Barbara Stanwyck and Fred MacMurray Arrestingly Team for Double Indemnity

            One of the signature and earliest entries in the film noir cannon, Paramount Pictures’ Double Indemnity brought the genre to Hollywood’s forefront, with healthy box office returns and critical response, leading to high placement among 1944’s best, and several major Oscars nominations. After his debut as a director via 1942’s The Major and the Minor, Billy Wilder entered the big league as an elite writer/director with this beautifully produced adaptation of James M. Cain’s classic crime novel. Wilder, working with the legendary Raymond Chandler, crafted an ingenious screenplay with some of the best dialogue found in noir (or anywhere), which his star trio of Barbara Stanwyck, Fred MacMurray and Edward G. Robinson, all working at the peak of their powers, put over with great style and conviction. A pulsating score by Miklôs Rôzsa and magnificent black-and-white cinematography by John Seitz that help set the standard for the visual style found in noirs to come are other key assets that allow Double Indemnity to endure as one of the great, freshest and most entertaining works from Cinema’s Golden Age.

Although the Production Code limited just how far Wilder could go in depicting one of the most unsavory storylines yet seen in a Grade A Hollywood production the director artfully addressed plenty of then-taboo themes, including insurance fraud, adultery and murder in vivid fashion. Also, at a time when optimism was a standard component of movies as WWII audiences looked for light relief from the stark realities of the era, Wilder daringly allowed for a very bleak ending to Indemnity and filmed an even darker gas-chamber scene that, with the Code’s input, was eventually nixed before the general release of the movie. However, despite Code restrictions Wilder and his sterling team of collaborators managed to suggest much of the starkness found in Cain’s novel, allowing Indemnity to serve as a prime example of how effectively a classic era studio production could depict mature themes. With Wilder’s sure hand in evidence throughout, the film retains its power to enthrall, placing among the elite bunch at the forefront of Wilder’s best, which also include Sunset Boulevard, The Lost Weekend, Stalag 17, Some Like it Hot and The Apartment.

                Barbara Stanwyck, at the top of her game after proving herself in both dramas such as Stella Dallas and lively romantic comedies (The Lady Eve, Ball of Fire) during her first fifteen years in film, reportedly was reluctant to take on the unsympathetic role of one of noir’s coldest-blooded femme fatales, until Wilder challenged her with a query to the effect of “Are you an actress or a mouse?” Answering his directive using the full measure of her exceptional talent as an intuitive screen artist of unsurpassable ability, Stanwyck lends her modern, straightforward acting style to create in Phyllis Dietrichson a spellbinding portrait of an evil-yet-enticing woman who cooly works towards obtaining financial gain with a fascinating combination of detachment and ruthlessness. From Phyllis’ memorable entrance in a towel and iconically synthetic blonde wig, Stanwyck utilizes a largely subtle approach, but adds vivid reaction shots and swift mood changes at key moments to indicate the nefarious nature behind Phyllis’ calm exterior. Stanwyck is so in sync with the many facets driving the character’s pernicious actions it may appear she’s performing effortlessly, but watching something like the “I loved you Walter, and I hated him” confrontation, it’s hard to imagine any other female star of the period bring off the scene with the naturalness and persuasion Stanwyck lends to the role. Among one of the richer filmographies, her acute, peerless work in Indemnity makes it an easy choice for the desert island Stanwyck performance.

Fred MacMurray also scored heavily cast against type, after years of service as a low-keyed, handsome and amiable costar opposite some of Hollywood’s biggest leading ladies, starting with Claudette Colbert in 1935’s The Gilded Lady and including Katharine Hepburn, Carole Lombard and, memorably, Stanwyck in a top holiday offering, 1940’s Remember the Night. In Indemnity, MacMurray ideality utilizes his sage, stoic reserve and tough, observant demeanor to suggest the underlining motives that drive insurance salesman Walter Neff to begin a torrid relationship with Phyllis against his better judgement, then mastermind a ploy to obtain the title asset. Although Walter’s criminal actions should place him as a co-villain of the piece, MacMurray clearly outlines the passions pushing the helpless Walter to his grim destiny, adding redeeming features to the role and drawing audience sympathy in the process, thereby making Neff an early example of the many screen anti-heroes to come. Post-Indemnity MacMurray would continue to thrive as a calm reassuring presence in romantic comedies, then later as a father figure in Disney hits such as The Shaggy Dog and the Absent-Minded Professor, as well as on television in the ling-running My Three Sons, with his deft work in 1954’s The Caine Mutiny and reteaming with Wilder as the heel of 1960’s The Apartment reminding viewers how impactful he could be when playing in an ignoble vein.

                As Barton Keyes, Walter’s supportive, alert boss, Edward G. Robinson maintains the high-performance level set by his costars. The vibrant, fast-talking Keyes could come across as abrasive in the wrong hands but, with juicy-yet-convincing emoting, Robinson elicits a viewer’s empathy by showing how fully dedicated Keyes is to solving any crime connected to his field, and how passionate he is regarding his work, while also displaying great loyalty and affection towards Walter. When Keyes discusses “the little man” who eats away at him when he feels something is wrong with a case, Robinson is so great in detailing Keyes’ exacerbation when he’s befuddled, one starts to root for him to achieve peace of mind by resolving the mystery at the heart of the story, even at the expense of Walter’s welfare. Robinson’s pitch-perfect work as Keyes’ places high in the actor’s cannon, alongside his star-making turn as Rico in Little Caeser and, also in gangster mode, his vindictive Rocco in Key Largo. Robinson would continue in high profile lead and character parts, in such top-grade fare as Scarlet Street, House of Strangers (earning Best Actor at Cannes), The Ten Commandments, The Cincinnati Kid, Planet of the Apes and moving work in his final film, Soylent Green, released posthumously after Robinson’s death in early 1973, after which he also was awarded a highly-warranted Honorary Oscar at the 1973 ceremony.

