Rod Taylor Warps to the Past and Future via The Time Machine

 

              Bringing sci-fi movies into the 1960s with verve and distinction, MGM’s class 1960 production of The Time Machine faithfully transfers the imaginative 1895 H.G. Wells novella to the screen with a vivid sense of time and place, whether it be 1900 when the story begins, or any other period the inventive hero H. George Wells traverses to during the film’s exciting 103 minutes. Directed and produced with the care and creativity that made him a master of the genre, George Pal adapts the smart, involving screenplay by David Duncan with a skill and precision that allows a viewer to suspend disbelief and be completely drawn into the fantastic premise, while showcasing the wonderful special effects, including a terrific model of the title vessel designed by Bill Ferrari and built by Wah Chang, with atmospheric panache. Top lensing by cinematographer Paul C. Vogel, ace editing by George Tomasini and a riveting score by Russell Garcia further enhance the film’s quality, along with a first-rate cast featuring the virile, handsome Rod Taylor, Alan Young, Sebastian Cabot and the awesomely named newcomer Yvette Mimieux, whom under Pal’s supervision bring more conviction and charisma than normally found in movies of a similarly surrealistic ilk.

                Pal, after assuring his place in sci-fi history as producer of early top cinematic efforts, including 1950’s Destination Moon, When Worlds Collide and War of the Worlds, moved into a role as director/producer starting with 1958’s fanciful Tom Thumb before helming the project perfectly suited to talents Pal had been honing since his initial days in the 1930s and 1940s as the creative force behind his patented Puppetoons (aka Pal-Doll) animation technique, for which Pal won a special Oscar in 1944. In detailing the series of incredible misadventures George finds himself in as he moves back and ahead in time, Pal appears to relish the opportunity to put startling Wells-inspired imagery on film, specifically once the intrepid inventor goes for broke and moves far ahead into the future, to find a civilization unlike any other seen before in movies, with Pal picturesquely depicting an idyllic environ wherein the simple Eloi race, a kind of forerunner to the flower children movement and “Summer of Love” found later in the 1960s, coexist in harmony,  save for the underground Morlocks, who rise at night to wreak havoc on the Eloi people. After his resounding accomplishment with Time, Pal would continue in the Sci-fi/fantasy realm with 1961’s Atlantis, the Lost Continent, experimenting with the massive Cinerama filming technique for 1962’s The Wonderful World of the Brothers Grimm, then do his final film as producer/director, 7 Faces of Dr. Lao. In the ultimate tribute, Pal found himself being immortalized (along with When Worlds Collide) in the opening of 1975’s The Rocky Horror Picture Show before his 1980 passing.

                For star Rod Taylor, Time would mark the Australian’s entry into leading man roles, after debuting on screen in his native land in 1954’s King of the Coral Sea, then establishing himself in Hollywood as a young actor of considerable merit via such significant productions as Giant, particularly appealing as Debbie Reynold’s fiancé in The Catered Affair, Raintree County and Separate Tables, as well as his first excursion into the sci-fi realm, 1956’s World Without End. As George, Taylor lends conviction and a low-key affable touch to the film, allowing an audience to quickly get on the adventurer’s side and willingly go along for the wild ride with George as he unorthodoxly plunges through time. Taylor does a great job of bringing focus and purpose to his playing, while also maintaining a genial tone at times to prevent the character from becoming too heavy or stiff, making George one of the most relatable heroes found in sci-fi films. Post-Time, Taylor made a major career mis-step by turning down the role of James Bond he could have been a great fit for, but quickly rebounded by bringing humor and magnetism to possibly his most widely-known role as the hero fighting off the pesky title figures in Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds. The handsome, adept Taylor would become a fixture as a robust, reliable star presence for the rest of his career, specifically during the 1960s, wherein he found success in such various projects as the voice of Pongo in Disney’s One Hundred and One Dalmatians, having a great 1963 with, in addition to The Birds, playing opposite Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton in 1963’s The V.I.P.s and an extremely attractive pairing with Jane Fonda in the underrated romantic comedy Sunday in New York, then giving perhaps his most effective performance as the complex title character in 1965’s Young Cassidy, and again lending his sly, calm, confident comic gifts as Doris Day’s romantic leading man in Do Not Disturb and The Glass-Bottom Boat. After this richly rewarding 1960’s heyday onscreen, Taylor would alternate between films and television in often less-substantial work, but end his career on a terrific high note, playing Winston Churchill with elan and a twinkle in his eye in Quentin Tarantino’s exciting 2009 action-adventure Inglourious Basterds, before his death in 2015 at age 84.

                The lovely Yvette Mimieux gained her place among Hollywood’s top ingenues with her touching work as the childlike Weena, whom George meets after the title figure takes him to the year 802,701. Although inexperienced as a performer prior to her big breakthrough in Time, Mimieux possesses a perfect faraway, otherworldly screen presence and an intuitive, subtle acting style well-suited for the camera’s knowing gaze, allowing one to identify with Weena as a believable naïve figure, and feel protective towards her and George as they face underworld adversaries in the grotesque form of the Morlock race. Following her success in Time, Mimieux would solidify her place as a top young talent of depth and sensitivity with her emotionally compelling work in another 1960 hit, Where the Boys Are, then in 1962’s A Light in the Piazza, wherein she is endearingly teamed with George Hamilton, at his most charming, and sporting a fine Italian accent. Mimieux would continue as a leading lady in films and television for the next few decades, including reteaming with Pal for Brothers Grimm and with Charlton Heston in the hit melodrama Diamond Head, followed by 1970’s offerings such as Skyjacked, Jackson Country Jail and her last high-profile movie project in (fittingly) another opulent sci-fi opus, Disney’s 1979 The Black Hole, then focused on television (The Love Boat, Perry Mason) before early retirement from the screen in 1992, passing at age 80 in 2022.

                Alan Young, in between his great success on television via his Emmy-winning self-titled show from the early 1950s and the iconic Mr. Ed to follow just after Time, has possibly his best film role as David Filby, the supportive friend who is intrigued and befuddled by George’s fascination and experiments with time travel. Young gives depth, warmth and, when appropriate, a jovial air to his portrayal, while also sporting a convincing accent, and also expands his range by playing David’s son James, whom George meets twice during his journeys. Based on his work in Time, Young demonstrates acting chops worthy of a much richer film career, but Mr. Ed and ongoing television fame awaited instead. Another top t.v. name from the 1960s, Sebastian Cabot, makes a nice impression as one of George’s colleagues who is shown an example of what the invention can do in miniature form at the movie’s outset, before going on to major renown as the urbane Giles French on Family Affair. Others bringing persuasion to the story include Tom Helmore, a couple years after his duplicitous work in Vertigo, Doris Lloyd as George’s housekeeper, Mrs. Watchett and the inescapable presence of Whit Bissell, who seemingly appeared in every other movie during the period, and here shows up as part of the group George entertains with his new innovation.

