Showing posts with label 1953. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 1953. Show all posts

Wednesday, April 04, 2018

The Emergence of a Different Duke



Steve (John Wayne): How'd you do last season?

Father Malone (Tom Tully): We showed up for every game.

Steve: I'd say that was raw courage.

Most people probably think of westerns when they think of John Wayne. Or maybe war movies.

But "Trouble Along the Way," which premiered on this day in 1953, was neither.

I suppose you have to give credit for that to John Ford's "The Quiet Man," which premiered in 1952. That, I believe, was the first John Wayne movie that did not cast the Duke as a cowboy or a serviceman, and it opened up a whole new world for him, one on which movie production companies were only too happy to capitalize.

Ford didn't direct "Trouble Along the Way." Michael Curtiz (who directed "Casablanca") did. I don't often use the word heartwarming to describe a movie, but I could apply it to this one. I could also apply other words that are not as complimentary, but I think the writers may have realized that. To compensate, they loaded the script with dialogue that, in my opinion, was far wittier than most movies that were made in the late '40s and early '50s.

For example, when Wayne and Father Burke (Charles Coburn) were talking about the football program at St. Anthony's College, Wayne asked, "What system do you use?"

"'Do unto others as you would have others do unto you,'" Burke replied. "But, usually, the others do it to us first."

In "Trouble Along the Way," Wayne played a recently divorced football coach (actually a college athletics instructor who was chronically unemployed because he was apparently incapable of getting along with the folks in charge). He needed to find a job to retain custody of his daughter.

Meanwhile the folks at St. Anthony's faced the prospect of having to shut down due to heavy debt, but Father Burke theorized that the school could get out of debt if it fielded a winning football team because that would attract the financial support of well–to‐do alumni.

To accomplish this, Wayne was hired to coach St. Anthony's football team.

(By the way, if you're a football fan, you probably believe the myth that Vince Lombardi was the first to say, "Winning isn't everything. It's the only thing." Lombardi did say it, but he wasn't the first; in fact, it was John Wayne in "Trouble Along the Way.")

I suppose it goes without saying that Wayne's character had some rough edges. Thus, to smooth out those edges, Donna Reed entered the picture as a social worker.

By the way, film buffs should look for James Dean in an uncredited appearance as a football spectator.

Sunday, November 24, 2013

Perhaps Satire of 'Beat the Devil' Eluded Audiences in '53



Billy Dannreuther (Humphrey Bogart): The only thing standing between you and a watery grave is your wits, and that's not my idea of adequate protection.

Satire isn't successful if the audience doesn't get it — and that, I have concluded, was the problem with "Beat the Devil."

I've heard that Humphrey Bogart loathed "Beat the Devil," which premiered on this day in 1953.

I'm not sure why that is so. Sadly, I can only conclude that it couldn't have been anything but the script — which, from the perspective of 60 years later, seems lively to me but may have been over the heads of moviegoers in 1953.

I've heard that Bogart hated it because he invested a lot of his own money in the project, and it didn't do too well at the box office. That's a more plausible reason than the others that come to mind, but it really only explains why Bogart didn't like it.

It couldn't be because of the director — John Huston. Bogart and Huston had worked together on at least three movies that are regarded as classics today. Clearly, Bogart didn't hate Huston, and neither did movie audiences.

It couldn't be the cast. Bogart worked with Peter Lorre on other projects. His history with Robert Morley wasn't as extensive so I don't know what kind of relationship they had, but they seemed to work well together in "The African Queen." And audiences seemed to like those stars.

He had no history at all — as far as I know — with Jennifer Jones or Gina Lollobrigida, but he seemed to have a pretty good personal chemistry with both of them. And moviegoers liked both of them, too.

Bogart successfully played parts in comedies, thrillers, film noir — all sorts of genres. Perhaps that was the problem with "Beat the Devil." It was many genres rolled into one. Film critic Roger Ebert observed that it was called "the first camp movie," and that is as good a description as any.

A "cult classic," Ebert had this to say about "Beat the Devil."
"John Huston's 'Beat the Devil' (1953) shows how much Hollywood has lost by devaluing its character actors. In an age when a $20 million star must be on the screen every second, this picture could not be made. Huston has stars, too: Bogart, Jennifer Jones, Gina Lollobrigida, but his movie is so funny because he throws them into the pot with a seedy gang of charlatans."