                Among the rest of the cast Jean Heather, having a great ingenue year with both this and Going My Way to her credit, is competent and often teary in the other sizable role as Lola, Phyllis’ wary stepdaughter. Porter Hall makes his typically strong impression as a witness called in by Keyes to discuss the central crime, and Fortunio Bonanova has an amusing moment early on with Robinson as a would-be insurance scammer. Finally, Bess Flowers, who in Twilight Zone manner seems to appear briefly in every other great classic film is at it again, here as a secretary. Prominent character player Norma Varden (Casablanca, Strangers on a Train) also can be glimpsed in the same mode, while no less than Raymond Chandler is also on view, in a cameo as a man reading a newspaper.

The film received largely positive reviews upon its release in July of 1944, and while at the Academy Awards the following year a Going My Way juggernaut prevented Double Indemnity from winning any Oscars, seven nominations found the movie deservedly in the mix for Best Picture, Director, Actress, Screenplay, Cinematography, Music and Sound Recording. However, MacMurray and Robinson, both of whom would never receive an Oscar nod, were unjustly overlooked when they should have been serious contenders (one wonders if they both were deemed Best Actor possibilities and split the vote; today, they could legitimately vie in different categories, and win). The decades subsequent to the film’s release have only witnessed a continual rise in stature.  Pointing to how well the film has stood the test of time as a prime Hollywood classic, Indemnity has placed high on “Greatest of All Time” lists, including those from the American Film Institute, with the film coming in at #38 on the AFI 1998 poll of the best American Films, then rising to #29 on the 2007 poll, while Stanwyck’s remarkable portrayal help Phyliss Dietrichson place at #8 on the AFI list of top villains. In 2005 Time magazine also listed Indemnity among the 100 greatest films, and the following year the Writer’s Guild of America voted the trenchant screenplay the 26^th best ever. Watching the movie anew eighty years after it’s first release via a sublime 4K Criterion print justifies the many hosanas Double Indemnity has been granted, as regardless of number of viewings, the film holds up as a gripping, never-bettered noir sure to pull in an audience as seductively as Phyllis Dietrichson does with poor Walter Neff.

A Fond Farewell to a Sweet, Invaluable Comic Presence, Teri Garr

 With the passing of Teri Garr, the cinema lost one of its most unique and endearing talents. Possessing a fascinating career arc, Garr started out dancing her way through a multitude of 1960’s Elvis Presley and other teen-oriented musicals (Viva Las Vegas and Pajama Party among them). After ten years in the business, including a stint honing her comedy chops on The Sonny and Cher Comedy Hour, Garr suddenly broke through onscreen in 1974 with key roles in two major films, Francis Ford Coppola’s The Conversation and, showing great comic flair amid a cast of comedy heavyweights, as Inga, the flirtatious assistant to the title character in possibly Mel Brooks best and funniest film, Young Frankenstein.

                For the next decade, Garr had a terrific run in movies, with 1977 proving another boost via standout work in Oh God! and Close Encounters of the Third Kind (with Garr’s priceless reaction to Richard Dreyfuss building a tower out of mashed potatoes providing the film’s funniest moment), followed by an effective low-key performance in 1979’s The Black Stallion. 1982 would again find Garr in prime form, as after re-teaming with Coppola for One from the Heart, she would grace the screen with her great comedic skills fully on display in one of the era’s biggest hits and best comedies, Tootsie. As Sandy, the insecure costar involved with egocentric actor Michael Dorsey (a never-better Dustin Hoffman), Garr invests the part with spirit and spontaneity, allowing a character who could be a tiresome pain to come across as likable and touching. Garr draws the audience firmly on her side as Sandy faces dilemmas in her career and relationships, while constantly gaining laughs with her jittery, zany behavior and unpredictable line deliveries, helping her work as Sandy linger in the memory as one of the most entertaining contributions to a classic comedy.

                As her career peaked with an Oscar nomination for Tootsie, followed by yet another big hit opposite a rising Michael Keaton in Mr. Mom, Garr gained further fame with frequent appearances on the hip David Lettermen show, wherein their playful banter proved a highlight of late-night television, as well as appearing as one of the stars in the "Ghostbusters" video for the #1 Ray Parker Jr. hit. Garr would continue to star in films and television, with more deft comic work in 1986’s After Hours, Dumb and Dumber and a role as Phobe’s mother on Friends ranking among her higher-profile output. Multiple sclerosis would limit Garr’s career opportunity during the last few decades of her life, but not before she had built a resume filled with landmark films and performances. Growing up in the 1970s and 1980s, the author was consistently delighted with every Garr appearance, from his first look at her as Inga, then onward through her many career achievements. R.I.P. to an original and compelling star who always twinkled with a great comic touch, Teri Garr.