Released in August of 1960, The Time Machine proved itself to be the perfect late-summertime diversion for audiences, including a wealth of baby boomers who would be the first to embrace the film as a childhood favorite, gaining subsequent generations of fans young and old from television airings and cinematic re-releases, with Time becoming a standard feature on the kiddie matinee circuit, wherein the thrilling tale and those creepy Morlocks kept adolescents in rap attention, including this author on several occasions. During awards season the Academy Awards came through, with Time winning the Best Special Effects award for Gene Warren and Tim Baar, thereby granting the movie warranted distinction as an Oscar-winning film. The lasting reputation of Time as a chief sci-fi classic has assured the movie a place in pop culture, with the imposing title creation cleverly turning up in 1984’s Gremlins and the story retold via a 2002 remake starring Guy Pearce (with a cameo by Young) that failed to capture the of the original. However, those looking for a transfixing, visionary sci-fi experience need only travel back to 1960 to discover the dazzling escapades awaiting them as they hop onboard George Pal’s singular production of The Time Machine.

William Holden and Gloria Swanson Go Wilder in Sunset Boulevard

 

In the annals of cinema, few films have as far-reaching and lasting impact as 1950’s Sunset Boulevard, Paramount Pictures’ one-of-a-kind, fascinating take on the darker aspects behind Hollywood’s tinsel and stardust. Director Billy Wilder, co-scripting a truly original tale with longtime co-writer Charles Brackett and D.M. Marshman, Jr., masterfully helms the bizarre, seriocomic tale of Norma Desmond, a former silent screen star still reveling in her glory years from decades past, who takes up with Joe Gillis, an opportunistic young screenwriter desperate to finds his footing in the movie business, mining every bit of dark comedy from the scenario without losing sight of the bleak drama at the film’s center. Moody, noirish-laced cinematography by John F. Seitz, a tense, atmospheric score by Franz Waxman and a quartet of stars, both old and new, giving career-defining performances help Wilder in bringing the eerie, insightful and remarkable story to the screen with unforgettable vividness and conviction.

Wilder had quickly risen up the Hollywood ladder after teaming with Brackett for a series of quality scripts, including Midnight, Ninotchka and Hold Back the Dawn, before finding success as a director/writer with 1942’s The Major and the Minor, starting his lengthy tenure as one of Paramount’s prime auteurs. By 1950, Wilder had witnessed a period of overwhelming popularity with audiences and critics, specifically with the one-two punch of one of the great noirs, Double Indemnity, followed by 1945’s The Lost Weekend, which brought Wilder his first two Oscars. Although both of these classics rate among Wilder’s peak films, with Sunset he managed to blend moments of comedy with some much grimmer themes, thanks to some of the wittiest dialogue ever committed to film, and the colorful nature of Norma Desmond’s outsized persona. With fearless creativity, Wilder illustrates the unsavory nature of the ill-fated relationship at the center of the film without softening the material to aid in making the characters more likable and sympathetic to viewers. Risking alienating audiences, Wilder managed to offer them an engrossing portrait of the seedy underside of the glamourous facade usually used to represent Hollywood, in the process forever changing how Tinseltown and the stars therein would be perceived on screen and off, as filmmakers strove to include a greater degree of realism in their work.

Gloria Swanson, once a star of the Norma Desmond caliber during her reign as a 1920’s screen siren, clearly understood her assignment and, working at a fervor pitch, instills a manic intensity into her work. Absent from the screen since 1941’s Father Takes a Wife, maintaining a successful career in radio during the rest of the decade, Swanson throws herself into one of the juiciest roles ever with passionate resolve, emoting throughout with a florid, sometimes literally eye-popping theatricality worthy of the diva for the ages Norma clearly is (although it’s wonderful Swanson is also given a great lighter Sunset moment, doing her ace impersonation of Charlie Chaplin, complete with cane and bowler hat). There’s little subtility to be found in her expansive playing, partially due to the larger-than-life aspects of the role, but Swanson’s intense style allows her to put a unique stamp on the dazzling anti-heroine with memorable aplomb, while selling each now-classic Norma line (including, ironically, “We didn’t need dialogue, we had faces”) to maximum effect, in the process creating one of the most iconic characters ever put on film. Sunset would gain Swanson possibly the greatest comeback storyline in Hollywood history circa 1950, then grant her lasting fame for her ever-transfixing work in the movie, long after most of her silent screen contemporaries were fated to disappear from the public eye.

William Holden was at a career crossroads when he stepped in to replace a skittish Montgomery Clift to score possibly his most enduring role. Holden rated as one of the most sensitive and skillful young leading men with his fine debut in 1939’s Golden Boy, followed immediately by a truly incisive, expert portrayal of George in Our Town, yet by the late-1940s his stock was falling, after failing to make a breakthrough in more substantial roles outside of the light comedy realm, however stable his work in fare such as Dear Ruth or Apartment for Peggy might be. It’s difficult to imagine anyone else bringing off the tricky combination of cynicism and charm Holden adroitly invests in his jaded-yet-captivating take on Joe, believability maintaining a level of truth and focus in his singular depiction, whether Joe is allowing himself to be drawn deeper into Norma’s desire to control him or later is confronting her and her chimera notions with straightforward, forceful conviction. Sunset would mark a new phase in films for Holden, elevating him to the forefront of stars, a position he would hold through the rest of his career, specifically during the 1950s, wherein he would gain an Oscar for his equally entertaining follow-up with Wilder, Stalag 17, then go on to star in a steady stream of box-office winners, culminating in one of the decade’s biggest hits (both financially and critically), 1957’s The Bridge on the River Kwai.

 With polish and his patented imposing presence, Erich von Stroheim regally enacts the role of Max, Norma’s former director and current chauffer and assistant who devoutly stands by and protects Norma and her delusions of grandeur. Von Stroheim, one of the most influential figures behind and in front of the camera during the silent era, is uniquely qualified to play the role after teaming with Swanson in the late 1920s for the opulent but unfinished Queen Kelly, which did much to destroy von Storheim’s status as an innovative, masterful director. Von Stroheim would continue on as an actor in films of various quality, with Sunset also providing him with a cinematic comeback and his final involvement in an important studio-backed film. With calm assurance and a mystifying severity, von Stroheim adds layers to Max that make a viewer wonder about his background, how he came to his present role as a seemingly underling in Norma’s world, and to what extent he factors into her life as an ominous or supportive figure.

Nancy Olson, possessing just the right amount of fresh-faced ingenuity and mature resolve in her second film, manages to hold her own with her powerhouse costars, specifically establishing a potent chemistry with Holden that would aid in their costarring three more times post-Sunset. As Betty Schafer, the young script reader who has screenwriting ambitions of her own and forges a partnership and romance with Joe, Olson enacts the role with an honest simplicity that makes her every expression ring true, while matching Holden’s touching sincerity and naturalism as the bond between Joe and Betty grows stronger. Following her Sunset rise, Olson would continue in films up to 1955’s smash hit Battle Cry, before alternating between life as a wife and mother, returning to the screen for roles in Disney offerings such as Pollyanna, The Absent-Minded Professor and Snowball Express.

