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.

Vittorio De Sica Hits His Neorealistic Stride with the Profound Shoeshine

 

A major work in cinema, 1946’s Shoeshine announced on a global scale a new directorial force in film in the form of actor/writer Vittorio De Sica, who granted audiences an insightful, stark look at Rome, Italy, just after WWII. In detailing the tale of two young impoverished boys, Pasquale and Giuseppe, and how their friendship evolves as they face a series of life-changing events after working to purchase a beloved horse via the title profession and through other avenues, De Sica uses on-location shooting and untried actors to create a remarkably realistic mise-en-scène that lands with shattering impact. In unfolding the moving and straightforward narrative created by frequent De Sica collaborator Cesare Zavattini, along with fellow screenwriters Sergio Amide, Adolfo Franci and Cesare Giulio Viola, De Sica manages to capture a time and place as effectively as anyone, helping the new Neorealism movement in film progress substantially after the previous year’s Rome, Open City from Roberto Rossellini brought the genre to worldwide prominence. Alessandro Cicognini’s alternately poignant and playful score, Ubaldo Arata’s evocative, often documentary-style cinematography and Eraldo Da Roma’s precise editing are other key factors that draws one into the story with immediacy, resulting in an unforgettable and thought-provoking viewing experience.

                Born in 1901, De Sica started his theatrical career as an actor in the 1920s before his entry into Italian films in the 1930s, leading to his debut as director via 1940’s Rose scarlatte, in which he also starred, followed by intriguing fare harboring neorealistic touches such as The Children Are Watching Us and 1945’s The Gate of Heaven. With Shoeshine, De Sica appears to have masterly developed complete control in crafting his artistic vision to film with intelligence and truth, allowing for total involvement in Pasquale and Giuseppe’s plight as the lost youngsters find themselves caught up in a legal system set up to work against them at every turn, leading to vivid scenes in a juvenile detention center wherein De Sica is able to show how ill-equipped postwar Italy was in attempting to care for these abandoned youths. De Sica demonstrates great care and sensitivity in dealing with his cast, from stars Franco Interlenghi and Rinaldo Smordoni as Pasquale and Giuseppe and the peers they encounter in jail, to the adult players such as Emilio Cigoli, Maria Campi, Leo Garavaglia and Irene Smordoni, including those enacting the boys’ relatives and some of the officials overseeing the boys, authority figures who are given a sense of individually and understanding via honest portrayals that show at least some attempt to exhibit compassion along with sterner qualities as they discipline their young charges.

                De Sica spends much of his focus illustrating the harsh conditions the wayward adolescents deal with, lending to some startlingly believable passages, including a scene wherein the gentle, kind, frail Raffaele (Annielo Mele), who has befriended Pasquale, learns his mother cannot come to visit him, and starts to cry. In some hands this moment could come across as forced and maudlin, but De Sica resourcefully captures Raffaele’s disappointment with a simplicity and immediacy that hits an empathic viewer with alarming potency. De Sica draws the audience into the drama with a ”You are There” conviction that is maintained throughout the movie, making the characters and their journeys impossible to forget. Following this remarkable work, De Sica would reteam with Zavattini for an astounding run of influential classics during the next few years, including the Oscar-winning Bicycle Thieves in 1948, Miracle in Milan and Umberto D. De Sica would continue apace with a phenomenal film career as both actor, writer and director, wherein as a performer he gained an Oscar nomination for David Selznick’s 1957’s massive production of A Farewell to Arms, while behind the camera his supreme gifts helped launch Sophia Loren in The Gold of Naples, leading to a fruitful partnership, with Loren’s Oscar-winning work in Two Women, Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow (which won the Foreign Language Film Oscar), Marriage, Italian Style and his final directorial effort shortly before his passing in 1974, The Voyage, shortly after he helmed other Foreign Film Oscar winner, The Garden of the Finzi-Continis and scored a success in a final collaboration with Zavattini, A Brief Vacation.