A Spellbinding Deborah Kerr Seeks the Truth of The Innocents

             One of the most atmospheric and chilling ghost stories found in cinema, 1961’s The Innocents, a hypnotic adaptation of Henry James’ 1898 novella The Turn of the Screw, leaves it to viewers to determine what is reality and supernatural in regards to the tale involving Miss Giddens, an inexperienced, eager governess placed in charge of two children, Miles and Flora, at a remote country estate, and thereafter becoming concerned the brother and sister are being haunted and possessed by the previous, deceased governess and her lover, who she believes may have corrupted the youths. Director Jack Clayton, fresh from resounding success via his first feature-length directorial assignment, 1959’s Room at the Top, suffered no sophomore slump with his second endeavor, facing the challenges of convincingly suggesting paranormal activity without blatantly showing much with the artfulness of a much more experienced film master. Clayton details the surprising turns found in the expert script by William Archibald, Truman Capote and John Mortimer with great panache, alternating a tranquil, dreamy quality with the darker undertones central to the story, maintaining a suspenseful mood that builds to the film’s tense, mysterious climax. Clayton is also aided by a superb cast lead by Deborah Kerr at her zenith, and Freddie Francis’ evocative, black and white cinematography, which captures every eerie moment with maximum impact, including several shocks sure to keep patrons jitterily on the edge of their seats.

                By 1961, Deborah Kerr was enjoying peak success after a phenomenal career that had seen her go from strength to strength since her screen debut in 1941’s Major Barbara. Kerr would build on this start by first becoming one of Britain’s top leading ladies in fare such as The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp, I See a Dark Stranger and 1947’s masterpiece Black Narcissus, before an MGM contract beckoned her to Hollywood for The Hucksters opposite no less than Clark Gable. One of the publicity angles for the film reminded viewers that “Kerr” rhymed with “Star,” and in short order Kerr lived up to the hype, becoming a beautiful, charming figure in a host of major MGM titles, such as the rousing adventure King’s Solomon’s Mines and 1951’s epic Quo Vadis, while feeling somewhat underutilized by the studio in regard to developing her talent. 1953 offered a huge career boost, with Kerr going against her ladylike image to famously play in seductive mode on a beach with Burt Lancaster in From Here to Eternity. Thereafter Kerr was offered her pick of prime roles, and scored in an array of films, such as The King and I, Heaven Knows, Mr. Allison, Separate Tables and one of her warmest, most moving performances in The Sundowners, just prior to making The Innocents.

                Kerr tackles the role of the nervous, inquisitive governess with passionate resolve, carrying the audience with her as the governess becomes embroiled in the mystery surrounding her young charges. Kerr does an expert job detailing the naïve, skittish nature of the role at the film’s outset, allowing a viewer to have sympathy for Miss Giddens as they then become progressively unnerved by the disturbing aspects of the character, especially as her sightings of ghostly apparitions around the manor increase, and her conviction they are after her charges become stronger. Kerr’s intensity in these scenes allows Miss Giddens to become spooky herself, as she tries to force the children to face the spirits and reveal more about their past. In these latter scenes, Kerr makes it clear Giddens is fervent in her belief she must compel Miles and Flora to acknowledge what she feels is the truth, and does a great job of maintaining enough subtility in her portrayal to leave it to the audience to determine if Giddens is right in what she sees and believes, may have repressions of her own that are causing her to become increasingly delusional, or possesses a combination of these traits.

                Although still a pre-teen, Martin Stephens had built an impressive screen resume prior to filming The Innocents, with over a dozen British movies to his credit, starting in 1954 with The Divided Heart, released when Stephens was five years old. Reaching greater prominence in 1960 via the sci-fi cult classic Village of the Damned, the experienced Stephens was perfectly poise to play the confident and prematurely mature Miles. With his placid demeanor and unforgettably calm, cultured voice Stephens works in wonderful tandem with Kerr, with the pair at times suggesting adult dynamics to their characters’ relationship that must have raised plenty of Production Code associates’ eyebrows. Stephens also leaves it open as to how much the troubled Miles has been affected by past events, and if he witnessed any untoward events therein, making one wonder if any evil nature exists in his makeup, or if he simply is a wise-beyond-his-years child. After his outstanding work in The Innocents a promising future in films appeared a given, but Stephens would only partake of two more movies, leaving his precocious, highly individual work as Miles (and in Village) to serve as reminders of his rare ability onscreen.

Pamela Franklin matches her costars in giving a vivid, compelling performance. However, unlike Kerr and Stephens, Franklin had no prior experience in film, making what she pulls off in the difficult role of Flora all the more remarkable. In a similar vein to Stephen’s deft work as Miles, many scenes hold an enigmatic air concerning Flora’s true mindset, and Franklin does a perfect job in never overplaying this puzzling aspect of Flora’s personality. When Flora does face confrontation at a critical juncture in the story, Franklin enacts the child’s abrupt emotional outburst with stunning force, further adding to the complexities found in Flora’s makeup. Her breakthrough work in The Innocents would launch a fine career in films and television during the next two decades for Franklin, with her peak possible coming via 1969’s The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, wherein again Franklin plays a juicy, hard-to-read role with great skill, polish and conviction.