In other roles, Jack Webb is good-natured as Artie Green, Joe’s loyal friend, a few years before Webb’s most famous role in a much more stoic mode as Sgt. Joe Friday on television’s Dragnet, while Fred Clark, in the midst of becoming one of Hollywood’s busiest character actors, puts in a good showing appears as Sheldrake, the blithe producer who goes toe-to-toe with Gillis early in the film. Cecil B. DeMille perfectly portrays Cecil B. DeMille with a low-keyed persuasiveness that plays importantly in one of the most moving passages in the film, wherein “C.B.” and his former star Norma (DeMille also guided Swanson to stardom in a nice off-screen parallel) are reunited at Paramount, before he reappears to have one of filmdom’s most famous exit lines ever directed at him just before Sunset’s final fade out. Also playing themselves, Hollywood columnists Hedda Hopper and Sidney Skolsky represent other members at the top of the Hollywood heap circa 1950, while as “the Waxworks” a trio of Norma’s bridge-playing buddies, former silent stars Anna Q. Nilsson, H.B. Warner and the legendary Buster Keaton are briefly on hand. The famous songwriting duo of Ray Evans and Jay Livingston can be spotted in the party sequence at Artie’s, along with Yvette Vickers, at the outset of her career as the giddy girl on the phone, before becoming a beloved B movie queen later in the decade.

Unlike some other off-beat movies that failed upon initial release but went on to become all-time classics, both the public and critics knew immediately what a quality picture they had on their hands with Sunset. After a successful premiere at the Radio City Music Hall in August of 1950 the movie did well, especially in metropolis areas, with patrons drawn by Swanson’s comeback and buzz concerning the unique nature of the film. After receiving mostly raves from reviewers, Sunset did exceptionally well during awards season, vying with All About Eve for top honors. At the National Board of Review, the film won Best Picture and Best Actress for Swanson, a feat replicated at the Golden Globes, where Wilder also won Best Director. Wilder also won a Quarterly award from the Director’s Guild and (with Brackett and Marshman) a Best Written Drama prize from the Screen Writers’ Guild, while the film placed in the top ten on both Time magazine and The New York Times lists.

At the Academy Awards, Sunset established itself as a major contender with eleven nominations, including Best Picture, Director, and nods for all four of its principal players, eventually winning three Oscars, for Best Story and Screenplay, Black-and-White Art Direction and for Waxman’s memorably stark score. Over time, the movie has ranked impressively on many polls and lists, including placing among the first entries on 1989 National Film Registry’s preservation list, high rankings (at #12 and #16) on the AFI’s 1998 and 2007 lists of the 100 greatest American films and the Writer’s Guild naming the script the seventh-best ever. The film influenced a multitude of films featuring past-their-prime divas and led to an Andrew Lloyd Webber 1993 musical that conquered London, then Broadway. However, those wanting to catch possibly Hollywood’s greatest and most audacious account of itself need look no further than 1950’s original take on the legendary fading superstar Norma Desmond, who ironically and iconically has only risen in stature with the passing decades, so strongly does the explementary work of Wilder and a supreme cast and crew resonant with filmgoers who never tire of venturing once again to tragic-tinged charms of Sunset Boulevard.

And a fond farewell to Gene Hackman, who sadly passed away at 95. Rising to fame with Oscar-nominated work in 1967’s Bonnie and Clyde after a movie debut via 1961’s Mad Dog Coll, Hackman became a leading force in films until his retirement in the early 2000s, serving as an everyman with an edge in a variety of heroic and anti-heroic parts. Hackman deftly added intensity and humor to his iconic work, such as Oscar-winning roles in The French Connection and, in a much more sinister vein, The Unforgiven, while also carefully underplaying (The Conversation, Mississippi Burning) or overplaying (The Poseidon Adventure, Superman) his juicy characters depending on the needs of the film. The versatile star also delighted in comedies on occasion, including Get Shorty, The Birdcage, a late-career Golden Globe for The Royal Tenenbaums and, in one of the most unforgettable unbilled star cameos ever, his hilarious turn as a lonely blind man who encounters the Monster in Young Frankenstein. RIP to one of the foremost imposing and creative actors of his generation, Gene Hackman.

Paramount's Zany Airplane! Zestfully Brings Unbridled Laughter to the Screen

 

                Experimenting with shooting a film’s chortle quotient through the stratosphere in an unabashed manner seldom seen in cinema, 1980’s Airplane! from Paramount spoofs the previously little-known Paramount skyward potboiler Zero Hour from 1957, with the goal to get more chuckles-per-minute than in any other movie, an aim it largely succeeds in obtaining, given a Marx Brothers or Preston Sturges effort or two. Created by the inspired, mischievous Zucker brothers (David and Jerry) in collaboration with the equally adept and bemused Jim Abrahams, the team hit on the novel idea of casting stoic, handsome, well-established dramatic leading men not known for their comedy chops in wacky roles seemingly far out of their range, with the surprise payoff being each one of these pros providing plenty of strait-laced ham to gain huge guffaws. With attractive leads Robert Hays and Julie Hagerty also throwing themselves into the shenanigans with verve as traumatized former war fighter pilot Ted Striker and his beloved flight attendant, Elaine, and several other key cameos rating memorable yucks, from takeoff to chaotic landing Airplane! ranks among the most high-spirited and quotable comedies ever made.

                Abrahams and the Zuckers, from a Madison, Wisconsin homebase, would hone their craft creating comedy sketches, which led to their first screen endeavor via 1977’s satirical cult offering The Kentucky Fried Movie, directed by John Landis and featuring some of the trio’s prime comic skits and an eclectic cast, including Donald Sutherland, Bill Bixby, Tony Dow, George Lazenby and Abrahams and the Zuckers themselves in a variety of small roles. After the surprise success of Kentucky, the trio was ripe to bring their ingenuity to a large-scale production, and with a random viewing of Zero found an unlikely but ideal blueprint for some of the wildest gags and wordplay yet committed to film. Watching the original 1957 programmer, one struggles to find comic inspiration in the largely mundane goings-on, making it all the more impressive how Abrahams and the Zuckers were able to mine comedy gold reworking standard scenes such as an offer of a cup of coffee, or handling a near-hysteric passenger. Airport 1975 also provided key material for the team, specifically in regard to the transport of a sick child, an earnest nun, and a serenade to the said youngster that becomes havoc-ridden and uproarious in its altered state. Following the huge impact of Airplane!, the ace team would go on to continued success, both together and in solo enterprises, such as the team gaining further hits with Top Secret! and Ruthless People, Jerry helming the 1990’s blockbuster, Ghost, David’s work on both The Naked Gun and the Scary Movie franchises, and Jim scoring with the Hot Shots! comedies.

                Robert Hays and Julie Hagerty, both making film debuts after Hays previously had his first impact on television in Angie, prove themselves the perfect fit for the high-flying craziness surrounding them, performing in a deft, tongue-in-cheek manner that makes their comic bits, both together and solo, all the more effective due to the ultra-serious approach they skillfully maintain throughout. Hays’ good-natured, easy-going persona and Hagerty’s earnest, fragile, whispery delivery style are beautifully matched, leading to possibly their most engaging and riotous sequence, a take-off of Saturday Night Fever set in a seedy bar, wherein they showcase some gravity-defying moves on the dance floor that would give John Travolta pause. Post their memorable teamwork in Airplane!, Hays would move on to become a leading man throughout the 1980’s, often in comedies such as a reunion with Hagerty in Airplane II, Take This Job and Shove it and Trenchcoat, while Hagerty also shined in lighter fare, with standout work opposite Albert Brooks in Lost in America, as well as stealing the show in Woody Allen’s A Midsummer Night’s Sex Comedy, and making her unusual comic presence and superb timing felt in What About Bob? and, more recently, in the acclaimed Marriage Story.