As Pasquale, the tall, somber older of the two boys, Interlenghi shows an innate gift for intuitive, heartfelt screen acting of the highest order, handling the demanding role with great intensity and sincerity. Pasquale has a demanding character arch wherein he is torn between maintaining silence concerning a specific crime, and his loyalty towards Giuseppe. In one of the most riveting and emotionally charged scenes Pasquale, who believes Giuseppe is in danger, must make a difficult decision, and the manner in which Interlenghi conveys the nervous, conflicted mindset of Pasquale hits a viewer with devasting effect. In every scene Interlenghi appears to react to events and his costars with a fascinating focus, sensitivity and conviction only granted the finest thespians, leading to the final moments of the film, which Interlenghi puts over in dramatically shattering fashion. After this imposing film debut, Interlenghi would become a welcome regular presence in Italian stage and cinema, as well as obtaining roles elsewhere, with screen credits including Fellini’s breakthrough I Vitelloni, The Barefoot Contessa, Ulysses, joining De Sica for A Farewell to Arms and his final film, 2010’s La bella società, before his death in 2015 at age 83.

In the other principal role as the alternately tough and naive Giuseppe, Rinaldo Smordoni also makes a compelling film debut, adopting a comfortable and natural acting style impressive in one new to the medium. Smordoni aptly initially displays Giuseppe’s innocence and good-natured attitude towards life in a nice contrast to Pasquale’s more alert and speculative demeanor, helping to make the two friends’ bond indelible and endearing as they traipse around their Rome environs in search of shoeshine patrons and adventure, while joining forces to buy their beloved horse, Bersagliere. Later, after fate causes Giuseppe to become more adversarial and hardened, Smordoni adds more mature and jaded facets to the character’s makeup, bringing tension to Giuseppe’s interactions with his peers as conflicts arise and the dynamics in his friendship with Pasquale are altered. Unlike Interlenghi, Smordoni would only appear onscreen a few more times before his death in 2024, leaving his work as Giuseppe to account for his small but important place in movie history.

In other roles the aforementioned Annielo Mele is a welcomed warm, positive and sincere presence as the supportive Raffaele, possibly the kindest among the wayward boys hoping to get out of detention and find a stable life. The caustic, sleek Bruno Ortenzi holds one’s attention as the ominous Arcangeli, a fellow inmate of Giuseppe who factors importantly in the latter stages of the film after forming an alliance with his cellmates. Lastly, as Nannarella, the serious, weary-eyed little girl loyal to Giuseppe, Anna Pedoni brings a poignant earnestness to her brief role, including a key sequence wherein the distraught Nannarella has a memorable outburst upon hearing an unjust verdict, wherein the distinct Pedoni displays instinctive thespian gifts to match those of her young male costars.

One of the most original and telling works ever committed to film, Shoeshine was overwhelmingly embraced by critics and audiences worldwide after its release in April of 1946, with De Sica and stars Interlenghi and Smordoni gaining universal praise for stellar work in creating one of the cinema’s most penetrating and provocatively true to life dramas. Among accolades, for 1947 the film was cited on the top ten lists from both The New York Times and Time magazine, while also placing third on The National Board of Review’s list. Such was the worldwide power of De Sica’s masterpiece that at the Academy Awards ceremony in March of 1948 Shoeshine was bestowed a special Oscar due to the film’s creativity and overall merit, to go along with an Original Screenplay nomination, indicating how far-reaching reaction to the film was on an international scale. For Cinéastes looking to discover the finest films ever made, the haunting, eloquent Shoeshine offers them an opportunity to partake in a singular classic of undiminished quality and potency.

