David Lynch Steers the Course to Cinematic Greatness via Mulholland Drive

 

With the passing of David Lynch, one of the cinema’s most daringly original and gifted talents, I found myself pondering the unique individuality and bizarre sensibility that were keystones of many of his dark-yet-richly-entertaining works. Viewing Blue Velvet, which brought Lynch to the forefront of American film directors in controversial fashion during the film’s initial 1986 release, his view of smalltown suburbia gone asunder with its plethora of oddball, unhinged characters and sometimes shocking imagery was hard to forget, and I knew I was watching an intuitive, inventive director unlike any other, but with this admiration was wariness concerning the mature, unsettling content I’d never seen before as a young movie lover. I’d previously watched Lynch’s first big critical success, the moving and more conventional The Elephant Man, and from the ado surrounding Velvet was prepared for something different and flat-out weird, but was floored by the disquieting impact the film had on me. I was greatly intrigued by Lynch’s output from this point, happy to see his major career upswing with television’s enthusiastically received Twin Peaks, then being rattled again with 1997’s eerie Lost Highway, followed by Lynch’s huge artistic shift doing a sweet, poignant Disney movie, The Straight Story, which led to his penultimate film and possibly most highly-regarded masterpiece, the fascinating, beautiful and perplexing Mulholland Drive.

With Mulholland, which he initially planned for a television pilot, Lynch demonstrated he was in full capacity of his considerable imaginative powers, indicating a confident, brave, singular directorial approach from the opening shot, as an array of dancers performing ala 1940’s style fill the screen in a disoriented manner, setting the tone for the puzzling events to come, to the movie’s bleak final denouement. With fearless creativity, Lynch stages one indelible sequence after another using a variety of methods, including riveting tracking and zooming shots and close-ups, to design moments that sear in an audience’s memory, from an artfully staged car crash at the film’s outset, which helps literally set the mystery in motion, to a fun, colorful set piece offering homages to two classic pop hits, “Sixteen Reasons” by Connie Stevens and “I’ve Told Every Little Star” by Linda Scott, to the dark tonal alteration towards the final stages of the film, which leaves a viewer wondering exactly how to take all that’s preceded. Although the audacious, often-seemingly incoherent storyline could be maddening in the wrong hands Lynch, aided by a tranquil-yet-ominous score by Angelo Badalamenti (who also plays a key minor role), vivid cinematography by Peter Deming and truly first-rate editing by Mary Sweeney, somehow manages to keep the nonsensical structure of the piece moving in a dreamy, completely involving manner, allowing viewers to draw their own conclusions as they muse over exactly what Lynch’s narrative is about, while still respecting and admiring the rich entertainment he’s providing them.

After first making an impact in her native Australia in television and movies, Naomi Watts gained her breakthrough with audiences worldwide via Mulholland, and also perhaps her best screen role. As Betty Elms, the innocent ingenue who comes to Hollywood to find fame and fortune, and meets a wealth of intrigue instead after encountering a beautiful young woman who survived the car crash and can’t remember anything else, Watts brings a wide-eyed innocence and gentle, compassionate nature to her sincere playing, allowing viewers to connect with the wholesome, honest character immediately, while wondering what this talented fresh face did before Mulholland. In possibly her best scene as Betty, the novice performs maybe the most intimate and surprisingly adept audition in film history, and proves herself an actor of great merit, to both the onscreen observers and the Mulholland audience. Later in the movie, Watts is able to delve deep after evolving into another persona, Diane Selwyn, who serves as an emotionally unstable counterpoint to the sunny Betty. Although Lynch throws out this plot twist with his typically impish flair that keeps viewers fully vested in the proceedings, where other directors attempting this quirky spin would witness a wreck bigger than the one at the film’s outset, one is still unsure just how to unravel exactly what’s going on, and who and where Betty is now. However Watts, with a dedication and acting prowess that is unshakeable, makes Diane’s despair heartbreakingly real, helping the film’s final act to linger long after the fadeout. Post- Mulholland, Watts has maintained a strong career as one of filmdom’s leading ladies, with highlights including great work in Peter Jackson’s hit 2005 King Kong remake, and Oscar nominations for ace dramatic work in the grim 21 Grams and the harrowing The Impossible.

As “Rita,” Betty’s new friend and then some, the stunning Laura Elena Harring does an expertly subtle job of illustrating the haunted nature of her character, who can’t recall her past after surviving the crash. There’s a fragile, faraway quality to Harring’s presence on screen that’s ideal for the wayward character, and she works beautifully with Watts, helping to make their deepening relationship resonate in compelling fashion. Similar to Watts, Harring has to manage a late-film transition into an alternate character, the seductive siren Camilla Rhodes (also played by Mellisa George in the movie), and with her aloof interpretation Harring makes the switch entirely convincing, while her remarkable visage, perfect for Camilla, suggests a throwback to glamour from an era long past (she earlier had properly named herself Rita after seeing a poster of Rita Hayworth at her most alluring in “Gilda”), adding an aptly flamboyant dimension to a movie set in a Hollywood of Lynchian proportions. Harring rose to prominence as Miss USA 1985, then worked frequently before and after Mulholland in projects of varying quality and interest, with her key contribution to Lynch’s extraordinary, illusory tour de force securing her place in cinema history.

Among the rest of an entertaining, eclectic cast, the enduring Ann Miller found herself ending her incredible film career on a high note after starting it over sixty years before in classics such as Stage Door and You Can’t Take It with You. As Coco, the friendly but worldly-wise and alert landlord who welcomes Betty to her aunt’s residence, Miller makes Coco a personable figure at the outset, then becomes terser as Betty’s circumstances change and become more complex at the complex. In the primary male role of Adam Kesher, a young director who seems overwhelmed by Betty after noticing her on a set, the awesomely be-specked Justin Theroux does a nice job of making the character believable with an edgy, straightforward acting style. The low-keyed, amiable and hunky Billy Ray Cyrus pops up as a rival for Adam’s wife’s charms, and Lee Grant has a fine time with her cameo as Lousie Bonner, a senile neighbor of Betty who appears at her door in a foreboding manner.

James Karen does a nice job as Wally Brown, the warm, supportive and slight off-kilter Hollywood insider at Betty’s audition, while Chad Everett has a late-career highlight as the actor who gets caught up with Betty in her audition scene, doing some potent emoting of his own as things heat up between the ardent thespians. Indicating the robustness found in Mulholland’s roster of players, veterans Robert Forester and Dan Hedaya also show up in bit parts. Monty Montgomery has perhaps the most weirdly Lynchian role as the calm, unnamed cowboy who meets Adam in a remote locale and offers him advice in a highly portentous fashion. Finally, singer Rebekah Del Rio is astoundingly dynamic in a key sequence late in the film, performing a passionate Spanish version of the Roy Orbison hit “Crying” at the Club Silencio, as Rita and Betty sit by watching avidly, both becoming increasingly overwrought in the process.

