunter outtakes sponsored by the UCLA Film & Television Archives at the pretty-in-pink Billy Wilder Theater. Several years ago, I read this entry over at Leonard Maltin’s site, and I’ve been hoping to see a release of this rare footage (maybe on DVD?) detailing Charles Laughton’s extraordinary directorial achievement ever since. Thanks to my friend at Southland Cinephiles (a must if you’re a movie buff living in or near the L. A. area), I was alerted that a presentation of the outtakes was being shown again, and I rushed up the 405 freeway to finally witness one of my cinematic Holy Grails.

Luckily, I obtained a ticket before the sold out event sold out. Going into the theater, I spotted author Preston Neal Jones signing autograph copies of his book, “Heaven & Hell to Play With: The Filming of The Night of the Hunter”, which provides a comprehensive overview of the film’s shooting, as well as its pre and post production (my gratitude to Mr. Jones, as his book contains many of Laughton’s on-the-set musings, which are quoted below). Inside the theater, UCLA Preservation Officer Robert Gitt, who spent twenty years putting this very special footage together, was on hand to present the material. Gitt stated he first came into contact with the eight hours of existing outtakes from the film in New York after Charles Laughton’s widow, Elsa Lanchester, donated the material to the American Film Institute in 1974. Gitt relocated to Los Angeles, and started working with colleagues in 1981 to edit down the eight hours into the over 2 ½ hours of Hunter's choicest outtakes screened in the presentation. In 2002 Gitt begin showing this incredible footage to audiences, receiving an (understandably) universally enthusiastic response from fascinated movie lovers.

The footage starts with Laughton (possibly in an alternate opening he shot for the film) reading key lines from the bible, leading up to the “Beware of false prophets” line germane to the film’s story. As proved to be the rule during the showing of the remaining footage, Laughton, unhappy with the way he’s said a certain word or phrase, starts and stops often, telling the cameraman to keep rolling as the actor attempts to perfect his line readings. After this insightful look into Laughton’s approach to filming, Gitt wisely unveiled the ultimate behind-the-scenes footage in the same sequence as the film unfolds (rather than in the order the scenes were actually filmed). For the next two-and-a-half hours, the enthralled audience alternately laughed uproariously and sat in stunned, rapt attention at the unbelievable presentation.


Robert Mitchum is fascinating to watch, and not just because he’s so perfect in probably his best role. You occasionally see traces of Mitchum’s “bad boy” persona surface during the filming (more than once, he inserts in an amusing, inappropriate “poon tang” reference into his dialogue), but the outtakes more often show an actor clearly dedicated to his craft. Mitchum works hard with Laughton to make Preacher Harry Powell the intense, terrifying character we know and love/hate. For example, that piercing shriek Mitchum emits as the Preacher when John and Pearl escape in the boat was shot many times, as Laughton encouraged his dripping wet star to wail as passionately as possibly, over and over. Mitchum’s powerful playing receives the ultimate compliment after he nails the famous “L-O-V-E/H-A-T-E” speech: Evelyn Varden’s Icey states, “I never heard it better told,” then in a hushed , respectful tone the difficult-to-please Laughton can be heard repeating Icey’s statement before adding “And, by Christ, I never did.” Clearly mutual respect existed between director and star, and Mitchum is obviously willing in take after take to go the distance with the character in order to help Laughton fulfill his vision.

Laughton’s perfectionist approach appears at times to frustrate two of his key players, the young ten-year-old lead Billy Chapin, and Shelley Winters. Laughton’s demands for take after take, sometimes only to change the tone or emphasis of a single word, must have been trying at times; however, the results he obtained from Chapin and Winters support the director’s firm approach with his actors. In the finished film, Chapin does an exceptional job of delineating John Harper’s every mood, and the outtakes show how closely Laughton worked with the young pro to shape Chapin’s fine portrayal. One of the most compelling outtakes featured Laughton directing Chapin during the “Here, take it Dad, it’s too much!!” scene, wherein John hits the captured Preacher over and over with the doll containing the hidden money Powell sought throughout the story. Laughton guides Chapin carefully through the emotional sequence, demonstrating line readings for the child to allow the youngster to grasp the script's complexities. For example, Laughton beautifully explains the reason for the boy’s wild cry of “Dad!!”(“It’s a recognition, somebody come back from the dead, like a ghost- “Daaddd!!”), as John recollects his father’s arrest at the outset of the film when Powell is being apprehended by the authorities.


