Ida Lupino Achieves Her Dramatic Peak The Hard Way

 

A bleak but exceptionally involving 1943 Warner Brothers’ drama, The Hard Way details the unorthodox rags-to-riches story of Helen Chernen and her kid sister Katie, who are witnessing their youth and opportunities passing as they toil in a dead-end town at the film’s outset. Vincent Sherman, a prime director for the studio entering a fruitful period of guiding Warner’s leading ladies (Bette Davis, Joan Crawford, Ann Sheridan, etc.) to top performances, shows a keen talent for maintaining a tense, compelling tone in an atmospheric show-biz milieu while bringing the incisive script by Daniel Fuchs and Peter Viertel (based on a story by producer Jerry Wald) to life onscreen, which finds Helen going to extreme measures to ensure Katie gets all the proper breaks in gaining stardom. Sherman, who started as an actor before his rewarding career behind the cameras, demonstrates great care in ensuring his top roster of players, led by Ida Lupino, Joan Leslie, Jack Carson and Dennis Morgan, are given opportunities to create portrayals of depth, honesty and complexity that rank among their best work while keeping the highly theatrical material in the realm of believability, helping the audience to become absorbed in an engrossing tale of ambition and its irrevocable impact on those near-and-dear relationships.     

                For Sherman, The Hard Way would provide an important turning point in his career at Warners. Born in 1906, Sherman started his acting career onstage in the 1920s before making a film debut opposite John Barrymore in Counsellor at Law, followed by several programmers before his switch to direction at Warners via 1939’s The Return of Doctor X. Several other features followed, including two 1942 hits starring Humphrey Bogart, All Through the Night and (taking over from John Huston) Across the Pacific just prior to his impressive work on Way. Sherman, aided by James Wong Howe’s mood-enhancing B&W cinematography, establishes a sense of foreboding unease, from the early scenes wherein Helen and Katie appear to be doomed to the poverty their small-town and Helen’s older, tired husband Sam offers, to later moments illustrating how Helen’s machinations cause plenty of discord among her, Katie and anyone else Helen comes in contact with. Sherman’s ace work with his cast may have been a primary factor in him landing choice assignments thereafter, following Way with a bigger 1943 hit, Old Acquaintance¸ starring Bette Davis and Miriam Hopkins, then leading Davis and Claude Rains to Oscar nominations for 1944’s Mr. Skeffington while also reteaming with Lupino for In Our Time and Pillow to Post before scoring additional success with noirish fare such as 1947’s Nora Prentiss starring Ann Sheridan and 1950’s The Damned Don’t Cry, his first of three with Joan Crawford. Sherman also would score in the 1950s with the Rita Hayworth/Glenn Ford Affair in Trinidad in 1952, then close out the decade with the entertaining melodrama The Young Philadelphians starring on-the-rise Paul Newman, before slowing down his output, with his last feature coming in 1967 via the international production of Cervantes. A lengthy retirement thereafter found Sherman living to the ripe age of 99 before his passing in 2006, long enough for him to record several invaluable audio commentaries for his key films, including his first as a director, Return of Doctor X.

                Ida Lupino is in her element as the hard-nosed but understandably determined Helen, adding rich shadings to the role that help an audience identify with her often-self-serving actions. Born in London in 1918 to showbiz parents, Lupino displayed an early knack for performing and made her film debut in 1931 via her father Stanley’s vehicle The Love Race before an early run of bad girl roles in British films led the fifteen-year-old Lupino to a Hollywood debut in 1934’s lively Search for Beauty. Proceeding through most of the decade in light entertainments such as Anything Goes, The Gay Desperado and Artists and Models, Lupino would witness a major career upswing in 1939 with riveting dramatic work in The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes and, specifically, The Light That Failed, wherein she showed her overpowering finesse for playing in unscrupulous mode as guttersnipe Bessie Broke, who gives Ronald Colman’s more altruistic artist a wealth of trouble, which Lupino depicts with relish while walking off with the picture. She solidified this great year and started her rewarding run at Warners with 1940’s They Drive by Night, again taking top acting honors in a stellar cast with excitingly emotional work as a selfish, nefarious vixen, Lana Carlsen, who becomes memorably unhinged in a courtroom scene wherein Lupino matches the theatrically driven work of Bette Davis in a similar role in Bordertown. Lupino would continue apace during this most fruitful period for her career as a leading lady with an edge, tough enough to stand alongside Humphery Bogart in High Sierra or Edward G. Robinson and John Garfield in The Sea Wolf and make her presence felt in equal measure to theirs, leading to possibly her most demanding role in The Hard Way.

Regarding her major assignment as Helen, as is normally the case in classic movies, just about any woman with ambitions is painted as a villain who must pay for her tough, focused efforts, but in Lupino’s hands much of what Helen does in her quest to guide her sister to fame and both of them to fortune makes sense, even if the decisions she makes with or without Katie’s knowledge may sometimes be ignoble in nature. Lupino does a great job illustrating Helen’s mindset and is fascinating to watch as she shows Helen’s reactions to others, allowing viewers to see, whether verbally or otherwise, Helen knows the consequences of her actions and isn’t necessarily happy about what she feels she has to do on the upward climb to success, in a manner more subtlety etched than in her previous bold portrayals of women or uncertain morals, allowing viewers to identify with Helen as a believable if flawed protagonist. After this career highlight, Lupino would continue as a top-billed star in titles such as Escape Me Never opposite Errol Flynn before making a wonderful impression in 1948’s noir classic Road House. At the end of the 1940s, Lupino would add substantially to her filmography and her place in film history by becoming a movie director of merit with thought-provoking dramas such as Outrage, The Hitch-Hiker and The Bigamist and much work helming television productions, while continuing to shine acting-wise in The Big Knife, While the City Sleeps and then a nice comeback after years off the screen in 1972’s Junior Bonner opposite Steve McQueen, before her final film appearance in 1978. Her reputation as top actor and pioneering female director of Hollywood Golden Age secure, Lupino would pass in 1995 at age 77.