With its premiere at the Cannes Festival in May of 2001, Mulholland Drive immediately received ecstatic reviews from critics, with Lynch winning Best Director at Cannes for the first of many prizes for the film, leading to buzz for the film as movie lovers eagerly sought out Lynch’s latest excursion into cinematic parts unknown, while general audiences largely opted to play it safe with more accessible fare. Come awards season, the film made its mark, with a further Best Director prize from the L.A. Film Critics Association, along with Best Picture awards from the New York Critics Circle and National Society of Film Critics (where Watts also won Best Actress), as well as placement among the National Board of Review’s top ten films. The film gained four Golden Globe nominations, including Best Drama Picture, Director, Score and a second nod to Lynch for his multifaceted screenplay, while France’s Cesar Awards named Mulholland Best Foreign Film. Peter Deming’s evocative cinematography won at the Independent Spirit Awards, while Sweeney won a well-earned British Academy Award for Best Editing. At the Academy Awards, Lynch’s direction was granted the film sole nomination, leaving out a wealth of deserving nominees, including Watts for one of the singular performances of the era. However, the sterling reputation of Mulholland Drive as one of the preeminent movies of the 21^st Century has continued apace since its release, evidenced by the film placing at #28 on the esteemed Sight and Sound poll of critics in 2012, then rising to #8 on the 2022 poll. Those wishing to honor Lynch’s seminal artistic vision with a screening of a major work from his diverse filmography will do well opting for an enigmatic cinematic journey like no other traversing down his ambiguously stimulating Mulholland Drive.

P.S.: I once saw Lynch in person at the Egyptian Theater, during the 2010 AFI Festival after a showing of Eraserhead and just before a screening of Sunset Boulevard. I filmed the appearance, wherein Lynch answers several questions in his calm, reflective manner, giving off vibes he existed in his own world (just as a fan might suspect he did while making his movies), before introducing Boulevard, which he mentioned as a favorite. The video can be viewed here.

Walt Disney Soars with the Beguiling Dumbo

  

                Among the most endearing, original and touching works from the Golden Age of Hollywood, 1941’s Dumbo represents the sterling result of a group of artists, lead by studio chief Walt Disney, freely working at the peak of their abilities. Based on the 1939 book Dumbo, The Flying Elephant penned by Helen Aberson-Mayer and her husband Harold Pearl, the whimsical Joe Grant/Dick Huemer screenplay, concocted with great warmth, humor and not a trance of sentimentality, follows the exploits of the shy title figure, made insecure by the heckling he faces from birth for owning a pair of oversized ears, but uplifted by the love and support he gains from a doting, protective mother, Mrs. Jumbo and a spunky, loyal friend in Timothy Q. Mouse. Aided by vibrant Technicolor, a terrific score by Frank Churchill and Oliver Wallace, and scintillating voice work by such pros in the field as Cliff Edwards (fresh off his success as Jiminy Cricket in Pinocchio), Verna Felton, Stanley Holloway and Edward Brophy in the key role of Timothy, Dumbo resonates with the ability to entertain the masses with an uncommon charm and power rarely seen in any film.

                By 1941 Walt Disney had established himself in the mind of the public as an animation genius and the cinema’s most trusted purveyor of quality family entertainment. Founding (with his brother Roy) the Walt Disney Animation Studio in 1923 at only 22 years old, Disney achieved wide fame with the 1928 introduction to general audiences of his most famous creation, Mickey Mouse, in the classic cartoon short Steamboat Willie Disney would ascend to the forefront of filmmakers during the 1930s, first with a stream of Oscar-winning cartoon shorts (starting with 1932’s “Flowers and Trees,” the first three-strip Technicolor cartoon short), then with his game-changing 1937 feature-length Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, considered both upon release (Disney was presented with a special Academy Award, which included seven miniature Oscars along with the normal-scale one) and today one of the decade’s primary achievements, which also placed among the top moneymakers of its era, allowing Disney the cash flow to continue creating ambitious animated material, following Snow White with both Pinocchio and Fantasia in 1940, before turning the studio’s efforts to Dumbo and the more elaborately produced Bambi. Working in close collaboration with Dumbo’s Supervising Director Ben Sharpsteen and a team of top animation virtuosos (including Samuel Armstrong, Norman Ferguson, Wilfred Jackson, Jack Kinney and Bill Roberts) while also overcoming a strike during production, Disney and his ace team of craftsmen produced one of the finest endeavors ever to come out of Hollywood.

               Dumbo’s storyline unfolds in a consistently fixating, skillful manner, with several memorable passages marking high points in the feature. Disney’s experimental nature, so fully invested in the making of Fantasia, is given free rein throughout the “Pink Elephants on Parade” number, wherein a drunken Dumbo and Timothy envision some of the most fantastical hallucinations ever seen on the silver screen. The artistic creativity showcased in this daring, florid scene is awe-inspiring and will leave audiences witnessing it as dumbfounded as Dumbo. Dumbo also continues one of the most emotionally enthralling sequences found in any film, as Dumbo seeks solace by cradling in his now-caged mother’s trunk, while the beautiful “Baby Mine” (eloquently sung by Betty Noyes) plays on the soundtrack. Whether one is eight or eighty, experiencing this prime example of the firm, loving bond between mother and child can leave the viewer a sobbing mess, no matter how many times one has seen Dumbo, so profoundly gripping is the reunion, then subsequent separation, of Mrs. Jumbo and her fragile offspring.

              As had already become a frequent aspect of Disney’s major works (the Evil Queen/Witch in Snow White, the transformation of Lampwick from boy-to-donkey in Pinocchio, the “Night on Bald Mountain” sequence in Fantasia, etc.), unnerving moments that can reappear in nightmares also take part in the Dumbo scenario, including a vividly sketched elephant stampede brought on by Timothy and some of that surrealistic imagery in the “Pink Elephants” section. The perversely eerie, mature content Disney includes in many of his seminal works undeniably add great flavor to the films, and account for some of the most unforgettable passages seen in the cinema. In the most controversial segment in the film, a group of black crows (voiced by Edwards and the Hall Johnson Choir, including Johnson, James Baskett, who would go on to portray Uncle Remus in Disney’s also-problematic Song of the South, Jim Carmichael and Nick Stewart) put over one of the movie’s signature songs, “When I’ve Seen an Elephant Fly,” with comic aplomb, but in a highly caricatured manner that adheres to racial stereotypes of the time, thereby making this un-PC scene difficult for some modern viewers to watch. As is the case with many classic films, and now is mentioned as a disclaimer when these movies are shown or released on physical media, one may view the work in the context of when it was created without censoring the work to exclude the contentious material as if it never existed, while simultaneously allowing that the dated aspects add an ignoble facet to the film in question.