                Offering staunch support to the young stars are a quartet of venerable leading men of screens big and small, who all seem to relish the chance to cast off their typically heroic personas and show plenty of funny bones. Leading the way is Leslie Nielsen as Dr. Rumack; Nielsen’s ultra-somber approach to his lines, as if he’s playing Hamlet, make his every retort rate a chuckle, at least, and some of the biggest laughs in the movie at best, such as his assurance to passengers everything is just fine, or his initial moment wherein he confirms that, yes, he is a doctor. Nielsen was known to be a prankster off-screen, and with his role in Airplane! he finds the perfect outlet (essentially his Hamlet) to translate his joie de vivre to film, after initially finding success in more standard 1950’s roles in Forbidden Plant and Tammy and the Bachelor. Robert Stack, returning to the skies after 1954’s The High and the Mighty, followed by major television success as Eliot Ness in The Untouchables, also does terrific tongue-in-cheek work as Captain Rex Kramer, a former war associate of Ted who tries to assist his younger colleague in avoiding disaster for the title vessel, while Peter Graves finds himself as far afield from Mission: Impossible as possible as Captain Clarence Oveur, who carries some un-PC persuasions onboard, along with his helming duties. Finally, Lloyd Bridges, switching from below-deck Sea Hunt adventures that brought him fame to focusing his attentions skyward as control tower supervisor Steve McCroskey, puts over much of the ground-level hijinks with flair, throwing himself into the progressively maniac circumstances with inspiring hamminess.

                Others making distinct impressions while grabbing their share of laughs include Stephen Stucker as Johnny, the colorful, mischievous air traffic controller; Karem Abdul-Jabbar, insisting he is not himself as copilot “Roger Murdock”; Lorna Patterson as Randy, the sweet, musical flight attendant concerned about the lack of marriage at 26; Maureen McGovern as the nun intrigued by a copy of Boy’s Life, as well as other familiar faces, such as Joyce Bulifant, Jill Whelan (just before her breakthrough role on The Love Boat), Jimmy Walker, Kenneth Tobey, James Hong, David Leisure, with newcomer “Otto,” the automatic copilot, showing up to save the day and garner some big laughs in the process. However, the most indelible work from the secondary players may come from Ethel Merman, cast in her final film in an unexpected turn that allows her to put over one of the best gags using her vocal brio in its full undiminished glory, and the also-imaginatively cast Barbara Billingsley, who brilliantly trades in on her fame as one of television’s ideal mothers, the proper June Cleaver, by going ghetto and earning street cred as a jive-talking grandma who knows exactly how to lay it down with the homies in one of the movie’s most classic moments. Nearly every other performer gains a laugh or three, from an indignant old lady who refuses a drink in favor of hard drugs, to the hysterical female passenger and young coffee drinkers lifted, then revised directly from Zero Hour, indicating the remarkable consistency the Zuckers and Abrahams were able to maintain in their dynamic, humor-ladened script.

                Released in early July 1980, Airplane! proved to provide the perfect light touch for summertime audiences yearning for escapism, after a launch on The Merv Griffith Show wherein the amiable host correctly stated the film would be one of the year’s blockbusters (ranking 4^th for the year in rentals, according to Variety), while also gaining some positive reviews along with some from critics who weren’t quite sure how to take this new go-for-broke approach to film comedy. The movie would lead to a less-successful sequel, but also start a genre of similarly- themed comedies, often helmed by some combination of the Zuckers and/or Abrahams, featuring “out-there” humor, including Top Secret!, Hot Shots!, and The Naked Gun series starring Leslie Nielsen, who found his career revitalized with his new role as one of cinema’s chief funnymen. The appeal of Airplane! has proven lasting through several subsequent generations, with “Don’t call me Shirley” becoming part of pop culture’s lexicon and placing on the AFI’s 2005 list of top movie quotes (at #79), while the film ranked a lofty #10 on the AFI’s 2000 list of top comedies and made the National Film Registry’s 2010 list. The author once briefly spoke to David Zucker after a screening of Airplane! and queried him regarding if he knew the film would be such a hit. Zucker simply stated “Yes,” indicating he and his gifted cohorts had exactly the right degree of confidence and wit to bring off the risky undertaking with their unique off-kilter brand of comic sensibility, granting Airplane! a style and verve that allows the movie to remain fresh and hilarious for a wealth of viewers, both old and new.

Tony Curtis Brazenly Seeks Success in a Chief 1950’s Classic

 

One of the most forceful dramas of its era, 1957’s Sweet Smell of Success offers an unrelenting view into the world of big city journalism and the ruthless methods used to gain information therein.  Director Alexander Mackendrick’s incisive helming of the trenchant Cliford Odets/Ernest Lehman screenplay (based on the novelette by Lehman) vividly details the underhanded tactics employed by Sidney Falco, a young NYC press agent willing to hustle his way to the top of the media heap by any means necessary, including his frequent interactions with the city’s biggest columnist, J.J. Hunsecker. A top cast enacts the generally harsh characters with admirable verve and honesty, in a period wherein most screen actors attempted to soften the edges of unsympathetic roles to at least keep those sharp heels in anti-hero territory. James Wong Howe’s beautiful, evocative on location black and white cinematography, which perfectly captures the NYC Broadway district circa 1957, including scenes shot at such renown environs as the 21 Club, Elmer Bernstein’s jazz-oriented score and onscreen numbers performed by the Chico Hamilton Quintet also help set an atmospheric mood highlighting the seedy late-night/early morning goings-on, allowing a much more believable and penetrating mise en scène than normally found in 1950’s films.

                The Boston-born Mackendrick, who was raised in Scotland, first made his name at Britain’s Ealing Studios, wherein he directed some of the unit’s most renown comedies, Whiskey Galore!, The Man in the White Suit and The Ladykillers, before leaving for Hollywood in 1955 once Ealing witnessed a change in ownership. Seeking a new start, Mackendrick managed to pull off a complete reversal from his lighter Ealing fare with his skillful, inventive handling of Sweet’s dark material. Mackendrick sets a swift pace for the film, while showcasing the performers and locales with precision and vitality, adding a noirish flavor to the proceedings while capturing the bustle involved in NYC’s nightlife possibly better than in any other 1950’s film. Although Mackendrick’s filmography is limited, his work with Ealing and the expertise he exhibited in crafting Sweet ensure his place among the most relevant directors of his era.

As Sidney, Tony Curtis anchors the film in enthralling fashion. First gaining notice as Yvonne DeCarlo’s equally alluring dancing partner in 1948’s prime noir, Criss Cross, Curtis rose to matinee idol status at Universal via entertaining escapist fare such as The Prince Who was a Thief before rising further costarring with wife Janet Leigh in 1953’s Houdini, then opposite Lancaster and Gina Lollobrigida in the exciting, atmospheric big top drama Trapeze. Reaching a career peak, Curtis surprisingly opted to play one of the era’s most unsympathetic, opportunistic cads, imbuing the nervous, oily Sidney with an egocentric, underhanded zest sure to alienate fans, while simultaneously aiding in forming one of the most vividly unscrupulous characters seen in an American film. Curtis stays focused on and true to Falco’s every self-serving deceitful action, while also allowing twinges of guilt to show as Sidney is faced with doing some nefarious tasks even his shady ethics are wary of following through on, when considering the risks and rewards involved. Gaining new confidence as an actor of substance, after Success Curtis would enter a golden cinematic period for several years, with The Vikings, his sole Oscar nomination for The Defiant Ones, doing a killer Cary Grant take-off in Some Like it Hot, starring opposite Grant in Operation Petticoat and Spartacus among his critical and commercial hits. Now established as a top star, the 1960s would see Curtis alternating comic fare (The Great Race) with starker material (The Boston Strangler) before moving into character roles and a second career as a painter of note, with his work as the ambitious “cookie full of arsenic” Sidney Falco looming ever-larger in his filmography, as the role and Success grew in stature with each passing decade.