                Starting in films at age eleven in 1936’s Camille, by the early 1940s Joan Leslie had established herself as perhaps the screen’s chief ingenue, with prominent roles in two massive hits, 1941’s Sergeant York and opposite James Cagney the following year in Yankee Doodle Dandy. Although efficient enough playing in an eager-to-please, perky manner whether acting, singing or dancing, Leslie found perhaps her best opportunity to shine onscreen with the complex role of Katie, displaying a more mature, involved acting style than in previous parts. Katie may present a more compassionate nature than Helen, but Leslie adeptly brings the character’s intriguing willingness to go along with her older sister’s ploys to the forefront at key moments, allowing the viewer to see Katie’s conflicting emotions as her career rises. Leslie seems committed to the role in admirable fashion, showing a performing skill and professionalism rare in a seventeen-year-old as Katie faces some hard lessons and decisions, both pre and post stardom. Leslie’s fine work in Way was followed by additional 1943 coups onscreen, as she costarred opposite no less than Fred Astaire in The Sky’s the Limit, as well as taking the female lead in two WWII all-star diversions, Thank Your Lucky Stars and another top 1940’s smash, This is the Army. After this banner year, Leslie would continue largely as one of Warner’s charming “good girl” go-tos via fare such as Rhapsody in Blue, Cinderella Jones and Janie gets Married, before leaving the studio to freelance with more erratic success, with 1956’s The Revolt of Mamie Stover marking Leslie’s final big screen appearance, followed by occasional guest roles on television in hits such as Charlie’s Angels and Murder, She Wrote before her passing in 2015 at age 90.

                As Albert Runkel, the lower-tier song-and-dance man who aids Katie’s entry into show business while romancing her, Jack Carson gives a performance of astounding tenderness and depth. An all-purpose contract player who started in films 1937 via a wealth of bit roles, popping up in classics such as Stage Door and Bringing Up Baby, then working his way up at Warners as an amiable second lead in top output such as The Strawberry Blonde and Gentleman Jim, The Hard Way would allow Carson his best chance to exhibit the prodigious dramatic talent that lie underneath his often happy-go-lucky exterior. With great sensitivity and skill, Carson illustrates Albert’s kind, decent and vulnerable persona with moving force, as the character struggles to find his place onstage and in Katie’s life, without ever overplaying the role. For example, in one unforgettable moment, Carson employs a quavering voice and unsettled disposition as a devasted Albert tries to act upbeat while congratulating Katie on a great career opportunity that will also tear them apart that clearly shows the caring, earnest Albert’s heartbreak. Carson would go on to a rewarding career for the next twenty years until his death in 1963, with roles in Midred Pierce, having Doris Day sing “It’s Magic” to him in her Romance on the High Seas screen debut, then maintaining a strong profile with solid dramatic work in films such as A Star is Born, The Tarnished Angels and Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. However, it’s possible Carson never again played with such persuasion and complexity as he brings to the part of the sweet, well-meaning Albert Runkel.

                Dennis Morgan also makes a solid impression as Paul Collins, Albert’s sage, worldly-wise stage partner, who quickly reads how far Helen is willing to go to achieve prominence in the theatrical world for Katie and herself. Starting in films in 1929 as Stanley Morner, Morgan would famously appear in 1936’s The Great Ziegfeld as (dubbed by Allan Jones, even though Morgan had a fine singing voice) the crooner of “A Pretty Girl is Like a Melody” on a mammoth MGM set, then have a leading man breakthrough opposite Oscar-winning Ginger Rogers in 1940’s Kitty Foyle. As with Carson, his frequent costar at Warners during the 1940s, Morgan would regularly star in lighter musical and comedies, such as 1943’s The Desert Song, opposite Barbara Stanwyck in Christmas in Connecticut and scoring one of his biggest hits via 1947’s My Wild Irish Rose. Occasionally Morgan would show a tougher, more acerbic side with, after a strong 1942 wherein Morgan featured in two hits, the war-themed Captain of the Clouds opposite James Cagney and as the vixenish Bette Davis’ object of affection in the wild, entertaining melodrama In This Our Life, The Hard Way granting him a prime role in this more cynical area, as Morgan convinces viewers Paul is an apt adversary capable of putting Helen in her place if needed. After a period of continual success in the 1940s, Morgan’s screen output lessened with more sporadic appearances, with his final role coming via a cameo in 1976’s Won Ton Ton, the Dog Who Saved Hollywood, before retirement until his passing in 1994 at age 85.

In other roles, Gladys George is ideally cast as Lily Emery, an aging Broadway diva who unfortunately encounters Helen during a bad day at the center stage, utilizing her raspy, gin-soaked voice to maximum effect in a few standout moments, as she did regularly at Warners (The Maltese Falcon, Flamingo Road) and elsewhere (The Best Years of Our Lives, Detective Story). George expertly shows the egomania and insecurity that makes Lily both a pathetic and relatable character, and one is sympathetically drawn to her plight as Lily recounts past glories and hopes to rekindle her fame. As Helen’s weary, ineffectual husband Sam, Roman Bohnen makes a nice impression in his brief appearance, while Leona Maricle lends an urbane touch to her work as Laura Britton, a playwright interested in working with Katie. Faye Emerson, years before her greater stardom on television, also is seen to good advantage as a waitress who catches Paul’s eye, while other familiar faces that pop up include Virginia Brissac, Ann Doran, and William Hopper.

                Released in February of 1943, The Hard Way was a solid critical and box-office success, lingering enough in memory to factor into the year-end awards, with the film placing on The National Board of Review’s top ten list and Lupino winning Best Actress from the New York Film Critics, and the movie, Lupino and Carson receiving awards from Photoplay magazine. Come Oscar time the film was unfortunately overlooked, possibly due to the uncompromising nature of the material, when nominations for (at least) Best Picture, Actress (Lupino) and Supporting Actor (Carson) were merit worthy. However, over the years the incisive screenplay, directing and performances have allowed The Hard Way to uphold the strong impact on audiences it had during its initial release. A recent Warner Archive Blu-ray provides a pristine print of the film, allowing an ideal format for movie lovers to discover the gratifying virtues found in one of the overlooked dramatic gems from the studio’s rich trove of 1940’s classics. 

                And a fond Farewell to a trio of performers who made their singular marks on the entertainment industry. Tim Curry, who passed away on August 25^th at 80, made his 1968 West End debut in Hair, before the 1970s sealed his greatest claim to fame with his indelible, fearless work as Dr. Frank-N-Furter on stage and, specifically, the 1975 film version of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Although first-run audiences didn’t know what to make of all the onscreen shenanigans, the ultra-charismatic work of Curry helped ensure the movie would gain fame as the ultimate late-night cult viewing, leading the gifted thespian to thrive on stage, television and film for the remainer of his rich career, with highlights including three Tony nominations for his stage endeavors, frequent television appearances, such as his creepy, vivid work as Pennywise in the 1990 miniseries It and an Emmy award for his voiceover work as Captain Hook, while also bringing to life a host of significant and lively characters on the big screen via appearances in such high-profile movies as Annie, Clue, The Hunt for Red October and The Three Musketeers.