Laughton may have made Shelley Winters lie in that bed and repeat her brief “The Lord just wouldn’t let it be” speech until the actress was groaning and pounding her pillow, but Laughton’s acute suggestions to Winters during the twenty or so takes (“You see him (God) now, Shelley”) led to one of Winters finest and most perfectly understated moments in the movie (and was there ever any better direction than Laughton’s suggestion to Winters, “Doesn’t manner about the lines, just smile Shelley, and be seraphic”?). Conversely, during Winters frantic “That’s where the Lord stepped in!!” appeal at the wake, Laughton allows his colorful star to cut loose before toning down her eye-bulging trouping to obtain a decent take. Winters may come off as somewhat overwrought in the final print during this scene, but she’s just fine in comparison with her first attempt at filming Willa Harper’s tumultuous speech, after which the normally verbose Laughton can only be heard to whisper, “Oh, dear.” Winters eventually does the scene to Laughton’s satisfaction, but not before getting maybe the biggest laugh of the evening: attempting to coax the correct reading from Winters, Laughton tells her to warm up for the speech by saying a prayer, “any kind of prayer that you know.” The emotional Winters, caught up in the moment, pauses as if deep in thought, then exclaims, “Shmah Ysroyel ahdenoy el o hay nu ahdenoy emhot!!!!”

The director is exerting total control over all the performers, and it’s remarkable to watch the actors maintain focus and hone their performances as Laughton directs them through repeated takes. Fortunately, Laughton kept the camera rolling between takes, so we are granted the benefit of hearing Laughton carefully working with his cast to ensure each gesture, look, and line reading receives the proper emphasis. During these coaching sessions, Laughton’s amusing tendency for haminess is sometimes showcased:

“And Shelley, angelic and all that stuff” (as Winters lies tranquil in bed)

“Lillian, don’t move.” (Gish: “Well, I have to move.”)

“Smile, Shelley, please. There, that’s it. . . all right, Mitch, kill her!!!”

(To novice actress Gloria Castilo, who plays Ruby in the film): “Don’t get nervous, start again! Relax! Nothing’s happening to you. No knives or anything!”

Even off camera, there’s no disputing who’s the star of this (outtakes) show.

Liilian Gish’s acting genius is in evidence during the filming of each of her scenes as Rachel Cooper. There’s a calmness and warmth about everything Gish does, and with her intuitive gifts as a screen performer, she’s the one actor who appears in total control of her character at all times, and the least in need of Laughton’s firm hand. She still follows nearly every direction Laughton gives her perfectly, and it’s awe-inspiring to see how quickly Gish changes Rachel’s inflections and moods, based on her director’s requests. The only time Gish appears to falter is when she’s attempting to emulate what she thinks Laughton wants her to do. Gish says “trapped” too broadly during the “I’ve got something trapped in my barn” line, as Rachel calls for the state troopers to pick up Harry Powell. After saying the line several times, Laughton is heard stating “No, Lillian, you’re emphasizing the word 'trapped' too much,” whereupon Gish immediately replies, “Oh, isn’t that what you wanted?”


Sally Jane Bruce, so precocious in the film, was more adorable in the outtakes. I’ve always thought Bruce had an original presence, but her acting was sometimes a bit stilted in the film. She’s an incredible charmer in the outtakes, though. Sitting in the gargantuan Mitchum’s lap, the tiny Bruce gently smiles and calmly chastises him with “You forgot your lines” when Mitchum briefly pauses. Later, when Laughton tenderly tells Bruce to run screaming into the shot which occurs right after the preacher has yelled “Tell me, you little wretch or I’ll tear your arm off!!” she placidly and sweetly replies, “okay,” then follows Laughton’s gentle cue and goes berserk. Gitt explained Bruce was picked for the part of Pearl after winning a singing contest, and in one take the audience gets to heard Bruce’s unusual, deeply resonant voice charmingly sing the “Pretty fly” song (later dubbed by an adult singer, for some reason) as the boat holding John and Pearl floats downstream.

One of the highlights of the evening was watching Evelyn Varden film Icey Spoon’s speech at the picnic, wherein she tells a group of her friends sex in a marriage counts for zilch. Laughton sets the tone at the outset of the scene by stating in deadpan fashion, “Girls, men are disgusting, except for Mitchum.” Varden then launches into her speech in fine form, leading up to Icey’s “I’ve been married to my Walt for forty years, and in all that time I just lie there thinking about my canning” punchline. The line is a guaranteed laugh-getter, but Varden really got the audience howling with the wry, knowing look she throws to the camera immediately after she finishes the line and the take is over. Guess Varden knew the score with men off-screen, too.