Burt Lancaster provides a sublime study in contrast to Curtis’ hypertense work with his unnerving portrayal of J. J. Hunsecker, the still, stoic, eminent columnist cold enough to make an iceberg shiver. Hunsecker wields power with subtle force, which Lancaster impactfully illustrates by employing a quiet, calm delivery style to show how carefully J.J. considers each interaction to ensure he remains in control of every situation. It’s intriguing to watch Lancaster, whose instinctual gifts for more florid emoting were used to colorful advantage in such entertaining fare as The Crimson Pirate, The Rainmaker and his Oscar role as Elmer Gantry, internalize his emotions as J.J., while still possessing the overwhelming screen presence that allows viewers to be conscious of the seething inner passions driving Hunsecker’s actions and relationships. Throughout his career Lancaster would alter this intelligent, measured approached to roles, utilized in his star making debut in The Killers and including Oscar-nominated roles in From Here to Eternity, The Birdman of Alcatraz and Atlantic City, with his more vividly enacted characterizations. However, as one of Hollywood’s biggest leading men, he rarely was afforded the chance to infuse a role with flat-out villainous intent using his mature, controlled playing style, allowing J.J. Hunsecker a unique place among Lancaster’s imposing list of rich, satisfying performances.

In her film debut, Susan Harrison has an intriguing plaintive quality and utilizes a tranquil speaking style to fine effect as Susan, the melancholic young sister to whom Hunsecker holds an obsession. Marty Milner is on view as the object of her affections, a player in the Hamilton Quintet. Jeff Donnell is engaging as Falco’s loyal, smitten Girl Friday and David White, several years before becoming a television staple as Larry Tate on Bewitched, has possible his best film role (at least this side of The Apartment) as Otis, a horny, slimy columnist willing to do Sidney a favor in return for a date with Rita, a cigarette/B-girl involved with Falco. As Rita, Barbara Nichols registers perhaps the strongest among the supporting cast in a sly, touching turn. A gem as a knowing, wisecracking blonde in many films of the period, starting with her other stellar output in 1957, Pal Joey and The Pajama Game, Nichols is given a chance to infuse this goodtime gal persona with a more serious tone, and makes the subplot with Rita stand out in potent fashion. Rita opposes getting caught up in Falco’s scheme involving Otis, but considers all the angles involved, and Nichols does a nimble job of making the character’s motives clear to the audience as Rita deals with her predicament. Following her impressive work in Success, Nichols would continue as a character player of note into the next decade, stealing scenes as Lola Fandango, a showgirl mermaid in 1960’s Where the Boys Are, then scoring a highlight among her many television appearances the following year via The Twilight Zone’s memorable “Twenty Two” episode.

Upon release, the film was sadly overlooked by filmgoers and critics, who were turned off by the stark, unrelenting cynicism and unsavory characters on view, especially after recently viewing Lancaster and Curtis in the more commercially viable Trapeze, a major hit the year prior to Success. However, over the subsequent decades the movie has consistently risen in status, and today is considered one of the key films of the 1950s, as well as a highlight for the talent therein, particularly director Mackendrick, who was only involved in three more films before aborting his film career to become a professor, and Curtis, who in the opinion of many does his finest screen work in Success. The honors the film has received since its critical reassessment include placement on both Time and Entertainment Weekly magazines list of the 100 Greatest Films of All Time and inclusion on the National Film Registry’s 1993 list. In a notice sure to make J.J. Hunsecker proud, Success was included on The New York Times list of the 1,000 Best Movies Ever Made, while the chilling man himself placed at #35 on the American Film Institute’s list of top movie villains. Those looking for a classic movie befitting a 2:00 a.m. in the morning viewing will be ideally served by curling up with the dark, tense and absorbing Sweet Smell of Success.

Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman Find Screen Immortality in Casablanca

 

Easily vying for the title of Hollywood’s Favorite Classic Film, Warner Brothers’ preeminent cinematic offering from the 1940’s, Casablanca, transcends the formulaic romantic drama elements typically found in escapist fare of the period and provides the genre’s ultimate viewing experience, with the Hal B. Wallis production featuring an exemplary cast shining in every role, spirited direction by Michael Curtiz, rich, mood-enhancing B&W cinematography by Arthur Edeson and score by Max Steiner, and the ultimate studio screenplay by Julius & Philip Epstein and Howard Koch (based on the unproduced play Everybody Comes to Rick’s by Murray Burnett and Joan Alison) that offers more quintessential lines than found in virtually any other film. Covering a multitude of wartime intrigues found at the title locale, specifically the triangle involving café owner Rick Blaine, who is nonplussed by the sudden arrival of former flame Ilsa Lund and her adventurer husband, Victor Laszlo, Casablanca weaves an uncommonly potent verisimilitude for which to cast a spell over enthralled audiences, and shines as one of the most richly satisfying entertainments ever created for the silver screen.

By the time he helmed Casablanca, Michael Curtiz had enjoyed years as one of Warner Brothers’ top directors, overseeing of series of popular A-list entertainments from various genres, including such superior fare as Captain Blood, The Adventures of Robin Hood, Angels with Dirty Faces and Yankee Doodle Dandy. Curtiz’s experience with top stars and lavish productions put him in good stead with the demands entailed in managing a powerhouse list of players while corralling all of Casablanca’s comic, dramatic and romantic elements into a cohesive whole. Rarely has a film so successfully balanced such thematic shifts in a scenario while maintaining a steady tone, allowing an audience to suspend disbelief as they become completely absorbed in the various complications affecting the fascinating characters coexisting in Casablanca, and credit must go to Curtiz’ sure hand for creating such a perfect ambience on screen, one that allows the film to never grow tiresome despite countless viewings. Curtiz would continue his reign among Hollywood’s elite, most diverse directors for the rest of his career, including guiding Joan Crawford to an Oscar for Mildred Pierce, helming one of Elvis Presley’s best movies and performances, King Creole and overseeing the first Vista Vision production (and 1954’s biggest hit), White Christmas.

Humphrey Bogart, a year after achieving full stardom at Warner Brothers as a new breed of hero/antihero via High Sierra and as the definite Sam Spade in The Maltese Falcon, finds perhaps his most iconic role as the cynical but at heart sensitive and caring Rick, who does stick his neck out for others, even if he would be mortified to admit it. Bogart is a great fit for Rick’s edgy, unsentimental demeanor, while also delivering his often-humorous retorts to the various figures Rick’s comes into contact with at his establishment with a sly, bemused air. Most surprisingly, Bogart cements his status as a capable romantic lead in Casablanca, making the heartbroken Rick warm, appealing and believable as a lover to empathetic audiences, while possessing unconventional looks and an age outside the norm for a matinee idol of the period. Post-Casablanca, Bogart would achieve fame as one of the primary figures in films, gaining a host of classic works in the process, such as The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, his Oscar role in The African Queen, memorable as Captain Queeg in The Caine Mutiny and working in four films opposite Lauren Bacall (aka as Mrs. Bogart) in one of the screen’s most celebrated duos, including her debut in To Have and Have Not and the hard-to-discern but riveting The Big Sleep. Bogart would pass on in 1957, but thanks to his unique charisma and wealth of quality films, find favor with new generations of movie lovers, in the process becoming one of the chief leading male stars of his or any era.

