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.   

Joseph Cotton and Teresa Wright Play Cat-and-Mouse in Alfred Hitchcock’s Masterful Doubt

 

Standing out among the many light musicals and dramatic war films of the WWII era and hinting at the onslaught of film noirs soon to become a mainstay of Hollywood cinema, 1943’s Shadow of a Doubt offers a unique tale of murder and intrigue set against an idyllic backdrop. Alfred Hitchcock proved the ideal choice for helming the adroit screenplay by Thornton Wilder, Sally Benson and Mrs. Hitchcock, Alma Reville (based on a story by Gordon McDonell), drawing viewers in from the film’s outset, wherein the mysterious protagonist is seen avoiding authorities, and slowly building the tension from thereon without ever losing the audience’s rapt state. Wilder and Benson both had major success with stories centered around small-town Americana (via Our Town and Meet Me in St. Louis, respectively), and the look and ambiance of Doubt richly conveys a peaceful, upright community in contrast to the  tale’s dark undertones, with on-location shooting in Santa Moncia perfectly capturing alternately serene and unsettling moods, and Dimtri Tiomkin’s stark, persuasive score (featuring variation of “The Merry Widow Waltz”) frequently reminding viewers all may not be well in suburbia. Involving a typical middle-class family, the Newtons, whose lives witness a steep change of events with the appearance of the beloved Uncle Charlie, Doubt explores the intricate nature of family relationships, and how feelings of love, respect and trust among kin can quickly erode given changing circumstances.

After gaining fame helming British films for over a decade, including such classics as The Man Who Knew Too Much, The 39 Steps and The Lady Vanishes, Alfred Hitchcock moved to Hollywood after signing a contract with ace producer David O. Selznick, and found instant top-tier success with his 1940 debut, the gothic romance Rebecca. After this Best Picture Oscar-winner, Hitchcock would turn out a bevy of classics over the next few decades, often centered around suspenseful themes with comedic elements throw in and featuring glamourous, magnetic stars. With Doubt, Hitchcock appears creatively motivated by the unusual locale the calm Santa Rosa setting provides and does some of his most inspired work in detailing how pervasively evil can enter into a normal, seemingly halcyon environment. His fluid, carefully planned-out camerawork keeps a viewer transfixed as the danger mounts, with specific shots helping to flesh out the characters, sometimes without them saying a word. For example, there’s a great moment wherein Uncle Charlie is going upstairs after an outing with his niece (also named Charlie) and looks back to see her framed in the doorway in long shot, speculatively starring after him. In just a few seconds, the viewer senses a major turning point in their relations due to the craft and economy Hitchcock employs. He also shows great verve in illustrating both of the Charlies’ motives (as well as highlighting the prime work of stars Joseph Cotton and Teresa Wright) with stirring close-up or profile shots which help to reveal the character’s inner thoughts to audiences, as simultaneously the two Charlies become more evasive with each other. Also, in one of his boldest camera set-ups ever, Hitchcock has Cotton look directly into the camera during a pivotal dinner scene, addressing both a character and the viewer in unnerving fashion. Hitchcock’s imposing directorial skills would produce classics that rate among the cinema’s best as he also became one of the most recognizable figures in entertainment, with Shadow of a Doubt remaining one of his most original, dedicated works.

Joseph Cotton has perhaps his greatest role as Doubt’s duplicitous Uncle Charlie. After starting out on stage in the 1930’s, wherein he befriended Orson Welles, becoming a key player in Welles’ Mercury Theater while also scoring a major success in The Philadelphia Story, Cotton’s feature film career started auspiciously with Welles’ 1941 masterpiece, Citizen Kane. Following this landmark endeavor and another choice role in Welles’ follow-up, The Magnificent Ambersons, Cotton eventually obtained a contract with David O. Selznick and quickly became one of the primary male stars of his era, playing a series of sympathetic romantic leads. Fortunately, in 1943 he wasn’t yet established as one of Hollywood’s foremost leading men, allowing him the chance to take on the unheroic, richly complex role of Uncle Charlie. Using his trademark tranquil, subtle demeanor to maximum impact, Cotton adeptly balances the duality of the character throughout the film, showing the charm and seeming benevolence that make this uncle a favorite in the Newton household, while alternately revealing, in short outbursts and observations, the cold-heartedness that drives his inner psyche. With the viewer knowing from the outset there’s much more than meets the eye with Uncle Charlie, it’s fascinating to watch how he ingratiates himself into the family dynamic while concurrently posing a possible risk to them and others, with the assured Cotton’s sly playing helping to uphold the concept that most of the town folk would deem Uncle Charlie’s every action acceptable, when a closer look is warranted.

