Frank Sinatra Forcefully Leads a Riveting Candidate for 1962's Best Film

Representing one of Hollywood’s most thrilling offerings during the early 1960’s, when films were moving away from the hindrance of the Production Code and daring to tackle adult themes in a more open and persuasive manner, 1962’s The Manchurian Candidate provides a stupendous watch for audiences keen on being held captive by the perplexing mystery central to the film, wherein Korean War vets dealing with PTSD attempt to uncovered the meaning behind their post-war nightmares, with one Sergeant Raymond Shaw proving to be a pivotal figure in the drama. Directed by John Frankenheimer with true cinematic flair and a sly sense of style mixed deftly with a consistently tense atmosphere, this ace adaptation (by George Axelrod) of the ingenious Richard Condon 1959 novel offers a viewing experience quite unlike any other, with a tremendous cast bringing a rich array of characters to life with skill and distinction.

By 1962 John Frankenheimer was entering peak years wherein he showed himself to be director of rare aptitude, one eager to risk exploring new venues in creative ways, resulting in a series of films that continue to entertain and intrigue, and none more so than Manchurian. Starting out in the mid 1950’s, Frankenheimer honed his craft during television’s “Golden Age,” working on such esteemed series as Playhouse 90, wherein the imposing, challenging aspects of filming live allowed Frankenheimer the chance to experiment with different directional modes as he developed his technique. Making a solid debut in feature films via 1957’s The Young Stranger, Frankenheimer would have a breakthrough year in 1962, with the compelling All Fall Down and Birdman of Alcatraz preceding Manchurian’s release.

With Manchurian, Frankenheimer seems at the height of his abilities, with one precisely-stage sequence following another. For example, there’s an unforgettable scene showing a group of the war veterans seemingly alternating from being addressed by a ladies’ garden club to oration by an enemy agent, who explains to a group of colleagues the men have been brainwashed into thinking they are attending the garden club. Frankenheimer handles this difficult-to-shoot passage with virtuoso aplomb, doing a 360-degree camera turn throughout the scene while constantly changing the dynamics, leading to a stunning final shot. The entire episode is composed with great clarity, which leads a viewer in a state of uneasiness, not knowing what exactly is going on. Frankenheimer illustrates his gift for keeping viewers on edge throughout the movie, while masterfully putting his own unique stamp on each exciting segment. Frankenheimer would go on to more success in the decade, with The Train, Grand Prix and Seconds granting him more fruitful opportunities to sharpen his skills, and he would continue to produce intriguing work (1986’s 52-Pickup is a memorable later work) in films and via a return to television until his passing in 2002, with Manchurian remaining high on the list of his superlative achievements.

As the preeminent male vocalist for several generations, Frank Sinatra substantial onscreen efforts are often given less focus when reviewing his astounding life and career. However, following his first major role in 1943’s Higher and Higher (as himself- Sinatra had appeared in a few films before in the same vein, singing solo or with Tommy Dorsey’s Orchestra), Sinatra built a filmography featuring an array of interesting performances mixed with more indifferent (if often successful) fare; some highlights included teaming with Gene Kelly several times in to 1940’s, including Anchors Aweigh and On the Town; his Oscar-winning comeback in 1953’s From Here to Eternity; prodigious, committed work as a junkie in The Man with the Golden Arm and offering first-class acting and singing in 1957’s uneven-but-smash-hit adaptation of Pal Joey, which won Sinatra a Golden Globe. The 1960’s would experience a downturn in the quality of his films (although Sinatra would remain a top star and box-office draw throughout the decade), with Rat Pack endeavors and casual comedies sometimes offset by a Von Ryan’s Express or The Detective.

Manchurian represents Sinatra’s best film of this era (and maybe period) and his dedicated, mature depiction of the confused, tormented Major Bennett Marco, wherein he combines his magnetic presence with rare intuitive acting skills, allows for the creation of a sympathetic, world-weary hero an audience can trust to help guide them through the fantastic plot elements, as Marco discovers exactly what is going on in regards to his war colleague, Raymond Shaw. One scene wherein Marco attempts to break through to the dazed Raymond via the use of some (critical) playing cards illustrates what a gripping, moving actor “one take” Sinatra can be when fully vesting his talents into a role, and he consistently maintains full focus in his sterling portrayal of Marco. Manchurian offered Sinatra the chance to shine anchoring a film unlike any other in his (or anyone’s) cannon, and his rewarding, naturalistic work constitutes one of his most outstanding cinematic efforts.

Laurence Harvey was on a steep upward career trajectory by 1962, and Manchurian would provide him with perhaps his greatest role. After starting out as a teen at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in 1946, Harvey had built a solid reputation on stage and screen during the next decade, finally achieving world-wide fame via his tense-yet-romantic “Angry Young Man” work in 1958’s Room at the Top, a breakthrough in British Cinema in regards to presenting adult themes and dialogue on screen. After the U.S. success of the film brought Harvey one of several Oscar nominations for Top (Harvey was also nominated for BAFTA and Golden Globe awards), he further established his Hollywood leading man credentials in 1960 with the one-two punch of Butterfield 8 and The Alamo. However, although professional and assured on camera, the stoicism often inherent in his work led to rising critical carping concerning a “wooden” nature associated with Harvey’s performances.  Viewing his illustrious playing in Manchurian as the tortured Raymond Shaw, one must concede that, given the right circumstances, this rigid demeanor could be unforgettably poignant. Raymond is an emotionally stunted figure, but also the heart of the film, and as the mystery surrounding the reasons behind Raymond’s behavior unfolds, Harvey details his character’s plight in magnificent fashion, including a key scene wherein the shattered Raymond, recalling a lost love, allows Harvey to perhaps do the finest, most honest emoting of his career, leaving viewers in a likewise highly-despondent state as their empathy for Raymond increases manifold. Following this peak, Harvey would continue in films with varying degrees of quality, with his sly, sexual cad in 1965’s Darling a standout and taut work as the queasy hero in an unnerving 1972 Night Gallery segment (“Caterpillar”) a late-career highlight, before Harvey’s untimely passing at 45 in 1973.