For Ingrid Bergman, Casablanca would mark her entry into the top ranks of 1940’s stars, after being discovered by David O. Selznick for her 1939 Hollywood debut opposite Leslie Howard in Intermezzo (a remake of Bergman’s earlier Swedish success) and thereafter pegged as one of the screen’s freshest, loveliest and most talented newcomers, Bergman was ripe for the major stardom Casablanca would provide her after further honing her craft in Adam Had Four Sons and via stunning emotionally-driven work as Ivy in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. With her delicate, carefully delineated work as Ilsa, Bergman is clearly in tune with the camera, showings a natural affinity for the art of screen acting by revealing Ilsa’s every mood to the viewer with simplicity, honesty and the exact level of dramatic intensity needed for each scene. One of the more remarkable aspects of Bergman’s ultra-beguiling work is the fact that, years later, the star disclosed she asked Curtiz who exactly Ilsa was supposed to be in love with, to which she was told it hadn’t been determined, and to “play it cool,” which she did with great dexterity, allowing Ilsa to come across as devoted to both Rick and with class and conviction, while appearing at her most beautiful in an array of resplendent costumes by Orry-Kelly. She plays beautifully with both her male costars, creating a touching, believable affection for both that has aided the movie in remaining relevant and undated to viewers. Bergman would go on to have one of the most eventful careers and lives of any star, including three Oscars and, with her modern free-spiritedness, a degree of turmoil concerning her public image, which Bergman overcame, utilizing her supreme acting talent to complete a filmography rife with accomplished, arresting performances.

             Austrian Paul Henreid and his continental charm were abundantly evident on screens in late 1942, with his breakthrough role as a heartthrob opposite Bette Davis (and Rains) in the classic Now Voyager preceding his most famous role as Victor Laszlo. Starting in German films in 1933, Henreid would appear in MGM’s Goodbye, Mr. Chips in 1939 before achieving major success with Voyager and Casablanca. As Victor, the handsome Resistance leader, Henreid is properly adoring towards Ilsa, yet comes across as more stoic and passive as a film presence alongside Bergman and Bogart’s animated work. However, Henreid’s cool demeanor finds its perfect showcase in perhaps the film’s most moving and indelible scene, wherein Victor orders (with a nod assist from Rick) the house band to play “La Marseillaise” to drown out a group of Nazis, led by Laszlo’s arch enemy, the nefarious Major Heinrich Strasser (Conrad Veidt), as they sing a homeland tune in revelry. As Victor becomes louder and bolder, leading others to join him in singing as Strasser’s clan turn more addled and vexed, a glowing-with-affection Ilsa and the audience (both onscreen and off) witness in Victor the illustration of a fearless hero worthy of admiration and respect, causing one to want to cheer his noble efforts by the melody’s end. Henreid would never top his seminal 1942 but continue his run as a leading man for a couple decades, while also turning his sights in the 1950s to directing films and television, regularly helming such shows as Alfred Hitchcock Presents and overseeing former costar Davis’ 1964 diverting murder-mystery Dead Ringer in particularly engaging fashion.

Headlining one of the greatest supporting casts ever, Claude Rains scores heavily as Captain Louis Renault, the sometimes ally of Rick who sagely and bemusedly comments on the action with great panache, in the process becoming as much an audience favorite to Casablanca patrons as anyone in the esteemed cast, thanks to Rains expert delivery of each choice bit he’s provided. Making an impact virtually unseen in 1933’s classic The Invisible Man by utilizing his cultured voice to both amusing and sinister effect, Rains would go on to become one of the most reliable character actors on film, specifically during the 1930s and 1940s, gaining four Oscar nods, but alas, no wins during this prolific period. Dooley Wilson also makes a major impact as Sam, the main entertainer at Rick’s who, as Ilsa mentions, sings the film’s evocative theme song “As Time Goes By” (originally penned in 1931) as no one else. Syndey Greenstreet, a year after his sensational Oscar-nominated debut in The Maltese Falcon, makes a distinct impression with little screen time as Signor Ferrari, a business rival and associate of Rick’s. Ditto Peter Lorre, who enacts the role of the oily, underhanded Signor Ugarte in mesmerizing fashion. Veidt rates some major hisses with his deft interpretation of the calm, ominous Major, while S.Z. “Cuddles” Sakall rates the opposite reaction and as Carl, the comical, adorable waiter at Rick’s. Other well-known names standing out include Marcel Dalio, Helmut Dantine, Leonid Kinskey, John Qualen and Norma Varden, while lovely ingenues Joy Page and Madeleine Lebeau (later of Fellini’s 8 ½) insure their place in film history with touching work in brief roles.

Casablanca debuted in New York City in November of 1942 and opened wider in January of 1943, thereby forever after causing confusion regarding what year should be used to categorize the movie. Befitting its beloved status, the film was a huge success with both critics and audiences, placing among 1943’s most profitable and honored films. For 1942 (due to the East Coast premiere) Casablanca placed on The New York Times top ten list, while the following year the film placed on The National Board of Review’s top ten list and cited Curtiz among the Best Directors. The film also came through bigtime at the Academy Awards for 1943, winning Best Picture, Director and Best Screenplay among eight nominations, including ones for Bogart (who would also place on the Quigley poll of top ten stars for the first time thanks largely to his career boon from the film) and Rains. Indicating the film’s status as a key Hollywood classic, the movie consistently shows up on lists of the greatest films ever made, including the introductory Nation Film Registry list in 1989 and placing high on a multitude of American Film Institute (AFI) lists, coming in at #2 on the AFI’s first “100 Years. . .100 Movies” poll and at #3 on the 10^th anniversary list,  placing with a record six entries on the 2005 “100 Years. . .100 Movie Quotes” poll and at #1 on the 2002 “100 Years. . .100 Passions” list. With its intoxicating blend of sublimely judged performances, unmatched dialogue, flawless direction, class production values, and a story that never fails to move and delight audiences, movie lovers will always be looking at Casablanca for an ultra-engaging way to watch some time go by.

P.S.: Just after completing a rough draft of the above, the author attended a showing of Casablanca and had to get there early to grab a good seat among the approximately 90 patrons who showed up to once again enjoy the movie’s many assets, emphasizing how enduring the beloved classic continues to be. Not a bad turnout for a film celebrating its 83rd year on the silver screen.

A Magnificent Barbra Streisand is the Greatest Star in Funny Girl

 

                Stage-to-screen transitions can often be tricky, specifically in the realm of performance. When the opportunity arises for Broadway stars to recreate their highly-acclaimed roles on film, often a studied, worked-out element from playing a part hundreds of times can be discerned among the otherwise skillful playing, taking an audience out of the moment and away from the character, as they ponder all the tactical moves that went into the performance. However, on rare occasions an inspired, gifted artist utilizes the chance the camera provides to dig deeper into an established role, in the process finding even more facets and truth in a part, and commits a phenomenal performance for the ages to film. Such was the case with the 1968 William Wyler-helmed musical biopic Funny Girl, which allowed Barbra Streisand, after years of success as a leading light in theater, television and on records, to assay one of the great film debuts, resulting in one of the late-1960’s biggest successes, and placing Streisand at the forefront of her generation’s most admired and popular talents.