 Released in October of 1941, Dumbo received substantial praise from critics, some of whom favorably compared the smaller-scale newest feature-length (just barely, at 64 minutes) Disney cartoon to his previous more expensive and grander productions, with the film eventually placing 5^th on the esteemed National Board of Review list of the year’s Top Ten films, before gaining an Oscar nomination for Best Song, “Baby Mine” (Churchill-Wallace, with lyrics by Ned Washington) and a win for Churchill ad Wallace’s inventive, sublime score. Several years later, Sharpsteen would be honored at the 1947 Cannes Film Festival for “Best Animation Design.” The economical production cost allowed the film to turn a neat profit, only enhanced by subsequent theatrical re-issues, then via physical media releases, starting with its 1981 debut on VHS and Laserdisc and continuing through DVD and Blu-Ray iterations. The impact and love for the film has led to a less-successful 2019 live-action remake and, more lastingly, a permanent reminder of Dumbo in Disneyland theme parks as a primary ride/attraction, with the Casey Junior train featured in the film also appearing at Disney parks and parades therein. The legacy of Dumbo is illustrated by its inclusion on the National Film Registry’s 2017 list, and in no less than renowned critic and expert on all things Disney Leonard Maltin proclaiming Dumbo his favorite Disney movie. Possessed with possibly the biggest heart found in any Disney classic, in illustrating this simple tale of faith and friendship, the supreme Disney team behind Dumbo created a singular work, one guaranteed to delight both young and young-at-heart film lovers as long as movies continue to be shown. 

Paul Newman and Patricia Neal Bring Grit and Conviction to Martin Ritt's Rousing Hud

              A key film indicating Hollywood was entering an era wherein a new permissiveness and maturity onscreen was emerging as the Production Code waned, Paramount’s 1963 drama Hud found receptive audiences fully engrossed by a Western saga featuring a protagonist unhindered by principle. Aided by a top cast offering trenchant performances and evocative lensing by masterful cinematographer James Wong Howe, who beautifully captures the barren landscapes, director Martin Ritt expertly renders a sense of time and place, bringing the first-rate screenplay by Irving Ravetch and Harriet Frank Jr. (based on Larry McMurtry’s 1961 novel Horseman, Pass By) to vivid life. Concerning the trials of the Bannons, Texas ranchers overseen by the ethical, somber Homer and his ne-er-do-well son Hud, who is idolized by his nephew Lon but faces frequent conflict with his disapproving father, Hud offers compelling viewing that holds up as an honest, adult depiction of how a family spanning several generations can severely clash, based on each individual’s perception of what’s right and wrong.

                Paul Newman had forged a great working relationship with Ritt prior to Hud, including one of Newman’s best performances as the charismatic anti-hero in The Long Hot Summer, one of the best adaptations of a William Faulkner novel and possibly the best Newman-Joanne Woodward movie, and 1961’s Paris Blues, an intriguing romantic drama also starring Newman and Woodward, alongside Sidney Poitier and Dianne Carroll. The synchronicity between star and director is evident throughout Hud, with Newman playing a full-out bastard with relaxed relish and movie-star magnetism he later correctly defended as being right for the role, as Hud manages to bewitch nearly everyone around him except for his father; based solely on his unsavory behavior this wouldn’t play out believably on film. However, with Ritt and Newman careful to include attractive traits, physical and otherwise (for example, one senses Hud feels he’s misunderstood and is sensitive in that respect, at least) it’s easy to buy into the notion that Hud could be very popular among the rural townsfolks (specifically the women), while remaining fundamentally a louse. Already a top leading man in Hollywood after several major successes after his 1954 film debut in not one of them, The Silver Chalice, including Oscar-nominated work for Cat on a Hot Tin Roof  and an early career peak in The Hustler, Hud would allow Newman to ascend another echelon, with a third Best Actor Oscar nod and a first-time placement among 1963’s top ten box-office stars (according to the industry-standard Quigley poll), leading to a #1 box-office draw ranking by the end of the decade, and several more Oscar nominations until his win for 1986’s The Color of Money. Hud would remain one of the few examples of Newman playing an outright heel with little of the vulnerability that made his artfully portrayed anti-heroes so appealing and therefore ranks among his most intriguing performances.

                For Patricia Neal, Hud would provide a perfect fusion of role and performer rarely seen on film. At the start of her career, Neal gained immediate success on Broadway, winning one of the first Tonys for Lillian Hellman’s Another Part of the Forest, before Hollywood quickly beckoned. A highly publicized film debut in 1949’s florid potboiler The Fountainhead, which was a failure upon release but has attained cult status as one of director King Vidor’s most mesmeric melodramas, led to a hit-and-miss filmography, with 1951’s sci-fi classic The Day the Earth Stood Still, 1957’s still-relevant A Face in the Crowd, and sly work in 1961’s Breakfast at Tiffany’s among Neal’s best offerings. However, with Hud Neal reached new stature. As Alma, the world-weary, kind and earthy housekeeper for the Bannons, Neal uses her irreplaceable, rich Southern drawl and acute, mature acting ability to create a beautiful portrait of a knowing, compassionate, sensible woman who’s dealt with her share of setbacks, concerning men and otherwise, and is wary of Hud’s advances. Neal has a terrific, easy chemistry with Newman, making it clear Alma is sexually drawn to the caddish charmer, but understanding keeping her distance might be in her and the Bannon’s best interests. Alma believes she may have found a peaceful place in life, and in her few scenes Neal provides a rich, fully rounded portrait of a character ready to live independently without fuss or any complicated relationships. Post-Hud Neal would witness a wealth of personal tragedies, but with admirable determination fight back to prevail on screen, including gaining another Oscar nomination via moving work 1968’s The Subject Was Roses, then scoring on television with 1971’s The Homecoming, which introduced the Waltons and brought Neal a Golden Globe award and an Emmy nomination.

                Entering his very fruitful period as a star character actor after maintaining leading man status on stage and screen since the early 1930’s, Melvyn Douglas brings gravitas and dignity to the highly moralistic Homer Bannon, a role far removed from the urbane romantics he played opposite Joan Crawford, Marlene Dietrich, Claudette Colbert, Garbo, and just about every other female star during his 1930’s-1940’s peak onscreen. Douglas strongly conveys Homer’s disenchantment with Hud and loyalty to the family homestead and, significant to the plot, the cattle therein. The stoicism central to Homer’s character leads to one of the film’s most satisfying moments, when the heretofore serious-minded, gruff rancher relaxes enough to sing along with Lonnie to “My Darling Clementine” at the local movie house. This lighter scene allows Homer a little more dimension, bringing the audience more to his side in the process, as opposed to placing their interests and sympathy with the ultra-charismatic Hud, specifically during a key verbal showdown between the two men. Douglas would win an Oscar for Hud, then continue in films up to his death in 1981, with Best Supporting Actor Oscar #2 coming into play via 1979’s Being There, before his final role in Ghost Story, again costarring with Neal.