Stanley Cortez’s peerless, truly haunting cinematography, Alfred E. Spencer’s set design, and Hilyard Brown’s art direction are, of course, integral factors in the overall eerie mood of the film; it’s equally strange, and a bit surreal, to view the actors getting ready for their scenes amid their ethereal surroundings. Encircled by stylistic settings and misty lighting, the actors often appear to have a ghostly pallor during the night scenes, which helps sustain the unusual, uneasy atmosphere unique to Laughton’s sole directorial work.

Hunter has ranked high on my list of favorite classics ever since I first viewed and was scared witless by the film as a nineteen-year-old. Along with 1945’s Dead of Night, I still find it to be the most frightening movie I’ve ever watched. It was a remarkable, awesome experience to witness the film being created by Laughton and his phenomenal cast, and I’m still pinching myself to ensure it really happened. If Mr. Gitt comes anywhere remotely near your area to present this footage, “shake a leg” (as Icey instructs John and Pearl to do) and zip to Gitt’s location faster than a couple of tots on the run from Preacher Harry Powell.

Rockin' Wind Video

After some trial and error, I finally managed to edit my first video using film. I've had this idea floating around in my head for a long time, and it was nice to finally bring it to fruition. Therefore, here's a tribute to the best melodrama ever, 1956's florid Written on the Wind, directed by the master of the genre, Douglas Sirk, and starring Rock Hudson, Lauren Bacall, Robert Stack, and my favorite Supporting Actress Oscar winner, Dorothy Malone.

I posted the video on You Tube over here, and I'll be damned if I can figure out how to get better resolution/higher quality in the video. There's an option tab below the video to present the clip in higher quality, and it does look a little sharper.

Oh, and thank you, Ms. Spears (aka Britney, bitch).

A Celestial Evening with Ms. Holm at the Egyptian

A little over two months after moving to the L.A. area, I finally was able to see a star in the flesh last Monday night, during the Egyptian Theater’s tribute to film and theater great Celeste Holm. Between showings of two of her top films, 1955’s The Tender Trap and the iconic All About Eve, the 91-year-old legend took the stage for a discussion of her stage and screen career with Miles Kreuger, President of the Institute of the American Musical, followed by a Q&A session with the audience. With the assistance of her husband, Frank Basile, Holm reminisced about some of the many highlights of her long career as a performer.

Just before Trap got under way, I was surprised by the sound of applause. Looking around the theater, I saw Ms. Holm entering the theater and talking a seat with the rest of us mere mortals to watch one of her best performances (A gentlemen with a keen eye also spotted veteran 1940’s MGM contact player Marsha Hunt coming in just ahead of Holm). Proving she still has a performer’s instinct, Holm received the first laugh of the evening before the movie even started. The lights dimmed to signal the start of the picture, and they stayed dimmed as the projectionist attempted to get the Cinemascope production rolling. After about thirty seconds of the audience politely sitting in the dark, a feisty “C’mon!!” emitted from Holm’s section of the theater. Guess Celeste knows how good she is in Trap, and wanted others to see her work in the breezy comedy, pronto.


After the movie was enjoyed by one and all Kreuger, who was well versed in anything and everything having to do with Celeste Holm’s career, spent the next half hour or so talking to Holm and her husband. It was mentioned Holm got her professional start with the original touring company of The Women back in the 1930’s, then did some work with George M. Cohan before she become a Broadway star several years later in Oklahoma. Regarding Rogers and Hammerstein’s seminal musical, Holm stated she hadn’t sung onstage before the 1943 production, and she auditioned for and won the part of Ado Annie after performing a “Suee-ee” hog call (Holm then did an impressive “Sueee-ee” demonstration for the audience). A starring role in 1944’s hit Bloomer Girl followed (putting Holm on the cover of Life magazine) before Holm secured a contract with 20th Century-Fox and headed west to start her film career with a standout part (singing “Always a Lady”) in 1946’s Three Little Girls in Blue. The star then stated Moss Hart gave her a copy of Laura Z. Hobson's Gentlemen’s Agreement shortly before Fox started production on the 1947 film version of the successful novel. Impressed by the book, Holm was eager to make the film, playing “any part they wanted to give me.” Holm explained she was ready to prove to audiences she could pull off a dramatic role outside of the light musical comedies that had made her famous. An Agreement Oscar for Holm resulted, and the actress told us she was proud to be a part of a film that dealt with important issues.

Holm related an amusing story regarding her meeting with director Anatole Litvak in an elevator during this time. Holm seized the opportunity to pitch for a role in his upcoming production of The Snake Pit by stopping the elevator between floors. When Litvak exclaimed “We are stuck,” Holm replied, “Yes, because I want to talk to you,” then proceeded to tell the director of her interest in the film, only allowing Litvak to escape the current pit he found himself in after she had secured a meaty role in the tense, successful 1948 drama. So much for agents.