That seedy gang of characters included Lorre and Morley as half of a gang of four intent upon gaining access to uranium–rich deposits in Kenya. They find themselves stranded in Italy with Bogart and Lollobrigida while the steamer in which they are traveling is being repaired. They are joined by a British couple, played by Jones (in a blonde wig) and Edward Underdown.

Gwendolyn Chelm (Jennifer Jones): Harry, we must beware of these men. They are desperate characters.

Harry Chelm (Edward Underdown): What makes you say that?

Gwendolyn Chelm: Not one of them looked at my legs!

Actually, I don't really think of "Beat the Devil" as a Bogart movie. Sure, he was its primary star — and a recent Best Actor winner — but I think it was wrong for the people of that time to put so much stock in his role in it — if that is what they did — and what the critics of the time may have said about it.

It was really John Huston's film. He directed it, and he intended for it to be a parody of the film noir style that he pioneered. In that sense, it succeeded.

And Huston's fingerprints are all over it — his dry wit is evident from beginning to end. "Beat the Devil" is, basically, a comedy of errors. I can think of many similar movies but none that can be effectively compared to it. Huston's lively and socially aware script, which was co–written by Truman Capote, comments on a wide variety of subjects.

And, in the grand tradition of comedies of errors, "Beat the Devil" is a brilliant illustration of the old adage, "What a tangled web we weave ..."

This was the last time Bogart worked with Huston or Lorre.

(By the way, Philip Seymour Hoffman, in his Oscar–winning portrayal of Truman Capote, tells a story about the making of "Beat the Devil.")

Saturday, November 09, 2013

To Tell the Truth



"It is hard to believe that a man is telling the truth when you know that you would lie if you were in his place."

H.L. Mencken

It's hard to tell the truth. Just ask any politician.

On this night 60 years ago, Lucille Ball's character in I Love Lucy found herself in the uncomfortable position of having to tell the absolute truth or else lose a bet with her husband (Desi Arnaz) and the Mertzes (William Frawley and Vivian Vance).

It was a great opportunity for Lucy to show everyone — once again — why she was the queen of comedy.

Ricky, Fred and Ethel were telling show business stories, and Lucy, who had none to tell, nevertheless felt compelled to invent stories about her own experience. When the others called her on it, she insisted that she had "never told a fib in my life." Ricky, Fred and Ethel cited examples of her deceptive statements, which she dismissed as "social" lies; she contended that those really didn't count.

And thus a bet was born. Lucy had to tell the truth for 24 hours. If she didn't, she lost the bet.

Ricky started out to make the bet alone but then Fred and Ethel wanted in on it — much to Lucy's dismay.

"My friends!" she said.

"Oh, it has't anything to do with friendship," Ethel replied. "It's just that there are so few sure ways of making a buck these days."

The minute the 24–hour clock began ticking, Ethel reminded Lucy that they were going to join some friends for bridge the next day.

"I can't spend the afternoon with three women and have to tell the truth," she protested — and then she almost blew it. "I'll call Caroline and tell her I'm sick!"

Anticipating a much quicker resolution of their bet than they had expected, Ricky, Fred and Ethel leaned forward to hear Lucy's end of the conversation. But she caught herself just in time.

The next day, Lucy managed to insult her companions by telling them what she really thought of things like the host's new furniture and the hat that the fourth bridge player was wearing. After Ethel explained about the bet, the other three decided to ask Lucy about personal things (age, weight, actual hair color), knowing that she was bound to tell the truth. Seemed a shame to waste such a golden opportunity.

And she surprised them by answering truthfully — "Thirty–three, 129 and mousey brown!"

Her disappointed companions sat down at the card table, and Lucy triumphantly observed, "It feels wonderful to tell the truth."

(In the interest of full disclosure, Lucy actually was 42 when she made this episode.)

Of course, Fred and Ricky were disappointed when they learned that the bridge game had failed to win the bet for them. And Fred and Ethel were insulted when Lucy said what she thought of some of their personality traits. But Ricky pointed out that they had forced Lucy to tell the truth because of the bet.