As Hud’s impressionable but fairly well-grounded nephew Lonnie, Brandon deWilde has perhaps the best of his juvenile leads, after his early fame as a 1950’s child star, wherein he first broke through in the Broadway and film versions of Carson McCuller’s poetic The Member of the Wedding alongside Julie Harris and Ethel Waters, before becoming the youngest Best Supporting Actor Oscar nominee ever (a record he would hold until 1980) for his role in 1953’s classic Shane, with deWilde’s “Shane, come back!” quickly becoming one of the most famous final scenes in film history. He would make the tricky transition from precocious youth to sympathetic, contemplative young man with his skillful, attractively straightforward work in 1959’s Blue Denim, avoiding the turbulent, overwrought playing marring some of his contemporaries’ acting as they sought in vain to emulate James Dean. Thankfully going his own way, deWilde followed up this success with another pleasant, quietly observant performance in what could be regarded as a warmup to his Hud role, in director John Frankenheimer’s underrated and fascinating All Fall Down. In Hud deWilde’s Lonnie serves as a great counter to the wily figure he admires, and he interacts with each of his costars in deft fashion. DeWilde has one of the movie’s most touching moment with Neal, who as Alma serves as a surrogate mother to Lonnie, in a wonderful scene wherein Lon expresses to Alma how much she means to him, and concludes that she’s just good, period, which sets up an even more moving passage between the characters’ later in the film. From this peak, deWilde would work in a variety of films and television shows, with a role in Otto Preminger’s 1965 all-star In Harm’s Way possibly his highest profile post-Hud undertaking, before his untimely death at 30 in 1973.

The film is largely centered around the four main characters, but a few other names can be spotted among the cast. Whit Bissell, who could be counted on to show up in just about every other movie during this period, shows up as Mr. Burris, whom Homer and Hud have to work with in regards to a predicament with the Bannon’s cattle. John Ashley, about to enjoy a run in the Beach Party franchise after earlier work with American International Pictures can also be spotted, while B-movie icon Yvette Vickers gets a rare chance to be glimpsed in an “A” picture, making a brief but nice impression as the friendly, knowing Lily Peters, a pretty housewife who shows up with Hud at the local café, to the dismay of Homer.

Hud’s unorthodox storyline and obvious merits as a top-quality production caught on with viewers and reviewers upon the film’s release in 1963, with Ritt and his sterling cast singled out for praise while the film grossed $3,900,000 in U.S./Canada film rentals (according to Variety), placing it among the top twenty hits of the year. The film also gained much recognition as one of the finest dramas of 1963, placing among The New York Times and the National Board of Review’s Top Ten films (with Melvyn Douglas also winning Best Supporting Actor from NBR), and Best Screenplay honors from The New York Film Critics Circle and the Writer’s Guild of America. The film gained five Golden Globe nods for Picture, Newman, Neal, Douglas and Ritt but no wins, but fared much better at the Laurel Awards, with wins for Top Drama, Newman, Neal and Douglas. Ritt also gained a nomination from the Directors Guild of America and a win at the Venice Film Festival, while Patricia Neal in particular was singled out for acclaim, winning Best Actress from the NYFCC, National Board, and the British Academy Awards, as well as a much-deserved Best Actress Oscar (side note: there has been comment in recent years downplaying Neal’s achievement in Hud and ultimate Academy Award win, due to her limited screen time as Alma. The counter argument to this is her rich, earthy and very moving work is so powerful she dominated her scenes, allowing Alma to linger in memory when she’s off screen, and therefore justify her win over competition with much bigger parts to play, but who didn’t have the same impact with voters).  Among the seven Academy Award nominations, in addition to Neal and Douglas, Wong Howe won for his sublime cinematography, and, along with Newman, Ritt gained a nomination, as did the screenplay and Art Direction-Set Direction. The relevance of Hud as a key 1960’s film was illustrated in 2018, when the movie was inducted into the National Film Preservation Board. Hud has lost none of its power to provoke an audience, and those looking for a stirring viewing experience featuring some of the finest acting of the era will be rewarded by choosing this western of merit. 

Patricia Neal and Michael Rennie Find the Perfect Day for Sci-Fi Immortality

 

               The event of the 1950s brought with it a major uptick in interplanetary interest onscreen, starting with such fare as When Worlds Collide and Destination Moon.  From this early period, 20^th Century Fox’s The Day the Earth Stood Still from 1951 endures as one of the best and most influential offerings made during the sci-fi craze, with revolutionary special effects and top production values, including expert editing by William Reynolds, cinematography by Leo Tover and Bernard Herrmann’s eerie, groundbreaking theremin-laced score that continue to impress, adding much individual flavor to the film. Esteemed director Robert Wise scored one of his most impressive achievements behind the lens with his ace handling of the fantastical premise (based on a Harry Bates 1940 short story, with a thought-provoking screenplay by Edmund H. North), aided by a first-rate cast led by Patricia Neal, Hugh Marlowe, Sam Jaffe and the majestic Michael Rennie as Klaatu, a visitor to Earth who lands his spacecraft in Washington D.C., carrying with him an important message to the humanity in regard to living peacefully. 

                With Day, Robert Wise reached helmed perhaps his most distinguished achievement to date, after starting in films as an editor, culminating in an Oscar nomination for no less than Citizen Kane before turning to directional assignments with 1944’s cult classic The Curse of the Cat People. The director handles Day’s off-beat material with a deft touch, allowing for a consistently believable tone, both performance-wise and in how the set pieces are designed and presented, specifically in the scenes staged around the UFO as it sits ominously in the National Mall area, as viewers apprehensively await how the usual predicament will play out. Wise would go on to great success after Day, guiding Susan Hayward to a Best Actress Oscar in I Want to Live! While gaining two Oscars of his own for West Side Story I and The Sound of Music, as well as scoring in a supernatural vein via 1963’s impressively eerie The Haunting and making a return to the sci-fi genre with 1979’s opulently produced Star Trek: The Motion Picture to kick off the franchise on the screen, before paring back on his film endeavors to enjoy a happy retirement until his passing at age 91 in 2005.