Concerning her burgeoning post-Oscar career, Holm simply and charmingly replied, “Well, you’re busy.” As for Eve, Holm claimed she got on fine with later on-the-set nemesis Bette Davis upon their initial meeting a couple weeks before shooting begin. Pleasantries were exchanged, and the two talented women looked forward to working together on a great script (and, quite possibly, the greatest script). Holm then related how things went south during their first encounter on the set, after Holm offered a cheery “Good morning!” to the cast and Davis shot back with, “Oh shit, good manners.” (on the Eve DVD, Holm stated she never talked to Davis off camera again). Kreuger wondered why Holm abruptly headed back east after scoring three Oscar nods and an Academy Award in three years time. Holm’s response was simple: she wasn’t being offered the type of roles she wanted in Hollywood, so back to Broadway she went (fortunately, Frank Sinatra would beckon Holm and her charming persona back to the silver screen to costar with him in Trap and 1956’s High Society, in two of her very best roles).


After the discussion, Holm took some questions from the audience. Asked about how she felt working with Sinatra, she stated, “He was what you would expect. Funny, fun, and not interested in rehearsing.” Holm explained Sinatra liked sticking to his ‘one-take, and that’s it’ approach, but she had other ideas: “Frank wanted to do a take once, then go home for lunch, but I liked to prepare for our scenes- I won.” The star bristled when asked to name her favorite work on film or in the theater, clearly not interested in dwelling too much on past glories (however, it was mentioned Holm loved playing the Fairy Godmother in the enduring 1965 television version of Cinderella). As the conversation was winding down, I finally thought of something valid to ask Holm (thank you, dear Stinkylu). Outside of mentioning she’d gained an Oscar nomination for her work in the film, no one had said anything about Come to the Stable, so I asked Holm if she had any recollections of working with Loretta Young on the 1949 film (although I was composed during my query, I admit I’m a big enough movie geek that later in the evening I thought, “OMG, tonight I asked an Academy Award winner a question!”). Holm and Basile then related a juicy tidbit concerning a “cuss box” Young had set up on the set. Whenever anyone working on Stable said a bad word, he or she had to contribute twenty-five cents to charity via the cuss box. One day Ethel Merman was visiting the studio, and heard about Young’s fund. Marching onto the Stable set with a twenty dollar bill, Merman shoved the cash into the box and bellowed, “Okay Loretta, why don’t you go f--- yourself!” (well, I guess the set WAS stable until “the Merm” showed up). Holm brought down the house with this bawdy punchline, and I was very glad I’d asked her about the movie.

Discussing more recent work, Holm received another big laugh when Kreuger mentioned Holm had played a cameo role in a yet-to-be released film with Mickey Rooney, Drive Me Crazy. Holm quickly retorted with, “He did, too. That was a long two days, working with Rooney.” The conversation ended with the host mentioning how so many people are able to view the work of Holm today through DVDs and television, whereupon Holm stated the fact audiences would still be loving her films had “never occurred to me- it’s wonderful.” Holm then returned to her seat to watch Eve with us, and it boggled at least one audience member’s mind that he was actually watching this all-time classic with one of its stars. Thank you for a special and delightful evening, Ms. Holm.

A Ratty Davis Dishes it out to Crawford with Relish in the Wild, Wonderful Jane

Watching Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? for the first time with an audience during the final night of LACMA’s tribute to Bette Davis turned out to be the fascinating experience I anticipated. Most compellingly, the film appeared to divide the large audience, providing some viewers with great comedy, while others clearly were more unsettled by the macabre nature of the movie. For example, although there were plenty of chuckles after the final frame, I also heard expressions of “Oh, My God,” and “Wow, that was scary" (one gentlemen who was extremely involved in the film's 'scare tactics' became irate the man behind him was laughing so hard, and wouldn't "shut the f--- up," while I sat nearby and mused over the fact that both of them were right). No matter how in the know a viewer is regarding the Davis/Crawford feud, and how the star's mutual antagonism is mirrored on screen by Baby Jane’s behavior towards her helpless sister, it’s hard not to get caught up in the story’s dramatic arch (especially during the unnerving final hour) and start to bite a few fingernails as the film unfolds.