Angela Lansbury would also score possibly her signature film role via Manchurian, as Raymond’s cold, ultra-ambitious mother, with an eye on the White House at any cost. Starting in films at the tender age of 19 via an Oscar-nominated turn in Gaslight, followed by another for her touching work as the vulnerable victim of the title character in The Picture of Dorian Gray, from the outset Lansbury demonstrated a knack for playing mature women far beyond her years, in this vein impressively holding her own against Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy in 1948’s State of the Union. Throughout the 1950’s Lansbury continued to prove herself adept in a variety of lead and character roles, offering one of her most vivid performances just prior to Manchurian as another complex (albeit more sympathetic) mother in Frankenheimer’s All Down Fall. As Mrs. Iselin, Lansbury is so forcefully persuasive, the small age gap (just under three years) between her and co-star Harvey becomes irrelevant. Due to Lansbury’s energetic, artful work, the viewer believes every malevolent action of this cobra woman, whether she be badgering her inane senator husband, John (James Gregory, playing up the imbecilic aspects of the role with great zest) regarding each carefully-calculated move she wants him to make, or attempting to destroy Raymond’s chance of love and happiness once it appears to interfere with her plans and, as the film’s most famous moment indicates, also because this mother has intimate designs of her own on Raymond (pretty shocking stuff for 1962, and even for today, with a kiss indicating the Production Code’s power was starting to ebb as daring filmmakers dared to push for more mature themes in major productions). The multi-talented Lansbury would go on to conquer Broadway, winning five Tony Awards in the process, and reach her greatest fame on television as sleuth Jessica Flecther in the long-running Murder, She Wrote.

Janet Leigh’s popularity as one of Hollywood’s most reliable players was at an all-time high by 1962, after a fruitful run as one of the 1950’s top leading ladies, before entering the new decade with career-defining work and an Oscar nomination for her deft performance in 1960’s Psycho. Given her high profile, it’s surprising how small the role of Rosie, a woman who meets Sinatra’s grief-stricken hero on a train and immediately falls for him, is in terms of screentime. However, Leigh had a natural gift for screen acting from the get-go, and her smart, intuitive approach to the role and great chemistry with Sinatra (even though it’s improbable how quickly she picks him up, they make you fully buy into this relationship) leave a very strong impression on viewers. Among the romantic and touching dramatic moments she brings to the character as she supports the understandably distraught Marco, she also helps lighten the tone in their scenes with a breezy likability that is a chief asset and welcome relief amid all the hypnotic-yet-unsavory goings-on in the story.

A choice supporting cast is also accorded ample occasions to shine. John McGiver lends dignity and a serene-yet-forceful presence as the moral political foe to Mrs. Iselin’s schemes while, as his daughter Jocelyn, Raymond’s one true love, Leslie Parrish does lovely and sensitive work, bringing a humor and warmth to her scenes with Harvey that help make their romance charming and believable. The magnetic Henry Silva is also vivid as Chunjin, Raymond’s calm, ominous valet, who takes on Marco in one of the first and best karate fights seen in an American film. James Edwards also has a key role early on as one of Marco’s tormented colleagues, while the cinematically ubiquitous Whit Bissell briefly pops up yet again as a medical officer, as well as Bess Flowers in yet another of her bits in a classic film, this time as a member of that eerie garden party.  

Manchurian had an usual path to its current status as one of the key films of the 1960s as, following the assassination of President Kennedy in November of 1963 the film, which had some themes that mirrored the tragedy, was little-seen over the next couple of decades until a major re-release in 1988 to rapturous reviews and enthusiastic reception by filmgoers eager to discover this lost masterpiece moved Manchurian back to the forefront of 1960’s cinematic enterprises, with its reputation only growing since, to the extent that it now holds a rightful place as one of the seminal works of its stars, director and classic movies. The author caught the re-release, and as a classic movie buff who had heard a little about the movie, went in thinking he’d watch a taut political drama, and maybe a too-long one at that, but ended up being blown away by one of his most surprising, funny and richly satisfying viewing experiences ever.

Upon its initial release, Manchurian received critical recognition, gaining a British Academy Award nomination for “Best Film From Any Source,” while Lansbury went on to win both the Golden Globe and National Board of Review (along with All Fall Down) awards for Supporting Actress in addition to her final Oscar nomination, and Frankenheimer garnered both a Globe nom and a richly-deserved place among the finalists for the Director’s Guild Award. Since attaining renown following that 1988 reissue, Manchurian has been cited for preservation in 1994 by the National Film Registry, then placed at #67 on the American Film Institutes’ 1998 list of the 100 greatest films, before an uneven remake found its way to screens in 2004. The rediscovery of, then ongoing acclaim accorded to the original The Manchurian Candidate makes perfect sense as, once seen, the highly individual vision sustained by Frankenheimer and his grade-A team of colleagues, both behind and in front of the camera, guarantees a seminal, hard-to-forget viewing experience awaits all those who encounter this timeless classic.