The esteemed Michael Redgrave, no stranger to the suspense genre after his brilliant performance as a tormented ventriloquist in the grandaddy of horror anthology films, 1945’s Dead of Night, brings a calm-yet-uneasy quality to his brief but critical role at the film’s outset, as the uncle hiring Miss Giddens to care for his niece and nephew, while making it clear he wants nothing to do with them. Megs Jenkins is also spot on as Mrs. Grose, the warm, earnest housekeeper who tries to support both the child and Miss Giddens as turmoil increases, while becoming perplexed concerning what exactly to believe- in many respects Mrs. Grose serves as an audience identification point, reacting to situations as a viewer might, with Jenkins admirably allowing the character to maintain a sense of normalcy not found elsewhere in the film. Finally, as the chief figure of Miss Gidden’s visions, Peter Wyngarde powerfully conveys a diabolical, smoldering presence in just a few moments onscreen, establishing himself as one of the scariest but sexiest ghosts in movies.

The Innocents found favor with audiences and critics upon its late-1961 release, with reviewers citing the film as one of the best adaptations of a James’ novel, and one of the best ghost stories ever seen on screen. The National Board of Review included the film among its Top Ten for the year, with Clayton winning for Best Director. Clayton also was a nominee at the Director’s Guild of America, as was the screenplay at the Writers Guild of America. The British Academy named the movie as a contender for both Outstanding British Film and Best Film from Any Source. Kerr was lauded for giving one of her most impactful performances, but somehow missed out on a deserved Oscar nomination after previously being cited six times, an injustice as eerie as the film itself. The Innocents sterling reputation has only increased over time, with the bewildering nature of the story, superior direction and acting, and top production values continuing to render lovers of great cinema agog while viewing this bewitching classic filled with intrigue and excitement galore.

And a fond farewell to Dame Maggie Smith, who passed away on September 27th at age 89. A leading talent on stage, television and in films for eight decades after her Broadway debut in New Faces of 1956, Smith thrived in comedy, drama and by deftly combining the two genres in many of her best roles, collecting two Oscars, a Tony, four Emmys, and a wealth of other awards for her always sublime work, while entertaining a vast fanbase in projects both high-profile (the Harry Potter series, Downtown Abbey) and smaller in scale. For this viewer, as a longtime Smith fan her powerful, expert playing in 1969’s The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie stands out, offering Smith in her prime as a major force onscreen, as she passionately enacts every facet of the complex title figure with memorable aplomb while, as she always managed to do, keeping the character relatable to audiences, leading to her surprise but richly warranted Best Actress Oscar. R.I.P. to a great, reliable and unique talent.

Vincent Price Enters the Horror Realm with Panache in House of Wax

With the advent of television in the late 1940’s-early 1950’s, wherein the new medium became many households’ primary source of entertainment, Hollywood sought methods to bring audiences back into theaters, with varying degrees of success. Although Cinemascope and other widescreen offerings, often epic storylines, did help pull in the masses consistently, the 3D cinema experience witnessed a brief reign of success, staring with Bwana Devil in late November of 1952, before being abandoned as a viable filming option within a few years, to the extent that some movies shot in 3D mainly had releases in regular 2D format. However, during this period several inventive quality 3D movies were created, such as Kiss Me Kate, Alfred Hitchcock’s Dial “M” for Murder and The Creature from the Black Lagoon. Of these, perhaps none showed the benefits of 3D to better advantage and caught the public’s fancy as well as Warner Bros.’ House of Wax, which hit theaters in April of 1953, when interest in 3D was at a peak.

A remake of 1933’s Mystery of the Wax Museum, director Andre de Toth’s grade-A production manages to up the ante considerably in regards to suspense and overall plot construction, with screenwriter Crane Wilbur’s tight, funny and exciting script (based on “The Wax Works” by Charles Belton) offering de Toth and a talented cast rich opportunities to put over many chilling moments with great panache, as the eerie tale concerning a gifted early 1900’s sculpturer, Henry Jarrod, who has lost his ability to create waxworks, but not his passion for the subject, unfolds in an often-macabre manner.  Although the one-eyed de Toth could be viewed as being at a disadvantage in helming a major 3D undertaking, the colorful bon vivant tackled the assignment with style and aplomb, staging scenes that rank among the most vivid and innovative in 3D film, such as the famous early sequence wherein Jarrod fights a business adversary amid a museum in flames, as the wax figures slowly melt, in jarring visuals hard to forget. De Toth also never loses a sense of fun among the proceedings, such as the peerless Act II opening (3D films had to have an intermission to change reels) wherein paddleball man Reggie Rymal directly addresses the viewer while performing tricks outside the opening of the new wax museum or, in one of the most finely-crafted chases on film, the segment wherein the terrified heroine runs through darkened New York City streets attempting to escape the clutches of a disfigured, very creepy pursuer, as the audience hangs on the edge of their seats in rapt anticipation of the outcome. De Toth would continue in movies for the next two decades before his passing in 2002 at 89, including among his credits a prime film noir in 1954, Crime Wave, but House would remain his most successful and iconic work.

For Vincent Price, House would not only mark one of his biggest hits since his film debut fifteen years earlier in Service de Luxe, but also point his career in a different direction after years of playing leads and supporting parts in such diverse fare as The Invisible Man Returns, Laura, Dragonwyck, The Three Musketeers and His Kind of Woman, wherein Price added plenty of spice to the proceedings with his flamboyant work. This perchance to provide entertaining theatrics, combined with the conviction and focus Price brings to each scene,  plays a central role in his portrayal of Jarrod, creating a rich, clear characterization that gains the viewer’s sympathy; even when his actions reach desperate, immoral proportions and one has to root against him, Price makes Jarrod’s passion for producing his art by any means believable, revealing a knack for adding both unnerving and identifiable human aspects to his often-ignoble role. Price’s gift for remaining humane under repugnant circumstances proved to be a huge asset thereafter as he became a Horror icon onscreen, specifically starting in the late 1950s-1960s after teaming up with William Castle, then Roger Corman for a series of excursions into the lurid, such as The Tingler, The Pit and the Pendulum and The Masque of the Red Death. A true renaissance man, Price would also mingle in fields such as art and cooking while continuing to act, with fine work in The Whales of August and Edward Scissorhands and his memorable, sinister narrative on Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” counting among his chief late-career highlights, before his passing in October of 1993.