After Cotton’s outstanding work in Doubt, he would prosper throughout the 1940’s opposite some of Hollywood’s top female stars in such Grade-A productions as Gaslight, Since You Went Away (alongside Jennifer Jones, who also starred with Cotton in Love Letters, Duel in the Sun and Portrait of Jennie) and The Farmer’s Daughter, before finishing the decade with excellent work in another all-timer, Carol Reed’s The Third Man. In the 1950’s Cotton’s output lessened in quality, with 1953’s Niagara opposite Marilyn Monroe providing a rewarding return to darker, “noirish” film territory. Cotton would continue with frequent appearances in film and television until 1981 when illness would sideline Cotton, who passed away at 88 in 1994. His never-better work in Doubt has risen in esteem along with the movie’s status, to the point where the talented Cotton’s Uncle Charlie is today considered one of the signature villains in Hitchcock films, and in classic movies.

Teresa Wright was in the midst of one of the best runs in movies ever for an ingenue, gaining Oscar nominations for her first three films (her debut in 1941’s The Little Foxes, followed by the 1942 one-two punch of Pride of the Yankees and the even-bigger commercial and critical success, Mrs. Miniver, which gained Wright the Best Supporting Actress Academy Award), clearly placing the gifted rising star in company with the best and brightest leading ladies on screen by the time of Doubt. The flourish would continue with her perceptive, dexterous role as “Little Charlie,” who serves as a moral counterpoint to the uncle she first adores, before having to deeply ponder just how wonderful he really is. Wright has the trickly job of demonstrating from the outset Charlie’s innocence, but also her mature, cynical mindset regarding the rut she views her family in. Wright’s straightforward work in sublimely illustrating the multi-facets of this Charlie makes the smart, inquisitive heroine easy for audiences to identify with and root for as Charlie uncovers clues to her uncle’s past, then has to deal with her “twin” directly, with the apprehension mounting in Hitchcockian style as one fears for her safety. Also, in a manner similar to Cotton, Wright’s performance upholds an intelligent, natural playing style, lending a modern air to their vivid scenes, even with the film depicting a definite era of long ago, as Cotton and Wright’s beautifully in-synch acting still meshes in a strikingly believable fashion.  

Following Doubt, Wright would obtain possibly her career peak with highly praised work as one of the stars of the decade’s biggest commercial hit, 1946’s The Best Years of Our Lives, which also scored heavily at the Oscars. Wright’s period of incredible achievement took an abrupt downward turn shortly after this memorable interval, as her apparently golden contract with Samuel Goldwyn was terminated and Wright focused on raising her family, while still making time for film and television (with, appropriately, a couple episodes of The Alfred Hitchcock Hour in the 1960’s), including fine playing opposite Marlon Brando in his 1950 debut, The Men, Somewhere in Time and, in a satisfying farewell to the screen, a nice role in Francis Ford Coppola’s 1997 drama The Rainmaker.

Macdonald Carey, in his second year of movies after debuting in Star Spangled Rhythm, belies his inexperience on film by convincingly maintaining a calm, pleasant demeanor and a nice earnestness as Jack Graham, a detective who comes to Santa Rosa in pursuit of Uncle Charlie and finds himself enamored by the other Charlie. Carey’s charming chemistry with Wright has viewers rooting for their burgeoning romantic in the mist of conflict, and there’s a great moment in a garage wherein the young couple discuss their attraction and possibly future in smart, open terms not normally found in romances. As his sidekick, Wallace Ford adds to the proceedings with some nicely played, lighter interactions with the Newtons.