However, there’s still a first hour or so wherein Jane sets up “camp.” During this portion of the movie, the viewers were kept in a state of stitches watching some indelible scenes unfold: Jane (as a child) opening the film by lip-synching through her and the movie’s invaluable, peerlessly cheesy theme song, “I’ve Written Letter to Daddy,” while belittled sister Blanche seeths in the wings; Jane getting 'buzzed' by Blanche as she utters "You miserable b----"; Jane’s classic “But you are in that chair” retort; and, in probably the film’s most incredible moment in a movie filled with jaw droppers, Davis’ wailing reprise of “Daddy,” accompanied by the pricelessly deadpan Victor Buono on piano, while a nervous, befuddled Crawford sits upstairs listening in awe ((I love how Davis enunciates every word during “Daddy” in her trademark brash manner, just as you hoped she would). I’ve always felt I was fairly hip regarding the movie’s camp value, but I never howled with quite the voracious glee that reverberated throughout the theater during this sequence, especially when Davis' dress momentarily flies up and we catch a glimpse of Jane's knobby knees. The overall high spiritedness of the crowd definitely made one feel included in the mix, and I found myself telling the gentleman sitting next to me after the film was over, “This is the first time I’ve seen the movie with everybody” instead of “with an audience.”


Is there any performer braver than Bette Davis as she rasps her way through “Daddy” in curls, patsy white makeup, beauty mark, and bee-stung lips? Hard to image even gutsy, awesomely talented Davis contemporary Katherine Hepburn not taking pause to ask herself, “Will this work, or ruin my distinguished career?” before launching into such a part. Davis, on the other hand, made damn sure she was playing Jane before signing on to do the film, and she blasts through the role, firing on all cylinders with her characteristic fearlessness. The star obviously understood she possessed the acting finesse to form a multi-dimensional character out of her somewhat shlocky comeback material, as Davis manages to create in Jane a flesh-and-blood person amid all the character's outrageous conduct, making the audience pity this woman while laughing at her over-the-top behavior. For example, it’s impossible not to emphasize with the delusional Jane’s need for recognition as she explains to a bank teller that “I’m Baby Jane Hudson,” then looks hopefully at the young man, waiting for the clueless teller to recall her vaudeville heyday of fifty years before. Similarly, in the grown-up, drunken Jane’s first reprise of “Daddy,” Davis is both scary and heartbreaking as she recites Jane’s mid-song monologue, covering her face and breaking down in sobs after incurring a mirrored image of herself in harsh light as she states “. . .I’m much too young to know!” while looking not a day over, or under, sixty-five. Davis’ Jane Hudson may remain too grotesque and “super-sized” to rank with the actress best performances, but it’s hard to think of a more memorable Davis characterization.


At this point, it appears Joan Crawford’s reputation will never live down the havoc wreaked by Mommie Dearest. Although it was difficult to determine how much of the audience’s often cheerful reaction to her character’s grisly fate was brought about by Crawford and her tough persona finally getting slapped down and around (as opposed to any derisiveness being directed at the character herself, as the many repeat viewers of Jane in the audience knew the real score as far as Blanche is concerned) it’s clear that when a terrified Blanche, who has just been served the cinema’s most unappealing dinner plate by her demented sister, is shown wheeling around her room in a state of hysterics, and the camera cuts to a shot of her caught like a rat in a maze, the uproarious laughter that emitted from every section of the theater was not due to the mood of the film (the house was almost brought down again when Jane kicks the hell out of Blanche before victoriously dragging her invalid sibling back upstairs). To be fair to Crawford, although she’s certainly cast against type playing anyone’s victim and, with her controlled voice and Great Lady airs, she is sometimes too superficial during the early portions of the film, once Blanche starts facing Jane’s horrible wrath, Crawford dives into the heavy dramatics with her typical elan, and even adds notes of subtlety to some of her scenes. Also, although Davis poo-poohed Crawford for the star’s unwillingness to forgo glamour for the sake of art, check out the “Crawford look” once Jane really starts going to town on Blanche- Joan gives Bette a run for her money in the de-glam department, and her modulated acting herein is in nice contrast to Davis’ unrestrained fireworks- Crawford nails the final “payoff” scene by whispering the film’s big revelation in an admirably understated manner not normally demonstrated by the frequently melodramatic screen queen.


Victor Buono gained a warranted Oscar nod for his work as Edwin, and he probably deserved more just for the way he curls his lip up towards the end of “Daddy.” The imposing, hefty (in both size and talent) twenty-four-year-old newcomer skillfully manages to hold his own with Davis in their creepy, fascinating pairing. With his sonorous, classically British voice (impressive, given that Buono hailed from San Diego) and his mixture of slyly comic reactions to the off-kilter Jane’s outlandish behavior with some darker character undertones, Buono makes Edwin as memorably offbeat as Davis does Jane. When a mutual attraction springs up between the two oddballs, resulting in scenes such as Jane reacting in a coy, girlish manner anytime she’s around Edwin, just like a girl on the night of her senior prom as she greets her beau, or the one wherein Edwin whistles “Daddy” as he prepares for a hot date with Jane, while his possessive mother jealously nags her disapproval, the movies enter uncharted, WTF territory. There are plenty of doomed lovers in film, but this is the Apocalypse Now of screen romances, folks (but just try looking away).