As Sue Allen, Wax’s brave, inquisitive heroine, Phyllis Kirk would find her signature screen role, after entering films in 1950. Kirk’s rich, low vocal tones and pensiveness are an ideal fit for Sue, who finds herself in a series of chilling encounters. Although Kirk perhaps did not have the phenomenal screaming acumen Fay Wray demonstrated in the original version (and beyond, as Fay met King Kong in her Mystery follow-up), with that great voice Kirk nevertheless proves herself to be one of the screen’s prime damsels-in-distress, one possessing her own individual flair. It’s hard to forget Kirk sobbing and crying out “Cabbie!” during the showpiece late-night chase as she falls prey to, then tries to outsmart an unknown attacker (the quick-witted Sue just as quickly gains the audience’s admiration in this sequence), or her terror and despair as Sue scratches at the sides of a could-be wax coffin during the hair-raising finale. Kirk would continue in movies throughout the 1950’s, with her work the following year in de Toth’s aforementioned Crime Wave also standout, while simultaneously thriving on television, where she would gain her greatest fame (and an Emmy nomination) opposite Peter Lawford later in the decade via The Thin Man. However, her place in film history is assured based on her charming, persuasive work as Wax’s understandably apprehensive leading lady.

As Cathy Gray, Sue’s kind and carefree best friend and roommate, Carolyn Jones stands out in a breakthrough role, after debuting the previous year in The Turning Point. Adding invaluable zest and humor to her brief assignment Jones incorporates so much vivacity into the part one wishes to know much more about Cathy, with her jovial presence lingering over the film. Jones had a knack for making strong impressions in top 1950’s movies via very limited screentime, culminating in a well-earned Oscar nomination, with about six minutes of screentime, as the lonely, jittery bohemian in 1957’s The Bachelor Party, which lead to some meatier roles until Jones ultimately gained immortality on television as Morticia in The Addams Family. The physically imposing Charles Buchinsky (a.k.a. Bronson) also makes a great early-career impact as Igor, Jarrod’s loyal, mute assistant- Bronson does a deft job combining in Igor a menacing quality with a childlike innocence. Among the rest of the stalwart cast, Frank Lovejoy does strong work as a detective investigating the (cue the 1933 title), Paul Picerni is warm and likable as Jarrod’s apprentice and Sue’s love interest, and Roy Roberts plays Jarrod’s unsavory business associate with verve and an admirable lack of sympathy.

Upon release, Wax’s box-office returns quickly outpaced other 3D offerings, and most other 1953 releases, finishing as the seventh biggest hit of the year with $5,500,000 in U.S./Canadian film rentals, according to Variety. The interest in catching Wax on the big screen in 3D has never waned during subsequent decades, as can be attested to by the film’s chief placement as one of the preeminent classics on view during the many 3D revivals and festivals allowing new generations to discover this key brand of cinema. However, as television and other standard venues for viewing the movie prove, Wax in 2D stands on its own as a great entertainment. The author has been a fan since seeing the film as a child and being fairly unhinged by the experience, and once was disappointed to hear, just before a showing at a big 3D festival, that Wax could only be screened via a 2D version. The film still went over like gangbusters, and was received almost as enthusiastically by the audience as a later, at last in 3D, screening. In any format, House of Wax remains a preeminent example from the 3D and Horror genres, one that pulls the viewer in via top-notch production values, nail-biting suspenseful sequences beautifully staged by de Toth, and a cast of pros that bring colorful, memorable characterizations to the screen.

McCrea, Oberon and Hopkins Dramatically Compel as These Three

A rare example of a classic film thriving instead of being hindered by Production Code limitations, director William Wyler’s enthralling 1936 adaptation of Lillian Hellman’s controversial 1934 Broadway success The Children’s Hour astoundingly loses none of the story’s dramatic punch in one of the better stage-to-screen transitions. The major aspect of the play regarding lesbianism had no chance of being hinted at onscreen but, aided by Hellman’s masterful screenplay, which substituted a hetero love triangle as a means of addressing, with the same impact, all the other plot elements, Wyler and his united, inspired cast, all working at their creative peaks, manage to create a work of stunning force, with many intense sequences lasting in memory long after a viewing, helping to place Three high among the 1930’s most transfixing cinematic dramas.

                Starting in films in the 1920’s directing Westerns before honing his craft in early sound films, 1936 proved to be a breakout year for Wyler, with three major critical and popular offerings for producer Samuel Goldwyn; besides Three, he also did adept work behind the camera with Come and Get It and another 1930s masterwork, Dodsworth. Wyler does a skillful job of upholding a tense, uneasy tone during the emotionally driven scenes, while enriching the viewing experience by adding the story’s lighter and romantic moments in an adroit, believable way. He also directs the first-rate cast superbly, showcasing each player’s thespian abilities in often breathtaking fashion, resulting in one of the best ensemble groups ever found in a classic film. Wyler would maintain the high quality of output he achieved in 1936 during the next few decades, scoring three Best Director Oscars in the process (among twelve nominations, a record, with Dodsworth his first) and responsible for some of Classic Hollywood’s most enduring and outstanding works, including Wuthering Heights, The Best Years of Our Lives, The Heiress, Roman Holiday and Ben Hur.