Patricia Collinge, who scored alongside Wright in Foxes (also gaining an Oscar nod), brings some of the same fragileness and sensitivity to her role as Emma, the household’s matriarch. Deeply devoted to her family and emotionally tied to her brother partially due to their problematic upbringing, Collinge does a great job illustrating Emma’s befuddlement as a series of curious events suggest tragedy is imminent for the Newtons. As Mr. Newton, Henry Travers brings a likable unperturbed quality to his role, and alongside Hume Cronyn (playing the nebbish next-door neighbor, Herbert) provides most of the movie’s lighter moments, as Mr. Newton and Herbert constantly discuss the various methods each would use to kill the other. Travers was coming off Oscar-nominated work in Miniver just prior to Doubt, while Cronyn parlayed his impactful film debut into a great career onscreen as a leading character actor (in addition to major stage work, often alongside wife Jessica Tandy), including an Oscar nod of his own for 1944’s The Seventh Cross, the same year he reunited with Hitchcock for Lifeboat.

Edna May Wonacott, playing Ann, the precocious, wise younger sister of Charlie, was discovered just prior to filming and lends a distinctive no-nonsense air to her acting that allows Ann to avoid any signs of the cuteness normally associated with child actors of the period, which could easily make the character unbelievable. Finally, Janet Shaw has a stunning bit as Louis, the near-somnambulistic waitress both Charlie’s encounter in a dive; based on her highly eccentric turn in Doubt, one wishes Shaw’s career had gained momentum, instead of only creating the wealth of bit roles her filmography details.

A success upon release, Doubt would gain Wright acclaim from the National Board of Review as one of the year’s top performances, while McDonell gathered the film’s sole Oscar nomination for Best Writing, Original Story (one wishes Hitchcock, Wright and especially Cotton, who never gained recognition from the Academy, could have placed in their respective categories). The movie’s reputation would continue to grow as a significant film in the Hitchcock cannon, with the classic included in the 1991 roster done by the Library of Congress for the National Film Registry, and new generations discovering Doubt by means of various media platforms (including a recent 4K disc).  And finally, in addition to its enthralling story, ace performances and sublime direction, Doubt is assured to continue to attract the curiosity of film buffs due to the fact that no less than Alfred Hitchcock stated it was the favorite of all his films.

Gable and Leigh Torridly Pair in Selznick's Sweeping Wind

                As any movie buff can tell you, 1939 proved to be a banner year for Hollywood, with the studio system releasing a huge number of classic films, including Goodbye, Mr. Chips, Jesse James, Midnight, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, Stagecoach, The Wizard of Oz and The Women. However, one film stood tall among the most anticipated offerings, as filmgoers mused over producer Davis O. Selznick’s adaptation of Margaret Mitchell’s 1936 bestseller, Gone with the Wind. Much publicity surrounded the making of the movie, particularly concerning casting of the book’s fascinating anti-heroine, the beautiful, scheming, courageous Scarlett O’Hara. Upon release in December of 1939, all doubts relating to Selznick’s vision and the lengthy shooting process were cast aside, in favor of rave reviews and record-breaking box-office. Although some modern-day critics have pointed to the film’s outdated stereotypes as dragging the merits of the movie down to the level wherein it doesn’t even warrant a viewing, Wind still remains one of the top entertainments produced during the Classic Hollywood era, providing some of the most enthralling sequences and performances to be found in movies, as the epic tale involving Southern belle Scarlett O’Hara and her complicated-but-riveting romance with the dashing Rhett Butler hypnotically unfolds against the backdrop of the Civil War.

                Entering the family business in the mid-1920s after a tenure at Columbia University, David Selznick worked at several studios, including MGM, Paramount and RKO, eventually finding success as a producer in the 1930’s with such MGM hits as Dinner at Eight, David Copperfield and A Tale of Two Cities, before creating Selznick International Pictures to independently produce his films. With its famous opening shot of the Selznick Building (which can still be seen in Culver City, looking much the same), the young movie maverick released a string of classics, including The Garden of Allah, A Star is Born and Nothing Sacred, gearing him up to undertake what became his passion project. The book Memo from David O. Selznick and David Hinton’s excellent making-of documentary on Wind are just two reference points illustrating the focus, drive and maddening attention to detail Selznick employed to ensure Wind would exceed all audience expectations and be one of Hollywood’s biggest triumphs. Although Selznick maintained a firm grip on the production, after initial work by George Cukor and later contributions by others (including Sam Wood), Victor Fleming largely took over the helm with a flourish, thereby possibly achieving the biggest one-two directorial punch ever (he had just finished The Wizard of Oz). Aided invaluably by Sidney Howard’s prodigious adaptation of the book, Fleming’s strong, sure hand allows Wind to artfully represent the multitude of storylines and characters, while wisely keeping the riveting Leigh front-and-center as the film’s most consistent, unifying element. Although Selznick would continue as a top producer for the rest of his career with varying degrees of success, including the following year’s Rebecca, Wind would remain the project most closely associated with him, guaranteeing his status as one of Classic Hollywood’s greatest showmen.