                A constant presence on television from a 1954 debut at age 10 through the 1990s, Shelly Fabares also made her mark in movies as a three-time costar of the King, Elvis Presley, as well as on record via a 1962 #1 pop hit. First gaining wide renown on The Donna Reed Show, which aired from 1958-63, Fabares career would witness a substantial uptake when some behind-the-scenes Reed personnel thought it wise to have Fabares and her onscreen bother, Paul Petersen, try their hand at pop music. Although Petersen would also gain success in this field with a top ten hit, “My Dad,” Fabares’ recording of “Johnny Angel,” wherein, backed by the Blossoms including Darlene Love, the virtually untried (as a singer) seventeen-year-old’s pleasant, sincere vocal perfectly matched the lyrics which found a young girl hopelessly devoted to the song’s title figure, leading to major success on the airwaves and on vinyl, with the song landing at #1 on Billboard’s Top 100 chart in April of 1962 to mark its claim as one of the biggest female solo hits of the era.

It’s likely her recording fame helped Fabares land roles opposite Elvis in Girl Happy, Spinout and Clambake, which constituted the major part of her film career after starting out in bit parts in 1955. Continuing on television in the next two decades as a reliable guest star as well as the female lead in one of the most successful made-for-tv movies ever, 1971’s Brian Song, Fabares would find her career take a swift uprise with her work as Christine Armstrong in the 1989-1997 run of the hit sitcom Coach, which would finally bring Fabares Emmy recognition, with two Supporting Actress in a Comedy Series nominations after honing her craft for 35 years on television. Fabares would largely retire from the industry post-Coach, with one tv movie a few vocal credits to her name thereafter, focusing instead on work as a producer of the Screen Actors Guild Awards and her marriage (since 1984) to fellow television icon (via M*A*S*H) Mike Farrell before her death at 82 on August 22nd.

                An appealing presence in several top films of the 1950s and 1960s, who specialized in mixing sexual allure with a sweet, endearing persona, Leslie Parrish first studied music before initial fame on NBC as “Miss Color TV” led to movies. After debuting in brief roles in 1955, including A Man Called Peter and Daddy Long Legs, Parrish honed her skills until breaking through as Daisy Mae in the 1959 upbeat film adaptation of the Broadway hit Li’l Abner. 1962 brought Parrish the role for which her cinematic legacy rests upon, as the beguiling Jocelyn Jordan in one of the finest films of the decade, The Manchurian Candidate. Other key films of the period included Sex and the Single Girl and opposite Jerry Lewis in 1966’s Three on a Couch. Parrish would continue on films and television for another decade before her final credit in 1978, then retire to focus on environmental activism until her death on November 14, 2025, which was only publicly disclosed on August 23^rd. RIP to each of these talented, memorable performers. 

A Fond Farewell to an Always Beloved Icon, Dolly Parton

 

The sad news of Dolly Parton’s death at 80 on August 25^th hit much harder than usual when hearing of a celebrity passing. Growing up in the 1970s and 1980s, I became a fan of Parton from early childhood, from the early solo country hits she wrote and sang (after her first success dueting with Porter Wagoner starting in the late 1960s) such as her first #1, “Joshua,” the poignant “Coat of Many Colors,” and two enduring smashes legend has Parton penned on the same day, “Jolene” and “I Will Always Love You,” written with Wagoner in mind after Parton inevitably moved on to wider acclaim and success as a solo artist. Another #1, “Love is Like a Butterfly,” served as the theme song to Parton’s television variety show, wherein her warmth and sincerity indicated a screen presence of singular appeal might be utilized in film. Late 1977 into 1978 witnessed wide musical crossover success from country to pop with the infectious “Here You Come Again,” which landed at #1 for five weeks on the Country charts before hitting #3 on the pop charts, followed by “Two Doors Down,” which also gained solid county and pop airplay.

                With Parton continuing to build her legacy in music late in the 1970s (“Heartbreaker,” “You’re the Only One”), a major leap to superstardom awaited with the new decade. Jane Fonda had caught Parton on television and felt that, although untried as an actor, Parton would be a perfect fit for a project Fonda was working on involving three female office workers embroiled in a battle of wills with their unscrupulous boss. Released just before Christmas in 1980, the comic-ladened 9 to 5 became not only the rare smash of the period to top $100 million in box office figures, but also propelled Parton to major screen stardom and one of her biggest solo hits, with her infectious title song making it to #1 on the country and pop charts, and gaining Parton an Oscar nomination for Best Song. Parton also was granted critical praise for her triumph on screen her first time out, wherein she easily kept pace with costars Fonda, an inspired Lily Tomlin, and Dabey Coleman as Frank Hart, aka the Boss from Hell. As Doralee, Hart’s sweet, humorous and upbeat secretary, Parton won over vast audiences with a naturalness, sincerity and intuitive comic spark onscreen that couldn’t be beat. Among the impressed viewers was this author, who was ecstatic to see Parton was as gifted onscreen as on her recordings.

                9 to 5 propelled Parton to a place among the cinematic elite, including gaining the position as the top female box office draw for 1981 (according to the esteemed Quigley Publishing poll), a feat she was able to match the following year with another huge hit, teaming with the #1 male draw, Burt Reynolds, for the film adaptation of the musical The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas. Although the movie’s uneven in tone, Parton’s melodious voice, honesty and likability shine throughout, and do much to keep the film afloat. She has an infectious, robust joy for performing and magnetic presence that completely draws a viewer in, hitting exactly the right comic or dramatic notes as Miss Mona, the no-nonsense businesswoman who runs the title establishment. Although there’s a wealth of lighter fare on display, including a sexy, playful duet with a game Reynolds as the Sheriff, Parton illustrates how impactful she could be dramatically with her heartfelt rendering of “I Will Always Love You,” which was wisely added to the film and became a #1 Country hit again for Parton, a decade before Whitney Houston would send through the stratosphere on the pop charts. Set towards the end of the film wherein Miss Mona attempts to bid adieu to her sheriff/lover, the song opens with the camera on Parton’s back, before Miss Mona turns and sings “If I should stay. . .” The simple purity, fragility and depth of emotion Parton’s displays during the number is profound, and demonstrates how Parton had an intuitive knack for fine screen acting, whatever genre she was playing, leading to high praise from such critical notables as Robert Ebert and the difficult-to-please Pauline Kael.

 

 A big follow-up undertaking, 1984’s Rhinestone, stopped her momentum onscreen, but she ended the decade on a high note as part of the star-powered female lineup in the film version of the deft comedy/tearjerker Steel Magnolias, wherein as down-to-earth beautician Truvy Jones Parton again displays fine comic chops and a perchance for incredibly moving dramatic moments, such as Truvy’s gentle remark to her husband, “It makes you pretty” concerning a beauty product he’s asked about, while the characters are simultaneously re-bonding, and her reaction at a climatic post-funeral scene with her costars, wherein Parton’s completely true and instinctive performance style is overwhelmingly touching (rather than acting to a fare thee well as her costars do with great zeal and conviction, the focused Parton appears to be spontaneously taking in the moment as if it’s really happening, serving as a surrogate to audience members who are also emotionally gutted by the events unfolding onscreen).