                Top-billed Miriam Hopkins had firmly established herself as one of 1930’s cinema primary leading ladies, with standout, daring work in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and Ernst Lubitsch’s Trouble in Paradise, The Smiling Lieutenant and Design for Living among the films proving her worth as both a comedic and dramatic force onscreen. Following a strong 1935, wherein she costarred with Edward G. Robinson in Howard Hawks’ Barbary Coast and also scored with Oscar-nominated work in the first Technicolor feature, Becky Sharp, Hopkins combines strength and despondency as Martha, who finds herself suffering the most after damning accusations render the title trio helpless to their community’s wrath. Hopkins finely balances Martha’s fragility in the wake of the onslaught with the character’s anger and fighting spirit, suggesting Martha has the determination to survive the unjust claims. Hopkins career would slowly move from leading status, with fruitful collaborations to come opposite rival (onscreen and off) Bette Davis in The Old Maid and Old Acquaintance, before eventually moving into character parts, wherein Wyler would grant her two of her best roles, as the well-meaning, friendly Aunt Lavinia in one of his best, The Heiress, and in a much starker vein as the cold, vengeful wife in 1952’s underrated Carrie.

                Merle Oberon also had witnessed a swift rise to the top during the decade, with a breakthrough in 1933’s The Private Life of Henry VIII leading to appearances as one of the loveliest leading ladies the screen had yet witnessed in such prime romantic fare as The Scarlet Pimpernel and The Dark Angel, for which Oberon received her sole Oscar nomination. Although the tranquil Oberon always displayed poise, among her high-class roles she rarely was afforded the chance to suggest a fully rounded characterization onscreen. However, in Three Oberon exhibits a great deal of warmth, humor and understanding as Karen Wright, who starts a school with college friend Martha and then encounters trials that tests the limits of their loyalty. Oberon does a terrific job showing Karen’s high moral character and steely reserve in the face of adversaries, with her indignant “These are my friends” confrontation scene ranking among Oberon’s best moments on film. She’s also wonderful in depicting Karen’s shock and confusion over the initial, sudden hate directed at her and Martha, illustrating how senseless and harmful a mob mentality can be in latching onto a blind accusation. Oberon would go on, once again under Wyler’s direction, to her best-known role as Cathy, the conflicted heroine in 1939’s Wuthering Heights, but her work in Three may remain her most fully realized performance.

                As was the case virtually every time he appeared onscreen, Joel McCrea brings credibility, sensitivity, skill and naturalness to his role of Joseph Cardin, the handsome young doctor who aids Karen and Martha in building and establishing their dream school, while also becoming romantically involved with Karen. A Los Angeles local, McCrea started out doing stunt and extra work in the 1920s, before moving into more substantial roles via 1930’s The Silver Horde. After this step up, McCrea was a leading man mainstay for the rest of his career, with appearances in Bird of Paradise, The Most Dangerous Game, The Silver Cord (opposite Irene Dunne and the lovely Frances Dee, who quickly became Mrs. McCrea) preceding his standout work in Three. McCrea deftly delivers throughout the movie, both in early scenes wherein he adopts a wonderfully playful, affectionate chemistry with Oberon as Joe and Karen’s romance blossoms, then later in a more dramatic mode, as Joe stands by Karen and Martha through their ordeal, serving as an audience identification figure as Joe tries to maturely yet forcefully address and help resolve the machinations directed at his friends.

During the rest of the 1930s and 1940s McCrea would continue to thrive in top productions, demonstrating his seemingly easy affinity in both comedies and dramas with screen acting of the highest order, including Wyler’s Dead End, Cecil B. DeMille’s Union Pacific, Alfred Hitchcock’s Foreign Correspondent, at his most iconic in Preston Sturges’ Sullivan’s Travels, aces opposite Claudette Colbert in another Sturges’ A-1 effort, The Palm Beach Story, and George Stevens’ The More the Merrier. McCrea’s intelligent, direct playing in these classics have stood the test of time, with the talented, unpretentious star giving performances that have sustained their freshness and believability in a much more persuasive manner than many of his more famous and critically acclaimed contemporaries, suggesting McCrea deserved a lot more recognition as a top film actor during his heyday (an Oscar nomination or five would’ve been nice, for starters). Moving on to Westerns in the 1950s led to a fitting cinematic sendoff via the genre, with Sam Peckinpah’s classic 1962 Ride the High Country provided McCrea a beautiful final screen triumph, including one of the more memorable character exits on film. Afterwards McCrea would enjoy a long, affluent retirement with Dee and their family (McCrea had wisely purchased a lot of real estate during his career, in addition to owning a ranch) before his passing in 1990.

Although the film’s title subjects are enacted with verve and precision by Hopkins, Oberon and McCrea, upon the film’s release critical and public reaction centered around two of the most remarkable child performances ever committed to film. As Mary Tilford, the odious, brazen young student determined to have her own way using any measure necessary, Bonita Granville performs with an inspired, arresting acting style that makes it near-impossible to watch anyone else when’s she onscreen, whether she be flailing about or behaving in a more subtle, intent manner that fully suggests just how evil Mary can be in gaining her advantages. The focus, intensity and conviction Granville brings to the role lends enables Mary to be one of the most fascinating, creepy juveniles ever committed to the screen. Granville would continue to prosper into her ingenue years, scoring particularly well as the cousin who gives Bette Davis’ Charlotte a hard time at the outset of 1942’s Now Voyager, but Three would remain her most indelible work on film.