A Fond Farewell to the Radiant, Beguiling Valerie Perrine

 

A bittersweet adieu to the lovely, endearing Valerie Perrine, who passed on March 23^rd. Born in 1943, Perrine rose to prominence in 1970’s cinema after serving a lengthy apprenticeship as one of Las Vegas’ most alluring showgirls starting in the late 1960s, before a move to L.A. led to her memorable film debut as Montana Wildhack in 1972’s Slaughterhouse-Five. After this eye-catching role, Perrine would again score in an erotic vein via her highly publicized nude scene in the 1973 PBS production of Steambath. Her career highlight followed in 1974 with beautiful, moving work as Honey in Bob Fosse’s Lenny, wherein the vulnerable Perrine gracefully provided the heart of the film as Lenny Bruce’s wife, resulting in a Best Actress win at Cannes, Supporting Actress Awards from the New York Film Critics and the National Board of Review, as well as Best Actress nominations from the Golden Globes and Academy Awards.

Perrine would never again reach these critical heights, but she proved to be an Eve Teschmacher for the ages in the 1978 blockbuster Superman, perfectly mixing comic brio, sex appeal and, ultimately, a touching fragility. Perrine briefly reprised this standout role in the 1980 sequel, the same year she did her career no favors by starring in Can’t Stop the Music. Watching this entertainingly off-the-rails musical fiasco today, the innate friendly charisma Perrine effortlessly exudes onscreen is still readily apparent, making one wish for additional top roles in her filmography, while being thankful for what is there, such as work in other hits (1979’s The Electric Horseman and one of the more memorable comic bits in The Cannonball Run) and a lead role opposite Jack Nicholson in 1982’s The Border, before playing out her career with lesser big screen efforts and guest appearances on television. The author was able to catch Perrine about a decade ago at an interview/screening, wherein the star’s engaging, positive energy had not faded a jot as she won the audience over relating stories from her fascinating life and career. Rest in Peace to a beautiful, free-spirited presence in movies, Valerie Perrine.

Shirley Booth Lands a Golden Come Back Film Debut

 

            Among the most moving and involving stage-to-screen translations, 1952’s Come Back, Little Sheba maintains the dramatic heft of the 1950 Broadway success, offering film audiences more mature subject matter than normal, with seemingly few compromises made in adapting the William Inge drama (Come Back must be one of the first times the word “slut” is used in a Production Code era Hollywood film, for example) and allowing Shirley Booth to capture her legendary performance as the kind, friendly-yet-melancholic Lola Delaney, a middle-aged housewife yearning for her little dog Sheba, who was an integral part of her and her trouble husband Doc’s past. Wisely opting to not alter the material or “open up” the settings to a major extent, director Danial Mann, in the fine screenplay adaptation by Ketti Frings, chooses to focus on the conflicts at home between Doc and Lola after an attractive young collegian, Marie, becomes a boarder in their modest home, while allowing the excellent cast to fully explore their meaty roles with impactful skill and insight. Mood-enhancing B&W cinematography by James Wong Howe and music by Franz Waxman help embellish the suburban setting wherein most of the action unfolds and lend support to the top-flight performances that provide the film’s most compelling value for a viewer.

          Daniel Mann’s early start as a child actor, with additional training under Sanford Meisner, marked him as an exceptional choice to make his directional film debut helming a project strongly emphasizing the characters in the piece and the challenging thespian know-how required to bring them to life onscreen. Mann allows all the players room to bring their best to the roles, often using close-ups and simple blocking to ensure nothing distracts the audience from the fine front-and-center emoting at hand, resulting in sage, convincing and emotional impactful acting that holds up over seventy years later. Following this notable debut, Mann would go on to oversee many other top productions featuring plenty of rich performances, including a reunion with Booth for 1954’s About Mrs. Leslie, The Rose Tattoo, I’ll Cry Tomorrow, The Teahouse of the August Moon, Butterfield 8, scoring a success in the 1960’s spy genre with Our Man Flint and gaining another big hit with 1971’s suspenseful Willard, before passing in 1991 at age 79.