                Parton continued to thrive during the later decades of her career, launching another entertainment cash cow with her Dollywood theme park. while continuing to reap accomplishments in musical, television and film, among them amassing a total of eleven career Grammys (including a Lifetime Achievement Grammy), another Best Song Oscar nomination for “Travelin’ Thru” and later a Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award from the Academy, a 2006 Kennedy Center honor, as well as involvement in many philanthropic endeavors including literacy programs for children, and a recent venture creating a Broadway musical based on her life and career. Through every enterprise and appearance, Parton’s talent, wisdom, humor and kindness burned bright, making her deservedly one of the most cherished entertainers ever, to the extent that her passing felt like the loss of a best friend to many. RIP to a true legend of various mediums; we will always love you, Dolly.

Paul Reubens as Pee-wee Herman Joins Filmdom's Elite with His Big Adventure

 

            Among Hollywood’s most imaginative and briskly entertaining comedies, Pee-wee’s Big Adventure granted Paul Reubens (as Pee-wee) and director Tim Burton the chance to join creative forces to concoct one of 1985’s most surprisingly original and beguiling screen entertainments, as Reubens translates his famous manchild persona from television’s The Pee-wee Herman Show to the movies with aplomb and gleeful enthusiasm. Working with a fun-filled, clever screenplay by Reubens and cowriters Phil Hartman and Michael Varhol, the scenario offers a fascinating riff on the Road Movie genre, with Pee-wee encountering a wealth of colorful characters and situations as he sets out on a quest to recapture his prized possession, the uniquely designed bike of his dreams, literally in some cases. Meetings with a convict, bike gang, “Large Marge” and a diabolically perky Alamo tour guide are some aspects that allow the film to speed by in a fast-paced 91 minutes, with Burton fully seizing his feature film directorial debut to showcase the offbeat style that would thereafter mark him as one of the Cinema’s most daringly innovative and prodigious talents.

The alternatively touching and unsettling short Frankenweenie, Burton’s primary film credit prior to Adventure, gave Reubens a chance to see the unique vision Burton possessed in forming a singular world onscreen, helping convince the star and producers that the young maverick was the ideal candidate to helm the zany, live-action cartoon universe found in Pee-wee’s venue. From the opening sequences showing Pee-wee in a dream winning the Tour de France, then rising to create one of the most elaborately devised breakfasts ever seen, it’s clear Burton is relishing his chance to let his imagination run loose depicting the expansive environment Pee-wee toils in. Burton’s perchance for   envisioning weird set designs and dark situations is evident throughout the movie, both in Pee-Wee’s “real” existence (Pee-wee standing in front of a bike shop with wheels spinning ominously behind him, a menacing mechanical clown outside a mall taunting Pee-wee) and in nightmare sequences wherein Pee-Wee imagines what could have become of his bike.

Frequent Burton collaborator Danny Elfman adds immensely to setting the proper otherworldly, eerily comic and cartoony vibe with a florid, playfully upbeat score that brings a carnival-like atmosphere to the often-outlandish events, while cinematographer Victor J. Klemper perfectly captures both the lighter, looser aspects of the vignettes, while also (sometimes simultaneously) granting a more sinister tone to the proceedings, such as Pee-wee’s amusing but somewhat unsettling visit to a magic shop, his meeting with an on-the-run convict, or his supernatural, memorable encounter with Large Marge. Following the success of Adventure, Burton would soon rise to the top of the Hollywood heap with hits such as Beetlejuice, Batman and Edward Scissorhands, while the distinct charms of his first major success would continue to hold a special place in Burton’s filmography for an ever-growing wealth of Adventure fans.

                By the time of filming, Reubens had finely crafted his vivid portrayal of Pee-wee on television, enabling him to put over his jubilant, wry, gleefully perverse bow-tied icon with confidence, skill and unmitigated comic brio. Whether Pee-wee is displaying unmitigated passion towards his prized bike, engaging in a childish “I know you are, but what am I?” battle with chief nemesis Francis or, in one of the film’s most indelible passages, calming a riotous gang of bikers with his nerdy but ultra-cool interpretive dance to “Tequila,” Reubens fully invests the role with a high-spirited, sometimes manic energy that draws the viewer to his plight, even when Pee-wee is not displaying the most noble or compassionate behavior, such as his dismissive attitude towards his adoring girl Friday, Dottie or when throwing out snide retorts, often just because he feels like it, so there. As Pee-wee traverses around seeking his lost cycle, Reubens and Burton have fun addressing a variety of stereotypes and putting a spin on these parts, such as Mickey, the convict who picks up Pee-wee, then appears to form a homoerotic bond with him, especially once Pee-wee goes drag to attempt to bypass authorities, or Simone, the melancholic waitress who shares a few choice double entendres with Pee-wee as they watch the sunrise inside a dinosaur. 

                The dynamic Reubens appears fully at home and confident putting over Pee-wee in his big screen venture as he combines frantic, unnerving gusto with sly wit and artful vocal work. For example, his obsession with finding “the best bike ever” is rendered wholly believable in a sequence wherein Pee-wee addresses a group of friends in a hours-long basement presentation, wherein he desperately details a throve of insignificant facts and becomes increasingly and hilariously agitated and forceful, shouting out his findings in a frenzied manner as he risks alienating everyone he knows. Conversely, Reubens often employs a calmer, sublime tongue-in-cheek style for maximum comic effect, such as in his stoic, deer-in-the-headlights appearance as a hotel clerk in the screen adaptation of his adventure, or when throwing out dryly sarcastic quips as he spars with Dottie, Francis, or anyone else who he finds bothersome.

                The adept supporting cast put over the various florid types with distinction and flair. Elizabeth Dailey, with her girlish voice and quirky but sincere delivery, proves an ideal mate for Pee-wee in their oddball pairing, while Judd Omen has a fine comic intensity as the brooding Mickey. Diane Salinger, with her haunting voice and fragile, desperate demeanor, makes Simone a compelling figure who adds a nice humane touch to the story, and Mark Holton is appropriately over-the-top as Francis, throwing himself into Francis’ contentious run-ins with Pee-wee with a campy verve that is well-match to Reubens’ equally aggressive but lighthearted emoting. In a brief passage with Reubens, Alice Nunn scores mightily as the foreboding Large Marge, leaving a lasting mark on viewers with only a couple minutes of screentime. James Brolin and Morgan Fairchild help cap off the movie with style and humor as the dashing and sexy screen incarnations of Pee-wee and Dottie, while Milton Berle, Tony Bill, Phil Hartman and Dee Snider with Twister Sister and Burton himself (as a thug) also pop up in fun cameos, as well as Cassandra Peterson as an alluring biker chick putting the moves on Pee-wee, while elsewhere she was gaining greater fame as the daffy but enticing Elviria. Finally, the great Jan Hooks gets perhaps the best screen chance to exhibit her brilliant comic timing as Tina, the slick, ebullient Alamo tour guide who drives Pee-wee to distraction with her inane, over-rehearsed yet cheerful musings of Alamo folklore, in the process ensuring herself a small but memorable place in the annals of prime comedic moments from 1980’s movies.