Making an (at least) equally sensational impression as Rosalie Wells, the fragile, tormented “vassal” of Mary, Marcia Mae Jones offers some of the most electrifying, emotionally naked histrionics ever seen, as Rosalie is forced to go against her will to protect Mary leading to, in the movie’s most harrowing sequence, a hysterical breakdown done in shattering, heartbreakingly believable fashion by Jones. The young star is so hypnotically moving in the role, in an ultra-realistic manner, one wishes Jones’ career had gained more momentum past her childhood heyday, with Rosalie left to stand as an enduring testament to her special, unforgettable dramatic gifts on screen.

Further indicating the remarkable quality of performance found in Three, Alma Kruger is vividly effective as the stately Ameila Tilford, Mary’s devoted grandmother who misguidedly initiates the scandal central to the story. Kruger does a superlative job detailing Ameila’s conflicted state of mind as she becomes embroiled in the drama brought about by Mary’s deceit and is particularly memorable in her firm “Are you telling me the truth?” questioning of her unperturbed, defiant offspring. As Martha’s flighty aunt, Lily Mortar, Catherine Doucet brings welcome lighter moments to the proceedings, fully embracing Lily’s overbearing, ungratified drama queen behavior as she constantly critiques her niece. Finally, elite character actors Margaret Hamilton and Walter Brennan are also on hand to make brief but distinct impressions.

                One testament to the quality of These Three is how well it compares to Wyler’s 1961 update of the material which, in the wake of a decaying Production Code, allowed a much closer representation of Hellman’s landmark play, including the theme of lesbianism. Although the more modern film has some fine acting, particularly by Audrey Hepburn, Shirley MacLaine and the Oscar-nominated Fay Bainter, it does not maintain a consistent tone or carry the appreciable, memorable dramatic weight of These Three. Upon release in March of 1936, the film received healthy box office revenues and was heralded for retaining the potency of the play regardless of the censorship, with Granville, who received one of the first Best Supporting Actress nominations at the Academy Awards, and Jones singled out for their incisive, impact work. Nearly 90 years later, These Three continues to offer audiences a thrilling viewing experience, allowing them to witness Wyler and his nimble, imposing cast at the top of respective powers, adding depth and resonance to one of Hellman’s signature works.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Burt Lancaster and Katharine Hepburn Passionately Enhance The Rainmaker

Stage-to-screen transfers can often prove problematic, yet every now and then all the right components seem to magically come together. Based on a hit Broadway play by N. Richard Nash (who did the adapted screenplay) that could’ve had trouble betraying its theatrical origins, 1956’s The Rainmaker has the good fortune to obtain an incredible cast working at their peak powers, enlivening the production with such skill, focus and energy, a viewer is drawn into the storyline and the endearing characters immediately and stays with them throughout a two-hour running time, as the tale of a wandering con man, Bill Starbuck, and his impact on a community, specifically the Currys, a ranching family who Starbuck becomes deeply involved with. Director Joseph Anthony, knowing what a great deal of talent he had to work with, wisely keeps his major players, including Burt Lancaster, Katharine Hepburn, Lloyd Bridges and Earl Holliman, front and center, with some amazing results. The Grade-A Paramount Hal B. Wallis production also features VistaVision, gorgeous Technicolor and an Alex North score to set the tone and heighten the entertainment value, resulting in a funny and emotionally rich experience for audiences.

As the title character, Lancaster’s galvanizing presence has seldom been as well-employed. Starting out as a trapeze artist before trying his luck on stage, Lancaster attained star status via his film debut in a key noir, 1946’s The Killers, and by 1956 had progressed as an actor and top leading man in an array of films, moving from a few other top noirs into mainstream successes starting at the outset of the 1950’s, including The Flame and the Arrow, 1952’s vastly enjoyable adventure The Crimson Pirate (wherein he and circus partner Nick Cravat pull off some incredible aerial routines), cast against type and moving in Come Back, Little Sheba, From Here to Eternity (1953’s big financial and critical hit, with Burt’s first Best Actor nod), Vera Cruz and a major 1956 smash, Trapeze, as well as venturing into independent production with Harold Hecht and James Hill, which quickly lead to the Oscar-winning Marty. As for Rainmaker, from the film’s opening frame, wherein Starbuck directly addresses the audience with unabashed assurance and a megawatt smile, it’s clear Lancaster is in complete control of his meaty assignment, bringing movie-star charisma and his compelling performance style to each scene.

A cousin to the star’s equally mesmerizing Oscar-winning work in Elmer Gantry, as Starbuck Lancaster displays his uncanny knack for taking a larger-than-life role, which in the wrong hands could come across as forced and phony, and making him a relatable, sympathetic figure. Starbuck eventually reveals insecurities aiding in his desperate drive to “make it rain,” and handles the various facets of the role with formidable skill, illustrating both Starbuck’s commanding, outsize emotions and his more introspective, sensitive traits, including the fact (as he details) he’s a dreamer at heart. Post-Rainmaker, Lancaster would add to his rich filmography, with the Oscar win for Gantry and nominations for more subtle work in Birdman of Alcatraz and his late-career comeback in Atlantic City ahead, as well successes including Separate Tables, The Leopard, Seven Days in May and Airport, and a touching swansong in Field of Dreams¸ prior to his passing in 1994.