For Patricia Neal, Day would stand as possibly the highlight of her early movie career. After a major breakthrough on Broadway in Lillian Hellman’s Another Part of the Forest (the prequel to The Little Foxes), for which she won one of the first Tony awards, Neal moved to Warner Bros., wherein she made a florid film debut The Fountainhead, director King Vidor’s hyperbolic 1949 version of Ayn Rand’s legendary novel. Neal would hone her craft in subsequent movies of varying quality, and by the time of Day she exhibited a surer, more subtle acting approach onscreen, allowing her to imbue her role of Helen Benson, a young mother caught up in the central intrigue, with a warmth and believability that helps one buy into the otherworldly events as they unfold, including a meeting with the statuesque robot Gort, who takes Helen aboard the alien craft after she repeatedly states “Klaatu barada nikto” to him, in possibly the strangest and most vivid moment in the film. Shortly following this fruitful loan-out to 20^th, Neal would return to Broadway in the revival of The Children’s Hour and become involved in the Actor’s Studio, making a strong return to films via 1957’s A Face in the Crowd. The 1960s would allow for major career highs, peaking with a Best Actress Oscar for her beautiful, moving work in Hud, and many personal lows, including the loss of a daughter and a stroke, which Neal heroically recovered from to triumph again in movies via Oscar-nominated work in 1968’s The Subject was Roses. Neal would thereafter make occasional appearances in films and television, with highlights including Emmy-nominated, Golden-Globe winning work in the 1971 teledrama The Homecoming, which served as the basis for The Waltons, and fine work in Robert Altman’s Cookie’s Fortune.

In his most famous role, the handsome, dignified Michael Rennie makes a vivid impression as Klaatu, the noble alien visitor trying to understand more about humanity, while warning earthlings of the consequences that come if peace is not emphasized worldwide. With his calm but commanding vocal delivery and simultaneously austere-yet-warm manner, Rennie maintains a serene, mysterious presence that is ideally suitable to this calm-but-imposing leader, drawing characters and viewers to Klaatu in magnetic fashion as he seeks a deeper understanding of life on Earth. From this breakthrough, Rennie would send a fruitful period at Fox in the 1950’s, with such hits as The Robe, Desirée and Island in the Sun to his credit, then continue on films, television and the stage (with a key role in Mary, Mary on Broadway a highlight) before his untimely passing at 61 in 1971.

Sam Jaffe, fresh off his Oscar nomination for 1950’s The Asphalt Jungle, also as scores strongly as Professor Barnhardt, a brilliant scientist who proves helpful to Klaatu in his quest for a more unified civilization. A professor in his own right before turning acting with great success (including memorable roles in Lost Horizon and as Gunga Din), Jaffe brings an admirable gravitas to his work as Klaatu’s astute colleague that adds keen dimension to the role. Hugh Marlowe, having a good run at Fox with such as excellent films as Twelve O’Clock High, All About Eve and Night and the City recently on his roster, gets a chance to play a bit outside of his typical good guy, mild-mannered casting as Tom Stevens, Helen’s boyfriend, who is wary of Klaatu’s motives.

Billy Gray does fine, earnest work as Helen’s inquisitive son, Bobby, adopting a natural, direct approach to his playing and avoiding any cute overplaying often seen in child performances. Francies Bavier, a decade before her signature, Emmy-winning role as Aunt Bea on television’s The Andy Griffith Show, pops up as Mrs. Barley, while Stuart Whitman, at the outset of his lengthy career, can be glimpsed as a sentry guard. Finally, as Gort, Klaatu’s gigantic right-hand robot who can cease any unfriendly fire with laser beam precision and perform other unworldly tasks at the drop of the film’s aforementioned catchphrase, Lock Martin utilizes his 7-foot-7 frame to maximum effect, offering a vivid rendering for one of the most iconic figures found in the sci-fi genre.

Released in September of 1951, Day did well with audiences, reaping $1,850,000 in rentals (according to Variety) and gaining fine reviews, leading to the movie’s win at the Golden Globes for “Best Film Promoting International Understanding,” an award Klaatu specifically would find satisfying. Influencing the wealth of sci-fi movies to come, including an ill-advised 2008 remake, Day would eventually land on the National Film Registry’s 1995 preservation list, then place fifth on the AFI’s 2008 list of the best sci-fi movies. Through showings on television and re-releases, as well as representation via physical media, the film has gathered loyal fans, including the author, who had the privilege to briefly meet Ms. Neal at a book signing and showing of A Face in the Crowd a few months before her death, wherein she still had that incredible voice and earthiness she so adeptly utilized in movies. Although in awe and somewhat tongue-tied, I mentioned how I’d see Day several times growing up as Ms. Neal asked how old I was and shook her head when I mentioned five or six; during the later interview Ms. Neal expressed a sense of wonderment over the movie’s status as a classic, stating they could hardly keep a straight face making the movie. Fortunately, the professional decorum evident in every aspect of the film was maintained, allowing The Day the Earth Stood Still to obtain and sustain its lofty, warranted place among the greatest sci-fi films ever produced.

Cary Grant and Irene Dunne Engagingly Discover The Awful Truth

              Possibly the foremost example to represent the 1930’s Screwball Comedy genre, The Awful Truth maintains a lively, amusing pace and puts forth a slew of inventive ideas with so much style and wit the film stands as one of the most vivacious and hilarious romantic comedies ever produced in Hollywood, nearly nine decades after its initial 1937 release. Premier director Leo McCarey, reaching his peak after starting in films in 1921 and helming such classics as Duck Soup and The Ruggles of Red Gap, helms Viña Delmar’s sterling screenplay (adapted from Arthur Richman’s 1922 play of the same name) concerning the impending breakup of Lucy and Jerry Warriner, an affluent, ultra-charming couple, with great zeal and an air of unconstrained merriment. McCarey also guides his gifted star duo of Irene Dunne and Cary Grant to career-defining performances, which help enable Truth to hold its status as one of Tinseltown’s signature comedies.

                Although their first screen outing, Grant and Dunne find an easy, simpatico rhythm while interacting with great comedic flair, allowing an audience to believe throughout all the movie’s misunderstandings and shenanigans that this charming couple clearly love each other and belong together. There’s a distinct warmth that comes through in their scenes, with Dunne’s Lucy seemingly having the upper hand, while conveying how much she adores her soon-to-be ex. Grant also does a great job illustrating the endearment Jerry holds towards Lucy, even when she’s misbehaving, such as when she poses as Jerry’s lowbrow sister to ruin a gathering at Jerry’s fiancée’s house, and Jerry can’t help but grin as Lucy gets progressively brasher with the guests. They interact in a spontaneous, beguiling manner rarely seen in film, sometimes overlapping dialogue or laughing at the other with such skill it’s hard to determine what’s being improvised or scripted at any given moment. Grant and Dunne’s fruitful pairing would lead to another classic comedy via 1940’s My Favorite Wife, before the captivating, harmonious team shifted gears for their final collaboration, the moving comedy/drama Penny Serenade.