Released in July, Pee-wee’s Big Adventure became a surprise critical and financial success, as the uniquely offbeat comedy proved to be a perfect carefree vehicle for a summer night at the movies. Reviewers largely gave Reubens and Burton full credit for smartly expanding the Pee-wee Herman role into more adult territory without losing his appeal for the younger set, which he would establish further via Pee-wee’s Playhouse, while audiences turned out in substantial numbers, allowing the low-budget ($3,000,000) production to gain (according to Box Office Mojo) over $40,000,000 in ticket sales. Although mostly overlooked come award season, unsurprising for a high comedy with plenty of slapstick elements, Adventure has built a strong cult reputation over the years as a key film in Burton’s canon and of its era, as well as Paul Reubens crowning achievement on film. A 1988 sequel without Burton, Big Top Pee-wee, failed to merit the same reaction as Adventure, but in 2016 a Netflix release, Pee-wee’s Big Holiday, fared much better with critics and eager fans as a welcome return to form for both Reubens and his now-legendary creation. Both those uninitiated with Reubens’ flamboyant, eccentric, avant-garde take on the role or others fully attuned with Pee-wee’s vibe will be amply rewarded by taking an unforgettably fantastical trek with the lively extrovert as he embarks on a cinematic Big Adventure like no other.

Jacques Tati Embarks on a Blissful Cinematic Holiday

 

A bemusing entertainment perfect for summertime viewing, director/writer/star Jacques Tati’s classic 1953 comedy Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday (Les Vacances de m. Hulot) offers a highly inventive, consistently beguiling portrait of vacationers at a sunny seaside resort, led by the title character, Mr. Hulot, a pipe-bearing, upbeat, inquisitive gentleman eager to partake of the various activities available at the getaway, and frequently becoming involved in an array of mishaps in the process. The loose-form nature of the screenplay by Tati and Henri Marquet, which consists of a series of vignettes detailing interactions between Hulot and his fellow guests as opposed to a more traditional, story-driven narrative, allows one memorable site gag after another as the resort inhabitants hit the beach, tennis courts, go picnicking, hiking and horseback riding, or lounge around the hotel before and after a repast. Maintaining a diverting blend of alternatively tranquil and raucous moments put over with with charm, precision and a touching humanity by Tati, Holiday conveys the joys and foibles involved in taking a respite away from any care and responsibilities, permitting audiences to identify with all the personalities on display and their various exploits.

Born in 1907 in Le Pecq, France, Tati served in the military and utilized his athletic prowess as part of a professional rugby team before moving into the theatrical world by the mid-1930s, wherein he quickly rose to prominence as a leading physical comic of music halls, while also appearing in several short films. After returning to the military during WWII, Tati would make his entry into direction via a 1947 short, before his first foray into feature-length filmmaking as star, director and co-writer (along with Marquet and René Wheeler) of 1949’s Jour de fête, playing François, an amiable but ungainly mailman that could serve as a blueprint for Hulot. As with his later film excursions, Tati would use scant dialogue and emphasize background noises and music to help convey the proper comedic tone, while also illustrating different amusing set pieces as François traverses around the countryside on his route, encountering misadventures along the way.

After the huge success of fête in France, with the introduction of Hulot in Holiday Tati would gain worldwide fame as an original, gifted comic force in film. Although Hulot does occasionally speak, most of his actions involve clever, carefully staged physical bits of business that harken back to the great comedians of the Silent Era. Tati also masterfully uses sound effects to put over the comedy, such as providing his compact vehicle with so many colorful noises as it toots its way to the resort at the film’s outset, then beyond as Hulot seeks other ventures, that it becomes a significant character in its own right. The nonchalant, pleasant demeanor of Hulot, played by Tati in a simple, highly likeable manner, helps the view quickly bond with the ingratiating figure, and eagerly support Hulot as he attempts to enjoy his downtime to the fullest, withy various levels of success. In a critical supporting role, Alain Romans simple, catchy score is an invaluable aspect in setting the overall breezy tone of the movie, with the main theme repeating throughout the film as a means of introducing most of the sequences, then playfully serving as a motif to the unfolding antics in a manner that lingers with a viewer.

                Although Hulot serves as the central figure of the film, Holiday offers a strong ensemble vibe throughout, with Tati often focusing on the other travelers and giving these actors ample time for amusing segments, including René Lacourt and Marguerite Gérard as a middle aged couple who memorably stroll around the resort and beach grounds at various hours, Raymond Camax as the edgy waiter overseeing the dining area, Lucien Frégis as the hotel’s proprietor, who is often befuddled by Hulot and the other guest’s activities, Valentine Camax as a sweet English lady who takes a shine to Hulot after marveling over his unorthodox but winning methods on the tennis court and a group of travelers who open the film in a chaotic rush to meet the correct train for their journey in one Tati’s most extravagant set pieces. In the most significant role outside of Tati’s, Nathalie Pascaud makes a captivatingly serene heroine as Martine, the lovely and gracious young guest who catches the eye of Hulot and everyone else, in the process serving as a stabilizing, sensible presence amid all the chaos surrounding her, with her partnering alongside Hulot for a dance at a resort costume ball providing one of Pascaud’s standout moments.

Upon release in France in early 1953, Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday found notable success with critics and audiences and secured Tati’s reputation as an important filmmaker and expert comic possessing his own distinctive style. The film would be nominated for the prestigious Palm d’Or at the Cannes Film festival and win the Louis Delluc Prize there before witnessing major success in America, where rave reviews and strong art house reaction led to more hosanas, including placement on The New York Times top ten films for 1954, mention as one of the Best Foreign Films by the National Board of Review the same year, and for the 1955 award season, an Oscar nomination for Tati and Marquet in the Best Story and Screenplay writing category. After the overwhelming acclaim and audience response to the film and Hulot, Tati would spend the rest of his filmmaking career focusing on expanding the character in three additional features, before forgoing Hulot in his final offering, 1973’s offbeat, experimental Parade, which was created for Swedish television. As for his Hulot work post-Holiday, he continued to find great favor with critics and viewers, with 1958’s Mon Oncle gaining an Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film. Tati’s next use of Hulot in his most ambitious screen endeavor, which took years to film, came in the ingeniously staged Playtime in 1967, which was not a commercial success while being recognized by critics as possibly Tati’s best work to date, an opinion that has only grown through the years, with Playtime ranking a lofty #23 on the most recent highly regarded 2022 Sight and Sound poll of the greatest films ever made. Tati would follow this with Hulot’s last appearance in 1971’s Traffic, an amusing tale regarding trekking through the country (from Paris to Amsterdam) and meeting various colorful characters and events along the way, in a manner that harkens back to the joys found in Jour de fête and Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday.