Although the Davis/Crawford teaming and Buono’s original contribution are chiefly responsible (both then and now) for Jane’s success, producer/director Robert Aldrich deserves credit for bringing off the risky undertaking with aplomb. Cinematographer Ernest Haller’s Oscar-nominated stark lighting and DeVol’s pensive musical scoring add plenty to the film’s tense, tawdry atmosphere, while Norma Koch picked up the film’s sole Academy Award for her costume designs. Unbelievable and astonishing, Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? remains an unmatched peak in the annals of Grand Guignol Cinema.

Cyd Charisse Tripped the Light Fantastic Fantastically

Her grace and elegance both on screen and off were unparalleled, and appeared indomitable, until death claimed one of dancing’s greatest talents at age 86 yesterday. Fortunately film is forever, and Cyd Charisse will remain a glamorous, iconic presence via the string of memorable MGM musicals she starred in during the genre’s golden age. Charisse served nearly a ten-year apprenticeship at the studio (she was most prominently featured during this period in the 1946 Judy Garland hit The Harvey Girls) before breaking through at the perfect time in the cinema’s most perfect musical. Given her remarkable terpsichorean gifts and all-around comeliness, it’s surprising it took Charisse so long to make a major impact at MGM during the reign of the incredible Arthur Freed unit. She finally was allowed to stick out that endless ‘hat stand’ gam toward an appropriately awestruck Gene Kelly in 1952’s Singin’ in the Rain, and he wasn’t the only one floored by Charisse’s lush sensuality, beauty, and towering presence (hard to believe she stood 5 feet, 6 inches tall) as the screen’s top female dancer of that, or maybe any, era. During the next five years, she was appropriately showcased in some of the studio’s top musical efforts, to the gratitude of generations of moviegoers who would fall in love with Charisse and her awesome abilities as a dancer.


Although she admitted to being no great shakes as a dramatic actress, Charisse was a magnificent, shimmying chameleon in dance, as attested to by her work as Gaby in 1953's The Band Wagon, wherein she teams with ideal partner Fred Astaire, first to sell possibly the greatest romantic sequence in musical film (their classy “Dancing in the Dark” through Central Park can simultaneously give viewers shivers and becalm them) before appearing as the embodiment of both a sweet young thing and a femme fatale in the movie’s sensational “Girl Hunt” ballet. In this terrific, stylish (with direction by Vincent Minnelli, what else would it be?) send-up of the popular Mickey Spillane pulp novels of the time, detective Astaire declares “She was bad, she was dangerous” after encountering Charisse as the slinky, erotic, black-sequined gowned Girl Friday of the piece. Charisse later shows up at “Dem Bones Café”, wherein she removes a black overcoat to reveal one of the cinema’s sexiest figures, resplendent in that sinuously unforgettable red dress and shoes combo and long, long black gloves. When I think of the Freed Unit’s apex, the sight of Astaire supporting Charisse in that café, as she stretches those tempestuous legs out to cover about half the set, is the first image that comes to mind, as well it should be.


Her best all-around performance may have come in her last big musical, 1957’s Silk Stockings, as the stoic Russian Ninotchka, who eventually melts after taking a twirl or two with Astaire. Following in Garbo's footsteps is a very tall order, but in looks and manner the statuesque Charisse fills the legend’s shoes admirably, and she does some of her most impressive hoofing as well (her athletic leaping in “The Red Blues” number is especially memorable). Astaire never really would state who his favorite dancing partner was (in 1976’s That’s Entertainment, Part 2, with tongue firmly in cheek, he revealed Gene Kelly as his #1 pick), yet some have stated Rita Hayworth was at the top of Astaire’s list. Surely Astaire must have singled the screen goddess out before his later work with Charisse, as it’s hard to imagine anyone could supercede the incomparable legend in Astaire’s affections once he had graced that Band Wagon soundstage with the woman he aptly termed “beautiful dynamite.”