        The versatile Shirley Booth spent years honing her craft on Broadway (via a 1925 debut) and radio via comedy, drama and musical work, including appearances in The Philadelphia Story, My Sister Eileen, and Tonys for Goodbye My Fancy and Sheba, before being picked to recreate her greatest role onscreen. It’s amazing to watch how Booth, with no prior experience in film, instinctively modulates her work as Lola to fit the needs of the camera, allowing the performance a skill, spontaneity and heart that brings the character to life with incredible conviction in a manner not often seen, specifically from an artist recreating a role previously performed hundreds of times. Booth appears completely immersed in the role and clearly cares about depicting every aspect of Lola’s childlike nature, including her sweetness, vulnerability, pitifulness and forlorn mindset as the despondent Lola yearns for the past. In scenes such as Lola’s distressed phone call to her mother or one on her porch wherein, voice quavering, she cries out for Sheba to come back (cue the title), Booth is so unforgettable believable and touching a viewer may recall images of the fragile Lola years after viewing the movie. 

         Booth also adroitly interacts with her costars, bringing a lovely, beguiling warmth to her scenes with Lancaster and Moore, in particular illustrating the loyalty towards and dependency on Doc Lola harbors, regardless of any strife that threatens to destroy their union. After this singular triumph, Booth would return to Broadway and immediately win another Tony for The Time of the Cuckoo, appear sporadically in films (Hot Spell, The Matchmaker) before gaining her biggest fame on television in the hit sitcom Hazel, for which Booth added two Emmy awards to her already impressive roster of critical hosannas. Booth continued on television and the stage until 1974, with her last t.v. credit a notable one as the voice of Mrs. Claus in The Year Without a Santa Claus, then enjoyed a peaceful retirement until her passing in 1992 at age 94, with her complex, powerful work in Sheba looming large among her most accomplished career achievements.

        By 1952 Burt Lancaster was firmly established as a top action hero, with charisma, looks and virility to spare, when he opted to do a complete turnabout in regards to his screen image with his impactful dramatic work as the noble but tormented Doc, just after galivanting around the screen with dashing glee and vitality in one of his most endearing adventures as The Crimson Pirate, introducing the formation of Hecht-Lancaster Productions, which would gain Oscar glory in short order with 1955’s Marty. A star from his forceful film debut in 1946’s classic noir The Killers, Lancaster had built a solid filmography consisting largely of a series of top film noirs including Brute Force, Desert Fury, Criss Cross and Sorry, Wrong Number, but also including opportunities to showcase the acrobat skills he had honed prior to his film career, working opposite circus partner Nick Cravat in The Flame and the Arrow and Crimson to massively entertaining effect. During this period, 1951’s biopic Jim Thorpe- All American allowed Lancaster a chance to flex his acting acumen, but the complex role of Doc tested his thespian talents to a degree hitherto untried. 

        Some critics at the time (and later) opined the physically imposing and ultra-handsome star was miscast as the downtrodden Doc, but with Lancaster in the role a viewer senses the promise Doc had for a great life far above the modest success he attained. Lancaster, playing largely in introverted, reflective mode, brings a wealth of dignity and emotional depth to the role, fully illustrating Doc’s turmoil as he tries to keep his affairs in order and maintain a sense of harmony with Lola. In the big dramatic confrontations between the two characters during the second half of the film, Lancaster’s commitment to the part and overwhelming physical presence is frighteningly effective, making one fearful of and sympathetic to the haunted Doc. Lancaster would follow up Sheba with an incredible list of credits, including Oscar nominations for the following year’s blockbuster, From Here to Eternity, Birdman of Alcatraz, a late-career resurgence with Atlantic City, and his Oscar win as the magnetic Elmer Gantry, as well as impressive work in a slew of other top entertainments, including the smash Trapeze, mesmerizing as The Rainmaker, Gunfight at the O.K. Corral opposite frequent screen partner Kirk Douglas, Sweet Smell of Success as the villainous and powerful J.J. Hunsecker, a career highlight with The Leopard, the offbeat, now cult status offering The Swimmer, another blockbuster with Airport, which Lancaster did not hold in high regard, and a fitting end to a legendary film career via 1989’s hit Field of Dreams, before his passing in 1994 at 80.