Ethel retorted that Lucy hadn't said anything about Ricky yet, and he said he wasn't afraid to hear his faults.

"I think you're the most handsome, the most wonderful, the cleverest and the most talented man in the whole world," she said. Ricky was pleased — until Lucy added, "You're hammy, you're stubborn and you're a coward."

Lucy explained that he was a coward because he was afraid to give her a chance to fulfill her show business ambitions.

To prove that wasn't true, Ricky told Lucy he was going to an audition for a TV show and invited her to join him. She accepted, and the Mertzes were incredulous.

"I know how they conduct these auditions," Ricky told them. Lucy would have to lie about her experience to get an audition, and they would win the bet.

If she didn't lie, she wouldn't get the audition.

But Lucy double–crossed them. She told the truth and was about to be dismissed when she wrangled a part in an audition for an Italian entertainer who didn't speak English. Lucy said she spoke Italian, which astonished everyone, but that, apparently, was a lie. The only times she said anything in Italian were when she was parroting him. Mostly, she just smiled and nodded whenever he said anything.

He positioned her in front of a board ringed with balloons, and suddenly Lucy realized he was a knife thrower.

She stood there for 10 throws before breaking down and confessing that she couldn't speak Italian.

"I'll pay the bet!" she told Ricky, who had a confession of his own. No knives were thrown. The balloons were popped by knife handles that came from the back.

Ricky told Lucy he would pay the bet, and Lucy dissolved into her trademark wailing cry.

By the way, an interesting side note here. When Lucy was answering the pre–audition questions about her experience, she claimed to have appeared "in 3D." The interviewer nodded and said, "Third dimension," and Lucy shook her head and said, "No, 3D."

The bewildered interviewer asked, "What is 3D if it isn't third dimension?"

"Our apartment," Lucy replied truthfully.

Until that time, the number on the Ricardos' door was 3B. For this episode, though — the one that dealt with honesty and deception — the number was changed to 3D.

Seems fitting, doesn't it?

Wednesday, October 09, 2013

A Remake By Another Name



Most movie remakes are, to borrow from Yogi Berra, like deja vu all over again.

And "Mogambo," which was released 60 years ago today, was no exception.

Many years ago, I was watching a movie from the early 1930s on the late, late show called "Red Dust." I had never heard of it before, but I saw it in the listings, noticed that Clark Gable was in it, and decided to watch it.

When I did, I had the feeling that I had seen and heard the story before — and I had. It was, essentially, the same story with only a few deviations. The first movie was set in Indochina, the second was set in Africa, but darn near everything else was the same.

Well, except for one big thing. "Red Dust" had more energy, more sizzle. In spite of the improvements in filmmaking that had occurred in a couple of decades, "Mogambo" lacked something. "Red Dust" made "Mogambo" seem tame.

In "Red Dust," Gable was the overseer of a rubber plantation. In "Mogambo," he was a safari leader.

In both, he was the center of attention from two women, a primary love interest (Jean Harlow in the first, Ava Gardner in the second) and a married woman as a secondary love interest (Mary Astor in the first, Grace Kelly in the second).

Frankly, it was kind of disappointing. I mean, I would have expected this kind of setting with Gable, Gardner and Kelly — and director John Ford behind the camera — to be a cinematic slam dunk, but it really wasn't. Not compared to what it could have been.

Everything turned out the way viewers probably secretly hoped they would — Gable wound up with Gardner, and Kelly remained with her husband. The movie might have been made in Africa, but it was a Hollywood production.

In real life, I've been told, Gable and Kelly had an off–screen relationship that fizzled when their age difference (Gable was more than 28 years older) became too great to ignore.

On screen, though, the sparks — such as they were — were between Gable and Gardner, not Kelly.

I've often wondered if the so–called Hays Code was the reason "Mogambo" was so uninspiring, at least when compared to "Red Dust." The Hays Code imposed restrictions that would seem prudish compared to modern movie standards. "Red Dust" was made in the early days of the Hays Code, when movies could still get away with things they wouldn't be able to get away with for decades.

Perhaps that isn't fair. "Mogambo" did have some things going for it — it was shot on location, for one thing. "Red Dust" wasn't filmed in Indochina — it was filmed on a studio backlot in Hollywood, as I understand it — but Americans wouldn't be familiar with Indochina for another 35 years so it really didn't matter. I'm sure the studio heads figured no one would know the difference, and they were probably right.