As Fanny Brice, Streisand is transcendent as actor, comic and singer, giving one of the richest, most inspirational performances ever committed to film, and possibly the best ever in a musical-comedy-drama. Listening to the Broadway Original Cast album, it’s clear that Streisand improved on her initial take on the role, adding more spontaneous, ingenious inflections to some of the lyrics with the aplomb of a seasoned, truly original talent. Streisand maintains a level of conviction and drive throughout the movie that is stunning to behold, handling all the elements of a dynamic role with a precision that can only leave a viewer in awe and admiration at the marvelous manner Streisand fully inhabits Brice, while maintaining her own highly individual persona, investing all of her substantial gifts to craft an achievement onscreen second-to-none.

Streisand attains excellence putting over each song in the impeccable Jules Styne/Bob Merrill score, from her heartfelt rendition of “People” to the thrilling force she brings to the first half’s finale, “Don’t Rain on My Parade” and her profound, powerful interpretation of Brice’s signature hit “My Man” to close the movie out with a fervor that would demand several encores in the theater; the dramatic impact of these numbers proves that Streisand, who first yearned for success as an actor, need not have been concerned when her heavenly vocal prowess gained her far more attention, as in song she illustrates a thespian ability to rival any other seminal actor. Watching Streisand artfully execute her first number, “I’m the Greatest Star” with a dizzying adroitness as she switches from comic bravado at the outset to the dramatic intensity of the song’s ending, with Brice justly proclaiming herself the song’s title, Streisand first confirms her worth as a screen immortal, displaying a confidence and passion for performing in a hypnotically believable fashion that is unforgettable. Striving for and meeting perfection in this early sequence, Streisand proves she is up to any challenge the role presents, thereby gathering the audiences’ full investment in every predicament Brice will encounter throughout the rest of the film.  

William Wyler meshes impeccably with his star in a sterling collaboration, showcasing her vast talent with class and skill. From the opening segment, which introduces Fanny as she enters a theater, finally settling on a closeup after she utters her famous first line (“Hello Gorgeous”) to a mirror, then simply focusing on Streisand for a few moments as Fanny walks around the theater clearly in a reflective mood, it’s clear Streisand is in the hands of a director who knows exactly how to play her strengths and modulate her performance to the screen. Although there have been rumors to the contrary, Streisand mentions in her autobiography how she loved working with the director, who was taken with the newcomers’ curiosity regarding all aspects of filmmaking, both in front of and behind the camera. Wyler’s tight association with his star pays off, as the director adeptly sets up the musical numbers to maximize the focus on Streisand, while also adopting inventive staging, such as the way the title song moves from the end of Fanny’s recollection that starts the story back into the present with Brice sitting in the theater, whereupon she finishes the number. Streisand is given room to stretch her talents to the limit, with Wyler assuring her performance is seen to the best advantage in each scene. Also, Wyler beautifully addresses the romance at the center of the film with simplicity and directness, making it clear and feasible how deep the affection is between Fanny and her main man.

As gambler Nicky Arnstein, the love of Fanny’s life, the warm, genial Omar Sharif utilizes the dark, liquid eyes, beatific smile, and continental charm that had established him as one of the 1960’s chief stars via his breakthrough in 1962’s Lawrence of Arabia and as the title character in 1965’s blockbuster Doctor Zhivago. Sharif brings a lovely, serene and ultra-romantic quality to his playing, and clearly has strong chemistry with his leading lady, which aids immensely in keeping things compelling in the second half of the film, when dramatic complications caused by Nick’s wayward, unconventional lifestyle (specifically gambling issues) drive a rift in the bond between Fanny and Nicky. As Arnstein’s fortunes turn downwards, Sharif adds a touching gentleness to his work that indicates how defeated Nicky is, while his love for Fanny remains strong, leading to a final moment between the two that is among the film’s most effective. Sharif also gets a chance for some lighter fare, such as his playful bantering with Streisand as Fanny and Nick go through an unorthodox, on-and-off again courtship, especially in their saucy duet, “You Are Woman/I Am Man.”

Kay Medford, recreating her standout Broadway role as Rose, Fanny’s sage, wry and supportive mother, makes the strongest impact among the rest of the cast. In each of her brief scenes, Medford captures the essence of Rose as a loving, loyal parent, while putting over every one of Rose’s caustic, knowing observations with perfect comic timing that illustrates where Fanny’s incredible humor originated. In her final scene, Medford adopts a more imposing, tense demeanor as Rose questions Fanny concerning her future with Nicky, further enriching the role and allowing Medford’s tough, focused countenance to linger. Mae Questel, with her distinctive Betty Boop voice, is also wonderful as Mrs. Strakosh, Rose’s nosy, opinionated, but also caring friend, who does her best to propel the Arnstein/Brice romance forward. Walter Pidgeon has perhaps his best latter-career role as Florence Ziegfeld, properly displaying the impresario’s classy, commanding presence and exasperation over the equally-forceful and fearless Fanny’s demands. Anne Francis also has a few good moments as Georgia, Fanny’s glamorous Ziegfeld showgirl friend, while Mittie Lawrence lends a nice grace note as Emma, Fanny’s compassionate, observant assistant.   

Released in September of 1968, Funny Girl emulated the success of the 1964 stage production, amassing $26,325,000 in U.S./Canadian rentals (according to Variety) to rank as 1968’s biggest hit. Among accolades, Streisand won a Golden Globe, a Laurel award for Top Female Comedy Performance, and a David di Donatello award for Best Foreign Actress (in a tie with Mia Farrow for Rosemary’s Baby, foreshadowing things to come for Streisand during the 1968 award season), while Wyler was short-listed as a finalist for the Directors Guild of America Award and Isobel Lennart (who wrote the book for the Broadway show) won the Writer’s Guild of America award for her screenplay adaptation. At the Academy Awards, the film received eight nominations, including nods for Best Picture, Director and Supporting Actress (Medford), as well as one of the most warranted Best Actress Oscar wins for Streisand, in a tie with no less than Katharine Hepburn for The Lion in Winter. More recently, Funny Girl placed at #16 on the AFI’s 2006 list of top musicals and was included on the National Film Registry’s selections for 2016. The film’s enormous box-office returns led to a profitable 1975 sequel, Funny Lady, but to witness one of the most sublime fusions of star and role ever seen, lovers of musicals and cinema in general need look no further than Babra Streisand’s inimitable work in Funny Girl.