Madeline Kahn Brightens a Paper Moon

Coming up with a Madeline Kahn tribute post for Stinkylulu’s Day of Appreciation blogathon proved difficult for me, as I had trouble thinking of the words to express how important the lovely Ms. Kahn’s work has been to my life as an avid movie fan. Madeline Kahn was one of the earliest and most beloved performers I can remember seeing in films on a frequent basis (she made her film debut in What’s Up Doc? at about the same time I can first remember going to the movies regularly), and her impact on me was profound. Long before I understood enough to make any type of critical assessment of a performer or film, I simply liked or didn’t like a movie or actor and, during the amazing two-three year stretch wherein she appeared in Doc, Paper Moon, From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E Frankweiler, and Young Frankenstein (I wasn’t able to witness her indelible work as Lily van Stupp in Blazing Saddles until later, as the film was considered too raunchy for my young, impressionable eyes to view), Madeline Kahn became a welcome, recognizable figure to me, and the performer I most identified with onscreen. I felt a strong connection with this warm woman who seemed so funny, alive, and kind. I think her warmth gets overlooked a lot due to her astounding gifts as a comedienne (a measure of Kahn’s abilities in this area: the gifted newcomer was reportedly turning in such a great performance as Agnes Gooch in Mame that Lucille Ball did herself no favors- and Kahn plenty, as it turned out- by having her talented rival axed from the picture she was stealing). Her characters often aren’t very sympathetic, but Kahn makes a viewer care for each of their plights and, no matter how outrageous the comedy, she always manages to find the humane aspects of the character.


I believe Kahn’s single greatest achievement on film came in the cliché role of “Trixie Delight,” the lazy, self-involved tramp of Paper Moon. From the first moment Kahn appears in Peter Bogdanovich’s 1973 depression-era comedy, flouncing around as Trixie jiggles her way towards the forefront of the screen, Kahn's presence and good nature picks the movie up and turns it into a fantastic entertainment; once Kahn arrives, a viewer instantly gets the sense that something very special is going on, and "This is as good as movies get." Kahn takes the stock role of a bubbly, saucy tart and shades the character with traces of sadness and complexity, resulting in a rich portrayal one can never forget. Trixie may come across as a shallow, materialistic creature but, beneath Trixie’s surface vamping, Kahn invests the role with layers of feeling. Most significantly, in the film’s best scene Kahn does a 180 on Trixie’s here-to-fore vapidity and proves this earthy woman’s suffered through plenty of hard knocks. Carnival “dancer” Trixie has hooked up with con artist “Moses Pray” (Ryan O’Neal), much to the chagrin of Moses’ tiny partner-in-crime, Addie. After a picnic lunch on a hillside, Addie decides to go to battle with her nemesis, and refuses to get back into the car with Moses, Trixie, and Trixie’s world-weary fifteen-year-old maid, Imogene (P.J. Johnson, who gets some hilarious lines, and nails every one of them). This action prompts Trixie to climb the hill and attempt to cajole the youngster back into the car by the use of comic books, flattery (who can forget the ingenious inflection Kahn gives to her pronounciation of "bone structure"? My sister and I aped Kahn saying this for weeks), and demands for her to “. . . cut out the crap, you understand?” before Trixie turns around to head back downhill herself. Addie is immobile through it all and, sensing the child is on to her game, Trixie turns back around and, in stunning fashion, completely drops her guard. With her voice quavering and her eyes suddenly tearing up, Kahn is magnificent in this scene. Trixie wins Addie (and the audience) to her side by gently informing the girl Moses’ infatuation with her will wear off, as Trixie always messes up her relationships with men. Kahn’s acting is so direct and honest during Trixie’s sweet, melancholic monologue that a viewer buys into everything she’s telling Addie. Even though Trixie subsequently acts in her own best interests and gets meaner, until her ruthless, unfaithful behavior is finally (and probably justifiably) revealed to Moses by Addie, I find myself rooting for Trixie to take her duped con man suitor for everything’s he’s got whenever I watch Moon. In Trixie, Kahn creates an endearing portrait of a woman who’s a victim of her time and circumstances, and this lady deserves to gain a better lot in life.

Kahn’s most celebrated work in Saddles and Young Frankenstein is original and brilliant, but it’s definitely on a different, more stylized comic plane than what Kahn pulls off as Trixie. Underneath pounds of makeup, tight dresses, baby talk, batting eyelashes, swaying hips, and bouncing cleavage, her Trixie remains a vividly real woman. Trixie Delight represents one of Madeline Kahn’s most irresistibly perfect cinematic accomplishments, therefore making this Moon nirvana for Kahn’s fans, and for any other moviegoer with a heartbeat.

Sandra Dee & Troy Donahue Find Stardom Awaits at A Summer Place

As June looms around the corner, the time is right to venture to one of the great settings found in the melodramatic genre, 1959’s florid A Summer Place, featuring iconic 1950's teen idols Sandra Dee and Troy Donahue, ideally paired in their only screen teaming (Donahue appeared briefly in Dee’s other classic 1959 soaper, Imitation of Life, as the racist boyfriend who sadistically beats up Susan Kohner, but he shared no scenes with Dee). Physically and in temperament, the two match up extremely well; Dee clearly is enamoured with her lanky, boyishly awkward costar and, in return, Donahue manages to reciprocate Dee's attraction with some earnest baby-blue gazing of his own.