As the film’s heroine Lizzie, a middle-aged woman searching for a different place in life outside of tending to her brothers and father, Katharine Hepburn utilizes all her considerable thespian abilities to forcefully depict a wide variety of emotions with heartbreaking clarity. Hepburn tackles all of Lizzie’s complexities, including her independent spirit, outspokenness, loneliness, insecurity, and humor in expert playing of the highest order. The legendary star appears to dive deep into the role in a manner rarely seen onscreen, allowing viewers to fully identify with Lizzie’s mindset and predicaments, while developing a great deal of compassion towards this unique outsider. Her spontaneous, direct line readings and intense, committed playing help create a fully realized portrait of Lizzie in all her moods, with Hepburn bringing originality to the plain-but-beautiful stereotype, believably conveying both Lizzie’s fears and strengths, leading to some stunning, moving moments in her big scenes with Lancaster, wherein Hepburn is so emotionally naked and captivating, a transfixed viewer can only look on with appreciative awe. As one of the leading film talents of several generations, Hepburn would have many triumphs prior to and post-Rainmaker, but her consummate work as Lizzie ranks high among her most unforgettable performances.

Earl Holliman scored a breakthrough with his remarkably endearing performance as Jim, Lizzie’s naïve, kind, energetic younger brother. After a stint in the U.S. Navy and a previous unsuccessful venture to Hollywood, the driven, self-confident young Louisiana native gained a place at the Pasadena Playhouse before making his film debut via a bit in 1953’s Scared Stiff, starring Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis. The earnestly appealing Holliman quickly found work in a series of high-profile films, including Broken Lance and The Bridges of Toko-Ri, while in 1955’s terrific noir The Big Combo the nature of his character’s relationship with Lee Van Cleef’s goes about as far as possible in portraying a gay couple onscreen in the Production Code friendly 1950’s. In addition to Rainmaker, 1956 also brought outstanding work by Holliman in Forbidden Planet and in one of the year’s big ones, Giant, but it is his focused, appealing work as Jim that possibly represents his finest hour in film. Holliman does an incredible job of staying “in the moment” and interacting with his costars with great conviction, allowing himself to never be overshadowed by the dynamic Lancaster and Hepburn, while also lending a mature professionalism in combination with the natural enthusiasm and warmth he brings to Jim. The talented Holliman would continue to thrive in hit movies (Gunfight at the O.K. Corral, Don’t Drink the Water and The Sons of Katie Elder among them), before raising his profile considerably in the 1970’s on television opposite Angie Dickinson in Police Woman.

After 20 years in films, Lloyd Bridges gained one of his best roles as Lizzie’s stern, blunt brother, Noah, just prior to Bridges’ greatest fame on television’s Sea Hunt. Noah as written is misguidedly too forthright with Lizzie, but Bridges also suggests the humanity of Noah, who wants his sister to face reality, or what he views as her reality concerning life as an “old maid.” Noah could come across as the villain of the piece, but Bridges shades the role with enough common decency and empathy that the audience understands he does ultimately want what’s best for Lizzie and the family, and is concerned Starbuck is out to take advantage of them all. Wendell Corey, perhaps at the peak of his career after first-rate work in Rear Window and The Big Knife just prior to The Rainmaker, lends a calm, thoughtful presence as File, the stoic, somewhat saturnine deputy who the Curry men view as a viable mate for Lizzie. Cameron Prud’Homme does much to help illustrate the loyal family dynamic existing within the Curry household, specifically with the strong, caring, protective nature he upholds towards Lizzie, which produces some touching father-daughter moments.  Finally, as virtually the only other female character, Yvonne Lime brings energy to her ingenue role as Snookie, and matches up well with Holliman in their comical scenes.

Released in December of 1956, The Rainmaker scored solid reviews and box-office returns, with $2,100,000 in film rentals (according to Variety). Hepburn would land a richly-deserved Best Actress Oscar nomination, with Alex North’s score also cited. Lancaster lost out on a Best Actor nod in a competitive year filled with epics, but a bigger slight had to be Holliman not making the short list for Supporting Actor, after winning the Golden Globe, back when there were not a lot of Oscar precursors to indicate who might be nominated. Holliman remains one of the few Globe Supporting Actor winners to not go on to an Oscar nomination; props to the Globes for recognizing his singular accomplishment. The film has recently received a great Blu-Ray upgrade from Kino Lorber, with that VistaVision and Technicolor never looking better. Film lovers seeking a satisfying, memorable comedy-drama featuring some of the best acting of the period won’t be left all wet by opting to give The Rainmaker a chance. 

And a fond farewell to Gena Rowlands who, working alongside husband John Cassavetes, was a key figure in the independent film movement. Making her film debut in 1958’s The High Cost of Loving, the stunning and gifted Rowlands would gain one of the most rewarding careers during the next several decades, both in mainstream films and television and most significantly in tandem with Cassavetes via (among others) Faces, Minnie and Moskowitz, Opening Night and Oscar nominated turns in Gloria and her signature performance, A Woman Under the Influence. I was fortunate to see Ms. Rowlands in person at an interview several years ago, wherein she displayed the same humor, warmth and down-to-earth qualities that were integral components of her work. R.I.P. to a true cinema legend, Gena Rowlands.