                The fortuitous casting of Vivien Leigh as Scarlett is one of the most perfect fusions of performer and role ever seen on screen. A last-minute contender when Paulette Goddard appeared to have the part sewn up, viewing Leigh’s screen test justifies her casting as the ideal Scarlett. With passion and precision, Leigh makes Scarlett come wholly alive in a manner unmatched by her competition, and her focused, powerful work illustrates she possessed the talent, charisma and drive needed to pull off the dynamic assignment. Invaluably giving her all in Wind, Leigh offers one of the most indelible, spellbinding examples of acting ever put on film. Importantly, not only does she fearlessly portray Scarlett’s worst traits with no plea for audience sympathy, Leigh appears to thrive on each opportunity to emphasize Scarlett’s unashamed nature as she goes about getting whatever she wants at any cost. However, Leigh also gains a viewer to her side as the movie progresses and Scarlett bravely faces one traumatic situation after another, making one believe Scarlett has the fortitude to survive and “Never go hungry again.” Leigh also slyly and colorfully demonstrates the vixen’s impish nature and hypocrisy, specifically in her scenes with the frequently bemused Rhett.

                With confidence and focus, Leigh vibrantly enacts Scarlett, making every motive and action crystal clear with the finesse of a veteran performer. Making a 1935 debut, both in film and on stage, wherein she met Laurence Olivier and become his frequent costar (mainly on stage) and eventual wife, Leigh was little-known in America before Wind, having only appeared in MGM’s A Yank at Oxford in 1938. A trip to the U.S. while accompanying Olivier for the filming of Wuthering Heights led to Selznick’s brother Myron presenting Leigh to David at the burning of Atlanta sequence and the rest was history, to the gratitude of movie-lovers everywhere held in awestruck admiration by the imposing feat Leigh, who must have felt immense pressure to fulfill the challenges of the demanding role, pulls off in Wind, creating an honest, pitch-perfect depiction of Scarlett when the public sought nothing less from the British “outsider,” after winning the part over so many American-based female stars and starlets. Establishing her rightful place in movie history via Wind, Leigh limited her film output for the rest of her career, but nevertheless contributed much to the screen prior to her passing in 1967, including beautiful work the following year in Waterloo Bridge, and then offering another one of the greatest performances with her shattering Blanche DuBois in the sanitized-but-overwhelming 1951 screen adaptation of Tennessee William’s landmark play.

                Unlike the prolonged search for Scarlett, from the time of the book’s release the public made it clear only one star was ideally suited to play Rhett onscreen, and the reigning King of Hollywood, Clark Gable, was indeed penciled in for the role after a few other names (Errol Flynn chief among them) were bandied about. Gable was then at the peak of popularity at the tail end of a decade that saw Gable’s swift rise to the top after a breakthrough 1931 (with A Free Soul gaining Gable particularly strong notice), followed by a string of critical and commercial hits, including Red Dust, Dancing Lady, his Oscar-winner, It Happened One Night, Mutiny on the Bounty and San Francisco. Wind appeared to be the perfect vehicle to top off a decade of astounding successes but Gable, understanding the phenomenally high profile of the material, recognized anything less than a faultless match with Rhett would bring public scorn, and possibly irreparable damage to his image.

Viewing his performance, Gable need have suffered no qualms as to his ability to fulfill the demands of the role as, similar to the case of Leigh as Scarlett, in look and temperament seldom has an actor fit a part so flawlessly. Gable utilities his trademark virility and sly good humor to make an immediately impact after a terrific intro shot of Rhett suggesting an impish, handsome rouge has just entered the movie from directly out of the novel. His scenes with Leigh are both funny and exciting, laced with a great sexual chemistry as Rhett and Scarlett’s relationship develops, then alternately rises and falls over the course of many eventful incidents befitting a grandiose entertainment. However, in perhaps the richest, most indelible work of his career, in addition to his familiar charm and masculinity, Gable pushes his acting talents far as Rhett is faced with a series of trials and regrets, imbuing the role with a sensitivity and complexity not often found in the macho mode that’s an essential part of many signature Gable characters. During the later stages of the film wherein tragedy strikes, the star handles the vulnerable, melancholy aspects of Rhett’s nature with a fine dexterity and a dedication to the role that assures a fully rounded portrait of Rhett is translated from page to the screen. Gable would remain a leading figure in film until ending his career with beautiful work in 1961’s posthumously released The Misfits, but for most Rhett Butler would remain his most identifiable accomplishment.