During Sandra Dee's breakthrough 1959 year, plenty of people were indeed looking at the young star, whether she was lousy with virginity (in her signature role as Gidget and as Susie in Life) or not (as the knocked-around, and eventually knocked-up, Molly in A Summer Place). Dee's screen persona as a type of insipid, junior-miss version of Doris Day is somewhat unfair to the late performer. Dee certainly could do the good girl perkiness thing in spades; however, possibly fueled by the many hardships she suffered in her personal life, Dee was also able to invest some of her roles with an impressive emotional grit and vulnerability, and Place probably afforded her the best chance to shine in this mode. Poor Molly gets kicked around plenty (both physically and emotionally) throughout the torrid course of the film, and Dee dives into the sometimes demanding role with aplomb, whether she's displaying mortification, then resentment, over the discovery of her father's illicit affair with her boyfriend’s mother or when, in her big scene, she breaks down when told by her heartless mother she is to be thoroughly examined by a doctor, after Molly returns from a night lost at sea with Johnny (this scene must have turned some heads in 1959, and it’s still uneasy to watch the young Molly unnecessarily subjected to such torment). Dee was only about sixteen at the time of filming Place, and her sensitive acting in these demanding scenes is convincing and moving, making one wish Dee had been afforded more opportunities to shed her “good girl” image, and take on heftier dramatic roles along the lines of her Molly Jorgenson.


Troy Donahue never showed much adeptness as a thespian during his brief rein as a leading man during the early 1960's, but in Place his California blond beauty and rigid demeanor suit his role as the pure-hearted, romantic Johnny. Although Donahue can't shake off his trademark stoicism, he focuses intently enough on Dee to display some star quality and, aided by the strong chemistry he creates with Dee, Place’s Johnny represents Donahue's best role and performance.


Dee and Donahue are surrounded by a solid lineup of players, with the lovely Dorothy McGuire headlining the cast as Sylvia, an innkeeper who effectively re-kindles some sparks when old flame Ken (Richard Egan) returns to the title locale to discover where life has taken his former love, while Arthur Kennedy convincingly stews in his brew as Bart, Sylvia's insolent spouse. The McGuire/Egan romance serves as a nice December counterpoint to the Dee/Donahue May coupling, and the gentle McGuire glows with love and warmth most effectively. It’s also nice to see parents being portrayed as intelligent and compassionate, instead of the overbearing, clueless stereotypes found in other teen-oriented films of the period, such as Rebel Without a Cause and Splendor in the Grass. However, the Generation Gap is fully represented in Place by the drunken Bart’s oftentimes cloddish behavior, and especially whenever Constance Ford appears as Dee's vicious mother, Helen, whose only goal in life is to destroy any fun, happiness, or beauty that dares to creep into the lives of any person she happens to come across and, in particular, her nubile young daughter. In the early sections of the film, Ford works at giving a sense of humanity to the hard-nosed Helen, acting unsure and apprehensive enough of the time to at least suggest Helen understands she possesses some unhealthy hang-ups regarding Molly's burgeoning sexuality. However, once Molly begins to harbor serious feelings for Johnny, the control-freak Helen goes completely batty, and Ford has a field day illustrating the unbalanced woman’s execrable attempts to destroy her daughter’s life, whether she’s turning Molly over to that creepy doctor or slapping her offspring directly into the family’s Christmas tree- Happy Holidays, Molly!


One of Max Steiner's most famous scores (Percy Faith's recording of the title theme was #1 for nine weeks on Billboard's Hot 100 chart) lends an air of nostalgic to the film, and the lush soundtrack immeasurably aids in setting the proper dramatic tone for each flamboyant scene– without Steiner’s contribution, it’s hard to imagine the film coming off at all. Delmer Daves directs competently, and sometimes more than that; I love how Daves sometimes has Ford backlit with red lighting, such as in the scene wherein she's seated by a red lamp during one of her nastiest attacks, wherein Helen calls Sylvia a “harlot of a mother”- awash in a red glow during this retort, Helen looks as if she’s ascended directly from hell just to make life miserable for both pairs of lovers. Capturing the time and place of its era perfectly (well, at least as portrayed in the movies of the period- unlike Ken and Sylvia, not many people were lucky enough to end up in a magnificent Frank Lloyd Wright-designed house), A Summer Place is a worthy example of the entertaining type of potboiler Hollywood frequently served up with relish during the 1950’s.