The easygoing narrative and ongoing comical mishaps allow Holiday to remain appealing and fresh over repeat viewings, whether watching the original 98-minute version or Tati’s re-edited 1978 86-minute rendering of the movie. Along with the comical verve of the film, it retains an unsentimental sweetness and melancholic tone that can bring a smile to a viewer recalling the film’s more heartwarming moments, such as the friendly adieus offered to Hulot as his singular but relatable holiday comes to a close. Serving as an ideal foray into a cinematic summertime outing, Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday remains an exceptionally pleasurable viewing experience for modern audiences, including both classic movie lovers and those heretofore unfamiliar with Tati’s work, who are still able to identity with and relish the escapades the multitude of guests encounter during one of the most satisfying and picturesque jaunts ever committed to film.

And a fond farewell to Ann Blyth, who passed away on June 24^th at 98. Born in New York, Blyth appeared as a teen on Broadway in Watch on the Rhine before entering films in 1944. The following year Blyth gained the role that cemented her cinematic legacy as one of the movie’s most venal, self-centered daughters, Veda in the prime film noir Mildred Pierce, which Blyth played with a verve and maturity that resulted in plenty of rave reviews and her sole Oscar nomination. Afterwards the attractive ingenue would mainly play in much more demur mode, often in musicals wherein her fine singing voice was put to good use, with 1951’s The Great Caruso opposite Mario Lanza providing Blyth with another smash hit signature offering in her filmography. Other works include another key 1940’s noir, Brute Force, 1952’s The World in His Arms opposite Gregory Peck, and three lavish MGM musicals in the mid-1950’s: Rose Marie, The Student Prince and Kismet. Following the title role in 1957’s The Helen Morgan Story, Blyth ended her film career but continued to pop up on television, including The Twilight Zone and her last screen appearance in Murder, She Wrote. Blyth would thereafter occasionally show up as a charming, good-humored guest at Pierce screenings, offering insightful and amusing anecdotes concerning the making of the classic, while praising costar Joan Crawford’s dedication to the movie and expressing gratitude to Crawford for working closely with her to help Blyth gain her career-establishing part. Rest in peace to a true Hollywood class act, Ann Blyth. 

Jean Harlow Joins the Hollywood Elite with Red-Headed Woman

 

Among the most enjoyable and lively of the early sound films, produced in an era just prior to the Hayes Code watering down the presentation of mature subject matter onscreen, 1932’s Red-Headed Woman allows the vibrant and alluring Jean Harlow the chance to prove her impeccable comic gifts in her first real star performance, after being picked up by MGM for one of the more fruitful collaborations between star and studio (starting with The Beast of the City, released before Woman in early 1932). Helmed with style by Jack Conway, one of the studio’s stalwart directors, the sly and fast-paced Woman screenplay features ace work by Anita Loos and an uncredited F. Scott Fitzgerald, adapting the 1931 novel by Katherine Brush. The quality involved in the writing is evident throughout the inventive tale, which depicts how street-smart girl-on-the-make secretary Lillian Andrews sets out for a better lot in life by using her substantial feminine charms in as unashamed fashion as had been seen on the screen. With an ascendant Harlow, backed by a first-rate list of players, putting over with aplomb a series of adventures and misadventures the fearless Lil finds herself in during a highly entertaining 80 minutes that keeps a view enthralled and guessing just how things will play out for the forward-thinking, independent Lil, audiences then and now can alert themselves to the screen and partake of a prime pre-Code experience.  

 Entering his third decade in films after starting as an actor in early silents starting in 1909, by the early 1930’s Conway had honed his directorial skills to become one of MGM’s chief helmers with hits such as Untamed and Our Modern Maidens (both starring top draw Joan Crawford) under his belt, Conway confidently upfolds the racy story while keeping a keen eye on Harlow’s vibrant comic presence and maintaining a swift pace that never falters. Conway would continue as a stalwart MGM figure behind the camera once the Code became more powerful, with “safer” fare such as A Tale of Two Cities, two more with Harlow, Libeled Lady and her final film, Saratoga, Boom Town, Honky Tonk and The Hucksters to his credit, and it’s interesting to see how entertainingly daring he could manage to put over more mature, sexually driven fare with a modern sensibility when given the chance, with Red-Headed and 1934’s Tarzan and His Mate, the most provocative and maybe best Johnny Weissmuller/Maureen O’Sullivan pairing in that profitable series, offering two fine examples of Conway’s craftsmanship from this less sanitized filmmaking period. After four decades in the business, Conway would retire with 1948’s Julia Misbehaves (but not like Harlow in Red-Headed Woman), considered one of the lesser Greer Garson/Walter Pidgeon ventures, before passing in 1952 at age 66.

As the ultra-bold, fast-talking and quick-witted Lil, Jean Harlow artfully manages to keep the largely unsympathetic character (on paper, at least) immensely likable throughout. Even when Lil is at her most calculating, the good-natured positivity a glowing Harlow emits plants the audience firmly on her side, as one wishes the clever, upbeat vixen to get exactly what she wants, as opposed to what she deserves. Prior to MGM, Harlow established herself as a newcomer of note, with key roles in 1930’s Hell’s Angels (wherein she utters one of the most famous lines found in early sound films about slipping into something more comfortable) and the following year’s The Public Enemy aiding the platinum blonde (also the name of another 1931 Harlow picture) in her swift rise in film. However, in both Angels and Enemy Harlow is rather stilted in her line deliveries, relying more on her stunning appearance to make an impact. With Woman, Harlow demonstrates an inspiring increase in her acting ability that is remarkable to behold. Clearly confident and relaxed on camera once MGM got ahold of her, Harlow appears to relish her juicy assignment as Lil, consistently using her innate sense of comedy and a breezy star persona to illustrate each bold action Lil partakes of in her quest for the finer things in life. For instance, Lil will simply not take no for an answer in hot pursuit (literally) of her virile but married boss Bill, lending an intriguing Fatal Attraction vibe to the proceedings. However, in Harlow’s hands the obsession is also amusing as Lil remains unfettered by any objections Bill tries to level at her as she convincingly contrives to wear him down.