Olivia de Havilland’s turn as Melaine Hamilton, the gracious, benevolent counter to Scarlett, provided the young but already-established star a chance to increase her acting reputation considerably. Debuting in films in 1935, de Havilland had immediately success as an ingenue of beauty and charm, specifically opposite Flynn after their first teaming, Captain Blood, then reaching their apex in 1938’s The Adventures of Robin Hood, still the definitive screen rendering of the Robin Hood legend. Unlike many of her contemporaries, de Havilland felt the less-sought-after role of Melanie was a plum, granting an opportunity for her to add depth and individuality to what could have come across as a one-dimensional, fey role. de Havilland does a remarkable job of highlighting Melaine’s high moral character, without ever appearing to pander in schmaltz- she handles the part with a full belief in Melaine’s basic goodness and modesty, making Melanie worthy of Rhett’s (and others) high estimation of her. The young, talented star would build on her sublime Wind contribution to attain one of the most rewarding screen careers, specifically during the next decade, wherein de Havilland gained an Oscar for 1946’s To Each His Own and closed out the decade with perhaps her finest work in The Heiress, leading to Oscar number two in early 1950 while, with each hit revival of Wind, her meticulous portrayal of Melanie served as a reminder of the mature skill and ability she displayed so impressively early in her career.

As Ashley Wilkes, Leslie Howard has often been deemed the last and least of the four major players. The dimensions of the role are certainly less colorful when compared to those of the other three leads, with the virtuous, self-possessed Ashley placing first in Scarlett’s affections for the majority of the movie, but a distance second for most viewers in judging the merits of Rhett/Gable in comparison to Howard’s work. Howard was indeed reluctant to take the part, understanding the somewhat wane tenor of Ashley’s make-up, but he brings a great deal of professionalism and a dreamy affection in his scenes with de Havilland that fortifies Ashley and Melanie’s romance and loyalty to each other. He also does well opposite Leigh, displaying Ashley’s compassion and tolerance in regard to Scarlett’s forthright attempts to seduce him away from the altruistic Melaine. Wind did provide Howard with his most enduring screen assignment for the mass public, a few years before his death in 1943 while doing work in support of the British war effort, but to see him at his best, one need look no further than his Oscar-nominated, masterful depiction of Henry Higgins in the previous year’s Pygmalion, a superior screen adaptation of the George Bernard Shaw play, which Howard co-directed with Anthony Asquith.

After debuting in 1932 and becoming a mainstay in films, standing out in such classics as I’m No Angel and Alice Adams, Hattie McDaniel reached her career apex with her funny, vivid and very moving work of subscene in Gone with the Wind. Although her portrayal of Mammy has been a starting point for much of the later-day criticism of the racial stereotypes found in Wind, McDaniel’s superior performance rises above the standard, tired depiction of a dimwitted servant used for comic relief. In McDaniel’s skillful hands, Mammy becomes one of the strongest, wisest and most compassionate characters in the film. She’s the only one who understands Scarlett’s every deception and makes no bones in telling her exactly what she thinks, leading to some of Wind’s most amusing moments. She also directly lets Rhett know how much she does or doesn’t care for him, before displaying an aptitude for top-tier dramatic playing in one of the most emotionally impactful scenes, wherein a bereft Mammy explains to Melaine the dire state of affairs that have befallen Rhett and Scarlett. In this tour-de-force sequence, McDaniel unforgettably illustrates Mammy’s tormented state with hypnotic conviction, making her later historic Best Supporting Actress Oscar win seem a foregone conclusion. McDaniel would continue to shine in movies throughout the 1940’s (albeit often in domestic roles- she once stated she would rather play a maid than be one) such as In This Our Life and Since You Went Away, and also achieve success on radio and television in Beulah before her passing in 1952. Her rich, marvelous rendering of one of the most substantial, independent-minded figures in Gone with the Wind assures Hattie McDaniel her eminent place among Classic Hollywood’s best players.