Most Americans probably weren't too familiar with Africa, either, in 1953, but they likely had more of an idea of what Africa should look like than they did of Indochina.

Whether they did or not, what they got in "Mogambo" was the real thing, and the cinematography really was remarkable for its time. At the Academy Awards, though, Gardner and Kelly were rewarded with nominations, but the technical aspects were entirely overlooked.

And that, I think, is a shame. Gardner (nominated for Best Actress) and Kelly (nominated for Best Supporting Actress) were good, but I've seen both perform better. Gable wasn't nominated at all, and I have no problem with that. His role in "Mogambo" wasn't one of his best performances.

The material in "Mogambo" wasn't terrible — but neither was it great, and, while I have heard some people describe Gardner's performance as the best of her career, I'm inclined to think that several other performances were better.

I've always felt that Kelly was a rare mix of beauty and talent. There was a vulnerability to her performances that was very appealing, and I thought that vulnerability may never have been so striking as it was when Kelly played the young and lusty Linda of "Mogambo." Her character projected a cool reserve, but there was a smoldering sensuality beneath it.

I guess you could say that about all the roles she played — especially her roles in Hitchcock movies, which always seemed to bring out that quality in her performances.

It was still early in her career, though, and Kelly played a character that was a lot like the one she played a year earlier in "High Noon." She didn't begin to show her range as an actress until a year later, when she made "The Country Girl," for which she received her only Oscar.

I guess the biggest problem I had with "Mogambo" was that it never really made up its mind whether it was going to be a love story or an adventure movie. Ford seemed to want to make "Mogambo" a story worthy of Hemingway — and there were plenty of jungle scenes — but the star power of the cast seemed to pull him back to the love triangle.

In the end, I guess you could say the love triangle won. Again, this is a Hollywood production we're talking about.

But sometimes I think it was more of an adventure story. That's the real problem with remakes.

Tuesday, August 27, 2013

An Offbeat Love Story



Princess Ann (Audrey Hepburn): I've never been alone with a man before, even with my dress on. With my dress off, it's MOST unusual.

I have written here before that I consider Audrey Hepburn one of the most beautiful actresses ever to appear on the big screen.

The movie for which she won her only Best Actress Oscar — William Wyler's "Roman Holiday" — was released on this date in 1953. It wasn't her first appearance in a movie; it wasn't even her first lead role.

But, in a career that included several great performances, this one stands out, even today, more than two decades after Hepburn's death.

It isn't because Gregory Peck was her co–star. She appeared with many of the top leading men of her day.

It isn't because she won an Oscar — she was nominated four other times but lost each time.

So what was it about "Roman Holiday" that made it Hepburn's defining role in the opinions of so many?

In large part, I have to think it was because Hepburn was at her most charming and most naive in "Roman Holiday" — although I personally think of "Wait Until Dark," in which she played a very different kind of role, whenever I hear her name, not "Roman Holiday."

Still, she always seemed delicate, no matter the role she was playing. She was that kind of female, sort of frail (but not in an old lady kind of way, more in the helpless female, damsel in distress kind of way, thin and willowy) and I often think that was what made her — and Grace Kelly — stand out in an era that was dominated by shapely, well–endowed bombshells.

But I can't rule out the incredible setting of Rome for the movie, either.

In the 21st century, the public has grown accustomed to the idea that a movie will be filmed on location, no matter how exotic or remote it may be, but I gather from what I have read that, unless a movie was filmed domestically, that was a rare occurrence 60 years ago.

Nevertheless, most of "Roman Holiday" was, indeed, filmed in Rome, and it is hard to imagine anyone putting the city to better use as a movie set than Wyler did.

And that, in turn, seemed to get the best out of the cast.

Hepburn, of course, played a very appealing character, a young princess who craved fun and anonymity. Peck, of course, was always magnetic but rarely was he as charismatic as he was in "Roman Holiday," playing a reporter who wants to scoop the competition but falls under Hepburn's spell.