Maintaining a freshness and modern sensibility in regards to how a lady should conduct herself circa 1932, Harlow carries an air of both bemusement and toughness in her ace portrayal of Lil, making one admire her aggressive, lively approach to life. Also aiding Harlow in illustrating Lil’s often rash, highly sexualized nature are some truly awesome, revealing gowns by Adrian, who pushes the limit by creating a series of outfits for Lil that combine aspects of lingerie with a more formal wardrobe, to the point one sometimes wonders if Lil forget to get completely dressed after she arose and headed to the office. Harlow would utilize new persona as a quick-witted, brash goodtime gal able to go toe-to-toe with any top male MGM star (Clark Gable, William Powell, Spencer Tracy, etc.) and generate great chemistry with them in the process with one smash hit after another, starting with Red Dust opposite frequent costar Gable, followed by outstanding work in 1933 via Bombshell and then scene-stealing among a cast of heavyweights (Marie Dressler, who shares a classic exchange with Harlow, Wallace Berry and Lionel Barrymore among them) in Dinner at Eight, wherein she is again clad in iconic Adrian gowns that maximize Harlow’s allure, before continuing apace in regards to box-office and critical appeal with China Seas, Libeled and her biggest hit, 1937’s Saratoga, released posthumously after Harlow’s sudden passing the same year at 26, with her strong MGM output over a scant five years providing a lasting legacy showcasing her exceptional talent as one of the most instinctive and gifted comediennes ever to adorn the Silver Screen. 

By 1932 Harlow’s handsome, stoic leading man Chester Morris was enjoying a great run in films. Although lesser know today, Morris established himself as one of the chief male stars of the early sound era. Born in 1901, Morris honed his craft on the Broadway stage after a 1918 debut, then at the end of the 1920’s made his sound debut in films (after a few earlier roles in silents) via Alibi, gaining a Best Actor Oscar nomination for his work, which led to additional forceful, attention-gaining roles in major hits such as The Divorcee and 1930’s The Big House. As the alternately aloof and frisky Bill Legendre Jr., the businessman Lil can’t stay away from, Morris is amusing in depicting Legendre’s aghast reaction to the title character’s unremitting focus on maintaining a relationship with him in the biblical sense regardless of his married state, while also suggesting the sexiness of the role underneath Bill’s less-than-randy exterior as the businessman time and again can’t resist his urges towards Lil. Unfortunately, Morris’ career would not follow a similar tract as Harlow’s, with 1939’s Five Came Back and a run as Boston Blackie in a series of 1940’s crime dramas among his most rewarding output post Red-Headed, along with several returns to the theater and guest appearances on television during the 1950s and 1960s filling out his resume before his death in 1970.

Among the others, veteran MGM contract player Lewis Stone, also a Best Actor nominee for The Patriot the same year as Morris, makes a solid impression as Bill’s sage, alert father, who knows the score in regards to Lil’s shenanigans. Stone would also appear in 1932’s Best Picture winner Grand Hotel, then gain his greatest fame with the Andy Hardy series starting later in the decade. As Bill’s devoted wife Irene who, in typical classic movie mode, at least partially blames herself for her husband playing the field, the lovely Leila Hyams brings warmth and class to the role, the same year she would help ensure her film legacy starring in two key horror classics, the unforgettable Freaks and Island of Lost Souls. The already much-in-demand Una Merkel plays somewhat against her brassy, knowing persona as Sally, Lil’s roommate who often finds herself taken aback by her friend’s brazen behavior. May Robson makes a brief appearance as Irene’s no-nonsense aunt Jane, a year before she would gain her biggest screen triumph and an Oscar nomination with Lady for a Day, while Henry Stephenson, at the start of a prolific film career as a character actor, is amusing as the skittish Sugar Daddy not sure what to make of Lil’s strong interest in him. Finally, Hollywood newcomer Charles Boyer makes a distinct impact in the small but intriguing role of Albert, Lil’s chauffeur and partner in trysts, before quickly becoming one of the cinema’s most dependable leading men of the next several decades. 

Release in June of 1932, Red-Headed Woman found favor with audiences and critics who were taken by the remarkable ease and skill in which Harlow transformed herself into a major screen presence, one possessing wit and sex appeal in spades. Harlow would quickly cement her place among Tinseltown’s brightest newcomers with the subsequent 1932 release of Red Dust, then thrive throughout her brief but substantial run at MGM. Both Harlow and the film itself have maintained a remarkably modern tone and a fun, daring sensibility over ninety years after the movie’s release, making the pre-code Red-Headed Woman a great option for classic movie buffs, including those interested in seeing Jean Harlow rise to the cinematic forefront, and anyone seeking a carefree, mature comedy that stays far afield from the safer rom-coms of more recent times, putting an unorthodox twist on the battle of the sexes that makes this Woman stand out among other films of its pre-Code ilk.

King Kong Takes Fay Wray in Hand to Cinematic Immortality

 

                Revolutionizing the cinema in regard to how impactfully and artfully a fantasy-driven story could be presented on the screen, 1933’s King Kong from RKO offers one of the most enduring and enchanting celluloid classics from Hollywood’s early sound period. As the most ambitious undertaking to date from the established producer/director team of Merian C. Cooper and Ernest B. Schoedsack, the original concept of the title beastly character being transfixed by beauty was crafted via an exciting, inventive screenplay by Edgar Wallace, James Creelman and Ruth Rose into an adventurous tale unlike any other, wherein daring filmmaker Carl Denham and crew set out on an exhibition to capture Kong on film, to the eventual chagrin of Ann Darrow, the lovely young down-on-her-luck actress with no idea what she’s getting into, with many complications ensuing until the famous climax centered on and around the Empire State Building. Fueled by the incredible, legendary special effects of Willis H. O’Brien that bring Kong and his prehistoric colleagues to life with unforgettable grandeur and precision, while creating in Kong a simultaneously foreboding and sympathetic, multi-dimensional figure who garners a wealth of audience empathy by the final fadeout, a score by Max Steiner that ranks among his and filmdom’s most influential and thrilling, and an energetic cast led by Fay Wray and Robert Armstrong who bring the proper conviction to the elaborate tale, King Kong remains one of the cinema’s premier entertainments, stirring the imagination of each viewer with a power seldom found in films.

                By the time of Kong’s production Cooper and Schoedsack, who met in 1918, had built a solid resume as a skillful filmmaking team with a focus on tales of adventure and/or suspense, often traveling to foreign locales for shooting, starting with 1925’s Grass and including Chang: A Drama of the Wilderness, The Four Feathers and The Most Dangerous Game. With Kong, Cooper worked with O’Brien on scenes emphasizing the special effects aspects of the epic production, while Schoedsack focused on working with the cast for the more straightforward, non-Kong dramatic passages. The results are a remarkable blend of standard narrative and fantasy sequences not yet depicted so convincingly on film, with a slow but intriguing build up during the first section of the movie as Denham and crew sail to Skull Island to encounter the native tribe therein on the quest for Kong, to the exhilarating, scary passages wherein Kong takes over the movie to phenomenal effect. Scenes such as Kong’s first meeting with the sacrificial Ann, him fighting off his prehistorical colleagues, or Kong roaming around and wreaking havoc in New York City before his Empire climb with Ann, hit viewers with undiminished impact over ninety years after the film’s release.