                After early success as Mae West’s most handsome suitor via She Done Him Wrong and I’m No Angel, Grant made his first indelible impression in movies with his rakish and charismatic work in 1936’s Syliva Scarlett, opposite another of his key leading ladies, Katharine Hepburn. A contract with Columbia Studios followed, which led to Grant’s true breakthrough as a major star in 1937, with Truth serving as a perfect follow-up to Grant’s breezy work in the whimsical comedy/fantasy Topper. With Truth, Grant appears fully at home with the debonair-yet-comical screen persona that would make him a favorite until he chose to end his film career in 1966’s Walk, Don’t Run, playing the role of Jerry with a free-spirited, agreeable air and, at times, an all-out physicality (including a terrific pratfall that earns one of the film’s biggest laughs) that draws the audience to his side, regardless of how sincere Jerry’s actions may sometimes be. Grant also deftly adds a serious touch here-and-there amid the madcap events, illustrating with a look, gesture, or tender line reading just how deep his affection for Lucy goes. Grant’s full-bodied performance in Truth brought him his deserved status among Hollywood’s elite, and lead to a remarkable career wherein Grant seldom faltered while lending his distinct flair and talent to a multitude of top-grade movies such as Only Angels Have Wings, Notorious, North by Northwest and Charade.  

                The versatile Irene Dunne established herself as a top name in only her second film outing, 1931’s Best Picture Oscar winner, Cimarron. In the following years Dunne would continue to find favor as the gentile leading lady of various melodramas and musicals, including Back Street, Roberta Magnificent Obsession and Showboat, before turning to comedy with great success with 1936’s Theodora Goes Wild, then Truth. Although competent in dramas and musicals, the gusto and comedic instinct Dunne displays in Truth suggests her talents were in full bloom when trading banter with Grant or simply reacting to his often-perplexed state with knowing bemusement. Dunne comes alive in comedy with a unique style and impishness that remain delightful to watch. For example, the extemporaneous manner in which Dunne frequently adds laughter to her dialogue and reactions is clearly not always scripted, but inventively and convincingly created by Dunne on the spot, helping to lend a fresh, original acting approach to the film. After Truth, Dunne would continue to thrive in a variety of roles, while gaining another top costar via Charles Boyer with their teaming in 1939’s Love Affair. Later career highlights included Anna and the King of Siam, Life with Father and her warm, likeable work in 1948’s I Remember Mama, which brought Dunne her last of five Best Actress Oscar nominations (but alas, no wins), before Dunne turned to television in the 1950’s as her chief mode of performing, while also becoming involved in a various political and humanitarian efforts, including servings as a delegate for the United Nations. After a rich life and career, Dunne would pass on in 1990 at 91.

                As the less-than-urbane suitor who catches Lucy’s fancy, the hulking Ralph Bellamy gains laughs with his “ah shucks” demeanor and lively playing as Dan Leeson, the unpretentious oilman who gets caught up in a love triangle, to the chagrin of Jerry. Starting in films in 1931, Bellamy had built a substantial filmography throughout the decade, but The Awful Truth would serve as his breakthrough and signature role. Bellamy would go on to score again opposite Grant as an earnest, guile suitor in 1940’s His Girl Friday, then continue to amass a strong string of credits until his 1991 death, showing a keen aptitude to pick major projects throughout his career, including a huge 1958 Broadway success playing FDR in Sunrise at Campobello (which brought Bellmay a Best Actor Tony award) and in cinema via The Wolf Man, the film version of Campobello (in 1960), Rosemary’s Baby, Oh God!, Trading Places and his final film, 1990’s smash Pretty Woman.

Among the rest of a great cast, Alexander D’Arcy lends a slick air as Armand Duvalle, whose (innocent?) rendezvous with Lucy at the outset of the film helps unsettle the Warriner marriage, while Joyce Compton scores as the showgirl Jerry briefly takes up with, memorably putting over “My Dreams are Gone with the Wind” with her skirts flying, years before Marilyn Monroe famously set foot on that subway grating, and setting up a memorable reprise of the song by Dunne in one of Truth’s most amusing bits. Cecil Cunningham makes a strong impression as Lucy’s knowing, direct Aunt Patsy, while Esther Dale also is effective as Mrs. Leeson, Dan’s skeptical mother. However, “Skippy,” taking a break from his most famous role as Asta in The Thin Man series, steals the biggest moments as Mr. Smith, the Warriner’s alert and talented Wire Fox Terrier.

           A popular and critical success upon its release in October of 1937, Truth went on to do nicely at the Oscars, with a Best Director win for McCarey and nominations for Best Picture, Actress (Dunne), Supporting Actor (Bellamy), Screenplay and Film Editing. However, as unfortunately turned out to be a norm throughout his career, Grant’s stellar work was overlooked for awards attention, with his daring, highly originally playing being deemed “too easy” to merit mention (Grant was only nominated twice, for his dramatic playing in Serenade and 1944’s None but the Lonely Heart). The enduring entertainment value of Truth and the stellar work of McCarey and his exemplary cast have led to the film’s induction in 1996 into the National Film Registry, then later placements on the American Film Institute’s lists of the 100 top comedies and romances, respectively. Those seeking a top entertainment of the rom-com and classic movie ilk will find plenty to revere while viewing the wealth of antics and sublime Grant-Dunne chemistry found in The Awful Truth.

Hitchcock Gets Back on Track with Strangers on a Train

 

                A true standout in a vintage year for Hollywood cinema, Warner Brothers’ 1951 release of Strangers on a Train marked a welcome return to form for director Alfred Hitchcock, providing him one of the finest vehicles to mix his deft touch with suspense with a perverse sense of humor, featuring several memorable, artfully executed set pieces that continue to impress. A perfect screenplay by Raymond Chandler and Czenzi Ormonde (based on the even darker novel by Patricia Highsmith and adapted for the screen by Whitfield Cook), exciting, foreboding score by Dimitri Tiomkin and exquisite B&W cinematography by Robert Burks lend Hitchcock ample production assets to craft a remarkable thriller, with a prime cast of players adding much to the film’s uneasy-yet-often-amusing tone, specifically Robert Walker as one of the title characters, the charming, unbalanced Bruno Anthony, a poor little rich boy/man with ingenious and unorthodox ideas regarding how to deal with bothersome figures, both in his life and in anyone else’s he meets.

               After first making a name for himself with top British offerings such as The Lodger, Blackmail (both his and England’s first sound film), The Man Who Knew Too Much, The 39 Steps and The Lady Vanishes, Hitchcock made a vastly successful switch to Hollywood with the Oscar-winning Rebecca after signing on with David O. Selznick. Hitchcock would continue to amass good fortune with most of his follow-up films, including Suspicion, Saboteur, Shadow of a Doubt and (after Rebecca) two more Oscar nominations for Lifeboat and Spellbound. However, after earning one of his biggest triumphs with critics and audiences via 1946’s Notorious, the ace Helmer found himself as asea as the cast of Lifeboat in regards to most of his subsequent post-WWII film output, with The Paradine Case, Under Capricorn and Stage Fright proving fairly uninspiring, while his most ambitious and inventive film of the period, 1948’s long shot (literally, as Hitchcock experimented with lengthy takes in the film), Rope, initially also faced a disappointing lack of interest upon release, before reassessment of the movie decades later raised its position in the Hitchcock cannon.