          Terry Moore, already a veteran of films at 23 after making a 1940 movie debut and working mainly in bits with a first credit using her real name, Helen Koford in 1945’s Son of Lassie, until a late-1940s breakthrough to lead roles via The Return of October and Mighty Joe Young marked her an ingenue to watch, would start the new decade in programmers such as 1950’s The Great Rupert opposite Jimmy Durante until Sheba provided a significant step up in her screen career. As Marie Buckholder, the college student who unwittingly brings about turmoil between her boarders, Moore proves a perfect fit for the role, lending a straightforwardness, freshness, skill and a sometimes-underlining seductiveness to her playing that allows for a nice contrast among the more somber material, while interacting endearingly with Booth and Lancaster. Also, in her major dramatic moment wherein a shaken Marie has to reflect on her relationship options and how far sexually a young coed should go circa 1952 Moore, aided by Howe’s exceptional camera work that frames the shaken Marie in close up at a nighttime window, thoughtfully conveys the many conflicting emotions the character is experiencing as she considers her plight and possible future actions. Following her fine Sheba work, Moore’s enhanced status led to a Life cover for her follow-up film, Beneath the 12-Mile Reef (one of the first Cinemascope movies), then work in other notable 1950’s offerings such as Daddy Long Legs, Shack Out on 101, Bernardine, standing out as the sensual Betty Anderson in a huge smash, Peyton Place, then continuing in films and television from the 1960’s on, with appearances on series such as My Three Sons, Batman, Fantasy Island and Wiseguy. Befittingly, Ms. Moore did a cameo in the 1998 Mighty Joe Young remake, and before that garnered much attention via an autobiography and trial concerning her relationship with possible husband Howard Hughes. An enduring figure in films, Moore’s last credited appearance to date came via 2019’s Silent Life, 79 years after her first in Maryland.

          Richard Jaeckel, who debuted in films as a teenager via 1943’s Guadalcanal Diary and became a familiar presence in war-based dramas afterwards, bolstered his film career substantially with his attention-grabbing work as Turk, the sexy athlete whose overtly amorous designs on Marie helped place Sheba in the “adult drama” category circa 1952. The handsome Jaeckel has a confidence, magnetism and natural ease in his portrayal of Turk that allows a viewer to understand his motivations, even with the arrogant, forceful college jock is acting in an untoward and self-centered manner towards Marie. Jaeckel generates nice erotic chemistry with Moore as they depict the flirtatious and sensual nature of Marie and Turk’s relationship, leading to a vivid moment between them that causes the plot to move into starker dramatic territory. Following Sheba, Jaeckel would maintain his work in combat-driven pictures but also regularly gain roles in film and television via other genres, with a highlight coming via Oscar-nominated work in 1971’s Sometimes a Great Notion opposite Paul Newman. Among other cast members, Philip Ober as Ed Anderson, a supportive friend of the Delaneys and Lisa Golm as a critical but concerned neighbor also make nice impressions.

Upon release in December of 1952, Come Back, Little Sheba gained reviews to place it among the year’s most highly regarded dramas as well as healthy box-office returns, with rentals of $3,500,000 landing Sheba on the list of 1953’s top 20 hits, according to Variety. Critically, the film merited placement among the top ten movies of the year on both Time magazine and The New York Times lists, while gaining nominations for Best Picture from the British Academy and Golden Globes, and for Ketti Frings and Daniel Mann from the Writers Guild and Directors Guild, respectively. As a showcase for the thespian mastery of Shirley Booth the film came through in spades, with Booth winning Best Actress prizes from The National Board of Review, The New York Film Critics Awards, the Golden Globes and the Cannes Film Festival, where the film also won a special prize for “Award of Dramatic Film.” Come Oscar time, Booth’s frontrunner status held firm as she again captured Best Actress, while editor Warren Low gained a nomination, along with Terry Moore for Best Supporting Actress. With airings on television and frequent releases on physical media, including a recent Blu-ray from Kino Lorber providing an excellent print of the classic, Sheba has maintained its reputation as a moving, thought-provoking drama featuring one of the Hallmark performances in Oscar history via the enduring, heartrending work of its uncannily gifted star, Shirley Booth.