These riveting Kong escapades imbued initial Great Depression era audiences with a hypnotic fascination as they witnessed one awesomely created set piece follow another, in the process gaining an unabated fondness from those who could identify with the put-upon, out-of-his element creature meeting ill fortune as he is rejected by society. In short order Schoedsack, who appears as a copilot with Cooper during Kong’s stirring final clash with mankind, would helm Son of Kong, put together quickly enough for a release at the end of 1933, while with Cooper he would reteam for 1935’s The Last Days of Pompeii and 1940’s Dr. Cyclops, then finish his career with Cooper via 1949’s Kong redux Mighty Joe Young and (uncredited) a massive 1950’s success, This is Cinerama, while Cooper would continue in the producer realm under John Ford with such titles as She Wore a Yellow Ribbon, The Quiet Man  and The Searchers to his credit, in addition to another Cinerama blockbuster, Seven Wonders of the World, before his retirement. True cinematic pioneers of the early sound era as well as the fantasy genre, Cooper would pass in 1973, followed by Schoedsack in 1979, with their unsurpassed accomplishments, specifically in bringing Kong to vibrant life, cementing a key place for them in film history.

For Fay Wray, her work as the charming-yet-terrified Ann Darrow placed her among filmdom’s indomitable heroines, to the point that over six decades later Billy Crystal took time during the Oscars to single her out in the audience for a warm round of applause. Born in 1907, Wray entered films in 1925, then quickly rose to fame as the star of Erich von Stroheim lavish 1928 production of The Wedding March. With the event of talkies, Wray found herself in high demand as a reliable ingenue in films such as Thunderbolt and her first endeavor with Cooper and Schoedsack, 1929’s Four Feathers, before going on to establish herself as the screen’s first and foremost “Scream Queen” in suspense-tinged classics such as Doctor X, The Mystery of the Wax Museum and a second Cooper/Schoedsack collaboration, Dangerous Game. In Kong, Wray manages to keep Ann a consistently believable and appealing figure specifically when, after meeting the besmittened Kong, the character reaches understandable heights of hysteria that result in some of the most primal and convincing shrieks ever captured on film. Wray appears in complete synch with Ann’s plight, admirably delving into the emotionally demanding role with a focus and dramatic verve that renders Ann a key character of 1930’s cinema. Wray also excels in quieter moments, such as early scenes wherein the downtrodden Ann meets Denham and agrees to work with him, or when she strikes up a flirtation with the handsome Jack Driscoll during the voyage to Skull Island. After reaching her career pinnacle in Kong, Wray would continue apace with top fare such as Viva Villa!, The Affairs of Cellini, The Clairvoyant and Adam had Four Sons, before slowing her film output after a 1942 marriage to screenwriter Robert Risken. Occasional later notable appearances included supporting work in The Cobweb, Queen Bee, Tammy and the Bachelor and her final role coming on television in 1980’s Gideon’s Trumpet opposite Henry Fonda, before penning her slyly titled autobiography On the Other Hand in 1989, followed by a lengthy retirement before her passing in 2004 at age 96.

Also gaining everlasting cinematic fame via Kong, Robert Armstrong stands out as the energetic, daring Denham, handling the role with force and a florid theatrical style apt for the role, while also getting the chance to say one of filmdom’s most famous closing lines. Starting his career on stage in 1919 before a 1927 screen debut, Armstrong had worked with Cooper and Schoedsack in Dangerous Game during a very fruitful period as a star and character actor in early sound films (with eight films in 1932 and six in 1933 alone, finishing the year with Son of Kong), Armstrong would continue strongly throughout the decade and the 1940s before slowing down his film output in the 1950s before his final film in 1964, with G Men, The Roaring Twenties, Dive Bomber and Joe Young among his more notable movies. Bruce Cabot also aptly assays his signature role in Kong as the handsome, virile and brave Driscoll, adopting a humorously stoic demeanor early on as Jack is put off then turned on by Ann’s presence on the ship to Skull Island, then moving into heroic mode with ease after Kong enters the picture with designs on Ann. Discovered by David O. Selznick, Cabot would make his entry into films in 1931, then first work with Cooper (in producer mode) with 1933’s Flying Devils, just before his breakthrough Kong role. After this blockbuster Cabot, similar to Armstrong, would go on to a lengthy career, establishing himself post-Kong as a reliable lead and supporting actor in fare such as Ann Vickers, Fury, Dodge City and the Flame of New Orleans, then serve during WWII in a stint with the Air Force while also showing up in The Desert Song, Salty O’Rourke and (post war) Fallen Angel and Smokey. His association with John Wayne starting with 1947’s Angel and the Badman would keep his filmography going as he featured alongside Wayne in hits such as Hatari!, In Harm’s Way, The War Wagon and 1971’s Big Jake, the same year Cabot ended his career appearing in a 007 smash, Diamonds are Forever. Cabot would pass at age 68 in 1972, before Armstrong’s death at the following year.

With an appropriate New York City premiere in March of 1933, King Kong entered the rarified air of those movies that capture the devotion of the masses in a manner that only seems to grow as decades pass. Although not considered “Oscar Material” at the time (and unfortunately probably not today, either), the awed public strongly took to the glories of Kong, allowing the film to eventually rank among the top moneymakers of the 1930s, according to Variety. A re-release in 1952 brought needed income to the dire RKO coffers and introduced the movie to a huge new audience of baby boomers, who also viewed Kong during a 1956 release and via a television debut the same year, cementing Kong’s inclusion among the great monster movies of the 1930s and onward. Besides Son of Kong, Mighty Joe Young and such enjoyable offshoots as King Kong vs. Godzilla, in 1976 producer Dino De Laurentiis provided a much-hyped Kong update that introduced Jessica Lange to the screen, while Peter Jackson, a huge Kong fan, lovingly crafted a 2005 version; both of these versions of Kong scored at the box-office, but largely failed to match the magic of the original. Critical evaluation of Kong has allowed it a rightful place among the most beloved classics, with it placing on the American Film Institute’s 100 Years. . .100 Movies lists in 1998 and 2007, as well as several other AFI polls, including #4 on the AFI’s top 10 Fantasy Films list, as well as being cited on the 1991 National Film Registry list. 2017’s Kong: Skull Island and 2021’s Kong vs. Godzilla are among the most recent examples of Kong finding cinematic means to reach audiences; however, viewers interested in witnessing the screen’s grandest and greatest ape in his ideal image and surroundings need only turn to the 1933 creation of King Kong, one of the most original and artfully crafted films to come out of Hollywood’s Golden Age.