                After Stage Fright, Hitchcock clearly sought a project to get his creative juices fully flowing again, and in Strangers he found an inspiring tale to apply his ingenious touch. From the clever opening shots of the film, which follow the two protagonists’ shoes as they work their way onto a train, and finally tap toes for their first meeting, to the exciting climax aboard filmdom’s most rip-roaring merry-go-round, Hitchcock keeps viewers on edge and amused with his artful, sly rendering of the material. Among the director’s most extraordinary efforts in Strangers are the use of glasses to illustrate Bruno’s nefarious actions, and crossing-cutting between a tight tennis match featuring Guy, and Bruno as he travels to that merry-go-round with ill-intent again on his mind. Throughout the film, Hitchcock manages to follow one memorable scene (including the famous Hitchcock cameo) with another one equally noteworthy, allowing Strangers a consistency of tone and entertainment value rivaled by few other Hitchcock works, or other films, period.

                As the clever, amoral-yet-magnetic Bruno, Robert Walker finds his indelible screen role and best outlet to completely display his imposing dramatic talents. Born in 1918, Walker started at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts in 1937 (wherein he met future wife Jennifer Jones), then play bit parts in films starting in 1939, before an MGM contract would find his stock rising swiftly, typically in roles utilizing his awesome boyish appeal, with 1944’s See Here, Private Hargrove establishing Walker as a top MGM player, the same year he costarred with Jones to fine effect in David O. Selznick’s Since You Went Away, another big hit, filmed while Jones was in the midst of leaving Walker for Selznick. Throughout the rest of the 1940s, Walker would continue mainly at MGM in films of various quality, with his lovely teaming opposite the similarly sensitive Judy Garland in 1945’s The Clock representing possibly his best work and film of this fruitful period. With his iconic work as Bruno, Walker deftly meshes his vulnerable nice-guy image with a psychotic mentality, creating a fascinating portrait of a man with a Jekyll and Hyde persona, but not one lacking urbane wit and charm. He also daringly makes Bruno’s strong attraction to the other chief stranger of the piece, great-looking tennis pro Guy Haines, clear in an overt fashion rarely seen in major studio films of the period, especially with the Hayes Code looming over every movie. Walker’s superlative accomplishment as Bruno suggested a bright career awaited him in richly diverse parts, but sadly Strangers proved to be Walker’s penultimate film (followed by the interesting but less impressive My Son John) before the troubled actor’s untimely passing at the tender age of 32 in 1951.

                As the two other, much more moralistically sound leads, Haines and his devoted high-society lady love, Anne Morton, Farley Granger and Ruth Roman make a handsome couple and perform proficiently, but in a more standard, stoic manner than the flair with which Walker and some of their other costars bring to the film. Granger had made a nice impact and appeared admirably engaged theatrically as a jittery killer in his previous Hitchcock outing, Rope, and he sometimes suggests the emotional upheaval and pressure Guy is facing during his best scenes with Walker but often comes off as somewhat stiff and impassive. Similarly Roman, who had recently provided animated, impressive work in such fare as Champion, The Window and Beyond the Forest, maintains a glacial reserve as Anne while adopting an acting approach that seems studied, without adding much humor or dimension to the role to help viewers identify with and support Anne as she becomes embroiled in the film’s central mystery.

Patricia Hitchcock has claimed her father would only cast her if she was exactly right for a part; fortunately, in the case of Strangers any nepotism paid off, as Ms. Hitchcock tackles the significant role of Barbara, Anne’s younger, knowing sister with abundant verve, whether engaging in repertoire with her father or reacting with fear after attracting Bruno’s ice-cold gaze, while also meeting the physical requirements of the role, which become evident as the story unfolds. Similarly, as Guy’s flirtatious, unfaithful wife Miriam, Laura Elliott (also known as Kasey Rogers) adds great flavor and individuality to her small role, and is rewarded by prominently featuring in one of Hitchcock’s most famous and imaginatively-shot sequences. In the 1960s Elliott/Rogers would gain fame on television with Peyton Place and Bewitched, but in movies was never able to capitalize on her standout work in Strangers. Leo G. Carroll, a Hitchcock semi-regular since Rebecca, utilities his wry delivery style to fine effect as Senator Morton, Barbara and Anne’s father, who is sympathetic to Guy’s plight.

 In a rare feature film appearance, Marion Lorne scores in magnificent fashion as Bruno’s adoring, artistic and addle-minded mother. Lorne imbues the role with her unique, scatterbrained comic sensibility, as Mrs. Antony frets over her son, while also being amused by his “naughty boy” behavior, but also shows a sager side to the character with her later dismissal, in a calm, resolute manner, of Anne’s pertinent claims against Bruno, indicating the protective mother may actually have a much deeper understanding of how dangerous his wayward son may be. After her sublime work in Strangers, Lorne would find major success on television during the 1950s and 1960s playing similar absent-minded types, specifically in the sitcoms Mister Peepers and via her enduring performance as Aunt Clara in Bewitched, for which she won a well-deserved Emmy posthumously, after passing at age 84 in 1968. Finally, Norma Varden also makes a strong appearance as a gregarious society lady who has an eventful encounter with Bruno in yet another vivid scene. 

Released in June of 1951, Strangers on a Train gained Hitchcock his best reviews in years, while also drawing in plenty of patrons eager to see one of the Master of Suspense’s most engrossing thrillers, amassing close to three million in worldwide rentals during its initial release. Hitchcock would maintain this top-level of craftsmanship with nearly every endeavor for the next decade, including other all-time classics such as Rear Window, Vertigo, North by Northwest and Psycho. Strangers would receive notice during the awards season, winning Hitchcock a Quarterly award from the Director’s Guild, placing among the National Board of Review’s Top Ten films of the year and granting Burks an Oscar nomination for his outstanding lensing of the film. The lasting appeal of Strangers, with revival and television showings and physical media releases exposing the top-quality production to new generations of fans, has led to the film placing at #32 in 2001 on the AFI’s 100 Years. . . 100 Thrills list, then inclusion on the National Film Registry’s prestigious 2021 preservation list. Viewers wanting to catch one of the cinema’s most stimulating mixtures of crafty comedy and tension-packed exploits need only familiarize themselves with the rich intrigue found via an encounter with Hitchcock’s transfixing Strangers. 