Gregory Peck & Jane Wyman Ruggedly Shine in MGM's Heartfelt The Yearling

 

Considered by many the most elite and posh film studio from the Classic Hollywood period, MGM’s plush production values were a mainstay in creating a wealth of their output, specifically their top offerings each year. Depending on the genre, the richness brought to these films could be an asset, such as the sublimely concocted musicals with little basis in reality, or a drawback, as when trying to portray everyday events and people. However, occasionally the top talent and resources available at MGM would manage to perfectly congeal and design an honest work with no frills. Such was the case with 1946’s lovely and moving The Yearling, a Sidney Franklin production based on the Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings 1938 bestselling and Pulitzer Prize winning novel concerning the love Jody Baxter, a lonely young boy, forms with an orphaned faun. Directed by veteran Clarence Brown with great taste and skill, the involving story (expertly adapted for the screen by Paul Osborn and the uncredited John Lee Mahin) provides many emotionally vivid sequences, with the beautiful, on-location Technicolor lensing in the Florida Wilds by Arthur Arling, Charles Rosher and Leonard Smith and a stirring, impactful score by Herbert Stothart (adapting Frederick Delius’ music) enriching the verisimilitude, while a carefully-selected cast, led by Gregory Peck and Jane Wyman at their most engaging and convincing, also assist in bringing the tale to life with dramatic force and, literally, color. 

A troubled production when MGM first attempted to make the film in 1941 with Spencer Tracy starring and Victor Fleming at the helm, in 1945 the studio found the perfect director to guide the production to success with Clarence Brown, one MGM’s most reliable and commercially viable artists, who had recently brought much acclaim and box-office returns with a similarly coming-of-age film, National Velvet. Brown exhibits a rare talent for cutting through the MGM gloss and bringing great heart to the movie and still offering the quality, class production sure to gain the approval of studio head Louis B. Mayer, while guiding his A-list cast to do some of the best work of their careers. Scenes such as an exciting bear hunt early in the film, or the suspense of Jody’s father dealing with a rattlesnake bite, are staged in a striking manner by Brown, capturing a sense of time and place exquisitely and allowing an audience to fully embrace these and other adventures the Baxters encounter as they try to sustain a life as Floridan farmers, circa 1878. Post-Yearling, Brown would continue at MGM and again achieve exceptional results in a rural setting with 1949’s Intruder in the Dust, one of the screen’s best adaptations of a William Faulkner work, and one of the best depictions of the evils involved in racial prejudice.

Gregory Peck, whose stock as Hollywood’s hottest new leading man was on a steep rise after his Oscar-nominated breakthrough in Keys of the Kingdom, followed by major hits The Valley of Decision and Spellbound, added considerable weight to his already burgeoning status with his perceptive, endearing performance as Erza “Penny” Baxter, Jody’s low-key, sage, genial father. Showing a humor and spontaneity not always apparent in his many heroic roles, Peck is impressively natural and grounded as Erza, expertly delineating the warm, noble makeup of the character and serving as an ideal “Father Figure” role model. Interestingly, Peck would demonstrate great versatility immediately following Yearling with his juicy, sexy performance as Lewt McCanles in Duel in the Sun, one of his few villain roles and, from his lively playing of the ignoble Lewt, something he should have pursued more often. Post this great one-two punch (Duel reaped so-so reviews, but was a bigger hit than Yearling and everything else during the era, outside of The Best Years of Our Lives), Peck would spend the rest of his lengthy career as one of Hollywood’s most durable leading men, eventually gaining, after five nominations, a notable highlight via his Best Actor Oscar prize for one of his definitive performances and films, 1962’s To Kill a Mockingbird.

For Jane Wyman, Yearling would provide a key vehicle in her evolution from the many lighter roles she routinely was cast in since her 1932 film debut into meatier roles of substantial dramatic heft, indicated by her acute turn as the female lead in the previous year’s Best Picture, The Lost Weekend. With her quiet, insightful and forceful work as Ora, Jody’s stern-but-caring mother determined to keep the family’s fortunes as stable as possible under sometimes dire circumstances, Wyman discloses a fine ability to honestly get at the heart of the character with a minimum of pretense, such as her going the de-glam route for the role, but without this aspect coming across as gimmicky or forced, due to Wyman’s complete dedication to the role. Wyman also does a great job showing the caring nature existing under Ora’s harsh exterior, brought about by a life of hardships, helping an audience understand the complexities inherent in this pioneering woman’s persona. After her Yearling success, Wyman would soon find greatest acclaim in her new role as one of Hollywood best performers with deft work as the deaf heroine in 1948’s Johnny Belinda, then maintain her status into the 1950’s with two further Oscar noms, including one for Douglas Sirk’s 1954’s Magnificent Obsession opposite Rock Hudson, leading to their re-teaming in one of Sirk’s most renown films, All That Heaven Allows, before capping her career on television with great acclaim and a Golden Globe via Falcon Crest in the 1980s.

With his film debut, Claude Jarman Jr. made an immediate hit with critics and audiences via his sensitive, earnest work in the demanding role of Jody, who is front and center throughout the film. A native of Nashville, Jarman was discovered after a talent search by MGM, and proved the studio’s faith in him with fine, intuitive playing of a highly professional and absorbing nature. Jarman is fully focused and vested in each scene, which pays off dramatically, specifically in moments wherein Jody is forced to face turmoil and some difficult decisions in his transition to young adulthood. The untrained Jarman displays a knack for emotional acting of a pure and intense order in these challenging scenes, believably conveying Jody’s conflicted feelings and inner pain with resourceful simplicity and moving candor. After this signature role, Jarman, who recently passed at age 90, would suffer the fate of many child stars prior to and following his brief reign in Hollywood, with the onslaught of maturity bringing diminishing demand for his talent, but not before he scored another key lead role in Brown’s Intruder, then immediately thereafter costarred in one of John Ford’s best Westerns, Rio Grande, opposite John Wayne and Maureen O’Hara.

The rest of the esteemed cast mainly consists of actors playing members of the somewhat rambunctious neighbors of the Baxters, the Forresters. As Ma and Pa Forrester, Clem Bevans and Margaret Wycherly have the right rural, hospitable touch, while Chili Willis shines in an appealing, touching scene as their son Buck. Forrest Tucker projects a vivid, dangerous quality to his work as Buck’s tough, volatile sibling Lem, who always seems up to a fight with anyone. Donn Gift gives possibly the most affecting supporting performance as the youngest Forrester, the wistful, contemplative Fodderwing, who is Jody’s only real friend. Among others, reliable MGM player Henry Travers lends his endearing presence as a jovial shopkeeper, at virtually the same time he was iconically playing another amiable character in It’s a Wonderful Life, which was released within days of The Yearling, while June Lockhart can be glimpsed in an early role as an innocent town maiden, Twink, years before she was Lost in Space.

Upon release in December of 1946, The Yearling equaled the popular and critical success of many other classics among the cream of the MGM crop. Faring well with Christmastime audiences and beyond, the movie’s far-reaching appeal resulted in $5,250,000 in U.S./Canadian rentals (according to Variety) placing it among the top ten box office hits of 1947. The considerable merits of the movie also found great favor during awards season, with placement among the top ten films on The New York Times list, while Gregory Peck claimed a major acting prize for his finely judged portrayal of Penny with his Best Actor in at the Golden Globes. At the Oscars, The Yearling vied for seven awards, including nods for Best Picture, Director, Actor (Peck) and Actress (Wyman), winning for Best Color Cinematography and Best Art Direction- Color by Cedric Gibbons, Paul Groesse and (Interior Decoration) Edwin B. Willis, with Claude Jarman Jr. also honored with a special juvenile Academy Award. One of the most artfully constructed and diverting family films ever made in Hollywood, The Yearling provides a warm, irresistible viewing experience for any film aficionado seeking a top entertainment from Hollywood’s bountiful post-WWII period.