Among the truly imposing list of supporting players Thomas Mitchell, in the midst of a career year on film rarely matched, with an Oscar to come for Stagecoach and plum roles in The Hunchback of Norte Dame, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington and Only Angels Have Wings also among his 1939 filmography, has the right bombastic touch as Scarlett’s fiery father, Gerald, allowing a viewer to believe Scarlett strongly takes after the family’s patriarch. In contrast, as Mrs. O’Hara Barbara O’Neil lends grace and dignity to her role, while Evelyn Keyes and Ann Rutherford ideally fit the bill as Scarlett’s sisters, the spirited Suellen and the younger, more naïve Carreen, with Keyes in particular adding nice comic flair to Suellen’s (ultimately justifiable) indignant attitude towards Scarlett. Butterfly McQueen’s florid playing as Prissy has also faced criticism but McQueen, while clearly generating some of the biggest laughs in the film as the overwrought Prissy runs amok during the siege of Atlanta, also indicates Prissy’s strong sense of self-regard and confidence in calmer moments, allowing audiences to admire the character and laugh with McQueen, not at her in Prissy’s more amusing moments. Laura Hope Crews is also all-aflutter and comical as Aunt Pitty-Pat, while Henry Davenport adds both humor and empathy to his fine, sage work as Dr. Meade. As Belle Watling, the “Hostess” who frequently entertains Rhett, Ona Munson brings a great deal of warmth and wisdom to the screen and does a great job conveying her unrequited love for Rhett, and how well Belle understands the situation regarding his love/hate relationship with Scarlett. In smaller roles, such names as George Reeves, Eddie Anderson, Jane Darwell, Victor Jory and Isabel Jewell also make maximum impacts in brief but choice assignments.

The unprecedented success of Wind after its December 15, 1939 Atlanta premiere found the monumental hit playing its first run for several years, ending up at the top of the Variety list of “All-Time Top Grossers” until finally being displaced by 1965’s The Sound of Music. Viewing the Variety lists are intriguing, as it makes clear just how successful the film was in several re-releases, with the January 5, 1949 list showing $22,000,000 in U.S./Canada rentals, the 1954 list showing a $26,000,000 total, the 1955 list witnessing a jump to $33,500,000 and (after a 1961 reissue that has Wind placing sixth for the year with $6,000,000) the 1963 and 1965 lists showing $41,200,000 in rentals. A big 1968 reissue had Wind placing third for the year, amassing $23,000,000 more in rentals according to the January 8, 1969 issue of Variety. On the 1977 Variety list, Wind was still in the top ten films of all time (at #9), with a $76,700,000 total. Currently, Box Office Mojo shows a gross of $200,882,193 for Wind, and an adjusted for inflation amount of $1,850,581,586, placing Wind back on top as the biggest hit of all time. Wind also conquered television with its two-part network premiere in November of 1976, with the 1980 edition of Film Facts by Cobbett Steinberg showing Part 1 in first place among the most popular films ever shown on television, with a 47.7 rating and a 65 share, and Part 2 in second with a 47.4 rating and a 64 share.

Wind also fared importantly in the 1940 award season, taking home eight competitive awards from 13 nominations (a record at the time) and two special awards, which included Best Picture, Director, Screenplay, Score (for Max Steiner most famous orchestrations) and one of the most richly deserved Best Actress wins ever. Leigh also won the New York Film Critics Bets Actress prize, and also placed among the Best Acting for the 1940 (due to a later release of Wind in some areas) National Board of Review awards, wherein Wind also placed in the top ten films of the year. The film’s ongoing status as one of Hollywood’s most enduring productions found it placing at #4 on the American Film Institute’s 1998 list of the 100 best American movies, and at #6 on the 2007 updated list. The film also placed among the 25 films included for preservation in the Library of Congress’ first selection of National Film Registry titles in 1989. Wind has also gained large audiences and profits through various physical media formats over the years, as well as the occasional re-release. Today, reassessments of Wind, specifically concerning its racial stereotypes, have caused some to take a pass on viewing the film or rating it alongside other, less controversial classics. Those willing to grant immunity to Wind based on the period it was made will be treated to a rare Hollywood blockbuster that offers stellar work in each department and provides a consistently enthralling watch over its nearly four-hour running time, making it difficult by the final frame to not give a damn about Selznick’s greatest achievement.