A Tip-Top Cast Goes Topsy-Turvy with Elan in The Poseidon Adventure

                The outset of the 1970s ushered in the era of the All-Star Disaster Epic, starting with the smash (in box-office terms, at least) release of Airport in 1970 and roughly ending with the aptly named When Time Ran Out in 1980, the same year Airplane! wreaked havoc on the now-passe genre to hilarious effect. These often-exciting, sometimes woebegone excursions hit the heights of the classy The Towering Inferno while suffering lows caused by avalanches, hurricanes, bad scripts and their ilk. Perhaps the most memorable and beloved of these flights (or cruises) of fancy came with the release of producer Irwin Allen’s (a.k.a. as the King of Disaster Films) watershed The Poseidon Adventure. Set on the title vessel during a New Year’s Eve at sea, the film details the plight of several key passengers trying to escape death after the SS Poseidon encounters a tidal wave to ring in the new year, and ungracefully goes belly up. Veteran British director Ronald Neame proved an ideal choice to bring the adept screenplay (by Stirling Silliphant and Wendell Mayes, from the Paul Gallico novel) to life with admirable flourish and a tongue-in-cheek sensibility, while keeping the pace just right, offering an epic experience in just under two hours, aided by a star-stacked cast who all get into the spirit of things with aplomb and tenacity, given the tricky situations and environs they encounter throughout the movie, overcoming them with varying degrees of success.

                For Gene Hackman, Poseidon would help cement his status as one of the principle male stars of his era, after breaking through with Oscar-nominated work in one of the signature films of the decade, 1967’s Bonnie and Clyde, then starting the 1970s off in fine style with another Supporting Actor nod for I Never Sang for My Father before gaining leading man status and a Best Actor Oscar for his tough, intense work as Popeye Doyle in The French Connection. For Poseidon, Hackman would carry the energy and commanding presence he so usefully employed in Connection as the Reverend Frank Scott, the self-appointed leader of the group trying to find which way is up to reach the freedom “The Morning After” can provide, as the film’s beautiful theme song has already made clear exists. Hackman does a terrific job showing the Reverend’s egocentric, controversial nature, while also convincing the audience he’s the right man to move the survivors onwards and upwards, via Hackman passionately conveying Scott’s strength and intense desperation in trying to save his colleagues from certain death. After Poseidon Hackman would score acclaim for another key film of the decade, 1974’s The Conversation, while also keeping a high profile in big hits such as Superman and a hilarious cameo in Young Frankenstein, then remain a force onscreen with 1988’s Mississippi Burning and another Oscar for vivid work as a sadist in The Unforgiven, while carefully balancing strong dramatic work with lighter fare such as Get Shorty and The Birdcage, before eventually retiring via 2004’s Welcome to Mooseport.

                As the reverend’s chief ally and adversary, depending on situation, Ernest Borgnine is properly bombastic as Mike Rogo, a detective on the cruise with his lovely but equally tough wife Linda, who has “a past,” as they say. As Linda, Stella Stevens plays her scenes opposite Borgnine with gusto and comic flair, and together they also manage to convey the deep love that exists behind their constant bickering. Borgnine’s overt, machismo-infested playing convincingly matches Hackman’s force as they go mano a mano in many scenes, with both adding an entertaining element of ham into their verbal battles. Stevens also adds a nice touch to these front-and-center confrontations, showing Linda has the street smarts to jump right into any fight to help resolve the situation and get Mike to aid the reverend before time runs out, while she also aids other passengers in moving forward as they rise to the bottom.

Shelley Winters is generally considered the stand-out of the cast, with good reason. As Belle Rosen, a hefty grandmother traveling with her husband Manny (Jack Alberson, at his earnest best) to see her family, she brings great heart, humor and, ultimately, heroics to the proceedings. An awesome character arc leads to possibly the greatest scene in any disaster film, wherein the here-to-fore seemingly helpless Belle lively implores Reverend Scott to let her step in at a precarious obstacle in the group’s venture to lead the way past the waterlogged obstruction. With conviction and the patented panache that helped her win two Oscars while creating many other memorable comic and dramatic portrayals, Winters sells the scene beautifully, resulting in one of the most famous and entertaining sequences in 70’s cinema. Post her Poseidon peak, Winters would continue to thrive as a star character actor, scoring particularly strong as another outspoken, caring mother in 1976’s Next Stop, Greenwich Village.

Others in the stalwart cast making strong impressions include Roddy McDowell, as the likeable steward who helps the group in climbing up to the next level via a useful Christmas tree, Pamela Sue Martin as Susan Shelby, the young girl who develops a crush on the reverend and also owns the perfect wardrobe to wear when major calamity ensues, and Eric Shea as her bratty but knowledgeable little brother Robin, who appears to know as much about the ship as Captain Harrison, played by Leslie Nielson with the stoic reserve that would serve as a perfect fit for his later 180 career switch into comedy, starting with 1980’s Airplane! Red Buttons and Carol Lynley are also along for the ride, suggesting a May-December romantic angle, and Arthur O’Connell appears briefly as Chaplain John, who is at odds with Reverend Scott concerning his approach to religion.

The Poseidon Adventure made a splash as huge as the one onscreen upon its release in December of 1972, quickly became one of filmdom’s biggest blockbusters with U.S.  and Canadian rentals (according to Variety) of $42,000,000, placing it behind The Godfather as the year’s top hit. Although accolades were generally lukewarm amid the vast public support for the movie, Winters was rewarded with a Golden Globe win and Oscar nomination for her florid and moving work, while Hackman’s imposing performance was mentioned alongside his Connection role in his British Academy Award Best Actor win. Among eight Oscar nominations for the film, richly warranted Academy Awards went to Al Kasha and Joel Hirschhorn for the enduring “The Morning After,” and a special achievement Oscar for Best Visual Effects was granted to L.B. Abbott and A.D. Flowers for their awesome work in illustrating the havoc wreaked onscreen in such convincing fashion, helping to capture the imagination of fans thirsty to experience an onscreen Adventure like no other. Although a sequel and Poseidon remakes may have upped the ante regarding what could be achieved in dynamically presenting catastrophic events, with its singular cast, ace direction and top production values, the original screen rendering of Gallico’s compelling story remains the one to beat, becoming a New Year’s Eve (or New Year’s) viewing staple as it continues to thrill new audiences, while maintaining a sturdy fanbase of those who fondly recall the film and never tire of taking another enthralling trip on the Poseidon.

Note: I admit to bias regarding my unconditional love for The Poseidon Adventure: first viewing the film at a drive-in around the time of release, the film captured my six-year-old imagination like few other cinematic endeavors of the period, assisting in quickly building my passion for movies at a tender age. Time has never tarnished the wonders involved in experiencing yet another viewing of the film and becoming enraptured by the fantastic events depicted therein as much as ever, regardless of developing a more critical, cynical eye over the years.