And then there was Eddie Albert — the same Eddie Albert who entertained TV audiences a decade later as the lawyer–turned–farmer Oliver Wendell Douglas in Green Acres. Many folks of my generation may not know until they see "Roman Holiday" that Albert had a career on the big screen.

But the truth is that he made lots of movies before and after "Roman Holiday." Some were quite good; most were average at best. But none was as good.

How good? The American Film Institute rates it #4 among all romantic comedies.

But a few more words about Albert ...

He received an Oscar nomination for Best Supporting Actor but lost to Frank Sinatra for "From Here to Eternity." Frankly, that was a pretty tough category that year. Just being nominated really was an honor. I know that is a cliche, but it is true.

I always thought his character, a photographer named Irving who never lost sight of the career implications of his association with the princess (unlike Peck's character), kept the story grounded in reality. For example, when Peck started wavering on whether to profit from the opportunity to sell a candid story (with photos) about the AWOL princess, Irving reminded him that "[i]t's always open season on princesses."

Irving's presence was a much–needed reality check — not to mention a breath of fresh air — that elevated the tale to something more than an offbeat love story.

Monday, August 05, 2013

The Not-So-Sunny Side of the Street



Private Prewitt (Montgomery Clift): A man don't go his own way, he's nothing.

Sgt. Warden (Burt Lancaster): Maybe back in the days of the pioneers a man could go his own way, but today you got to play ball.

If you want to see a faithful re–creation of the attack on Pearl Harbor, I recommend seeing "Tora! Tora! Tora!"

But if you want to see a well–acted drama set against the backdrop of Pearl Harbor, "From Here to Eternity" — which premiered 60 years ago today — is the clear choice.

There was a lot of hype for this movie, I've been told, and I can believe it. It was based on one of the best–selling novels of the previous decade, which, I must confess, I haven't read. I'm sure that, as is usually the case, the movie wasn't as good as the book that inspired it, but I haven't a clue where the movie came up short unless there were parts of the story that, given the times, could not be mentioned.

When I saw it — and that was several decades after it was released — I felt it delivered on every level. The acting was brilliant in a story that was ostensibly about war but really was about life and how unfair it can be.

The movie followed three American soldiers — played by Burt Lancaster, Montgomery Clift and Frank Sinatra — who were stationed at Pearl Harbor in the months leading up to the attack. Deborah Kerr and Donna Reed were the love interests.

Although separated by about 45 years, I thought "From Here to Eternity" was a lot like "Titanic" — the audience knew something big was going to happen, but it kind of got lost in the love story.

By the time the something big happened, it almost took the audience by surprise. That's an indication of superior filmmaking, I suppose.

Ironically, that was clearly the intention of 2001's "Pearl Harbor" — but it failed to get the audience to care about the love story.

"From Here to Eternity" didn't have that problem, especially with the principals, Lancaster and Kerr, who shared a passionate kiss on the beach in their iconic scene. Kerr's character was married, but audiences could forgive her that because she had been abused by her philandering husband, a thoroughly unlikeable sort played by Philip Ober (who may be best known for having been married to Vivian Vance at one time).

It was easy for audiences to not like him, and I have no doubt that was the plan. If the spouse is a reprehensible human being, it is easy to excuse the aggrieved spouse for behavior of which most people wouldn't approve. And most people probably would not approve of an extramarital affair.

Likewise, most people probably wouldn't condone prostitution, but Reed's character endeared herself to the audience with her selfless claim that she wanted to make enough money to go home to the mainland and buy a house for her mother.

Both Lancaster and Kerr were nominated for Oscars, but it was supporting performances by Sinatra as a soldier who is killed while in the stockade and Reed, whose performance as a prostitute can only be seen as completely against type, that earned Oscars for acting.

Sinatra, of course, was primarily a singer. While I haven't seen all of Reed's movie performances, her performance in "From Here to Eternity" may have been her most sincere and candid.

Director Fred Zinnemann won an Oscar as well, and the movie won Best Picture. Out of 13 nominations, "From Here to Eternity" took home eight awards.

Wednesday, May 29, 2013

A Different Kind of War Story



Sgt. Schulz (Sig Ruman): How do you expect to win the war with an army of clowns?

Lt. Dunbar (Don Taylor): We sort of hope you'd laugh yourselves to death.

I don't remember how old I was when I first saw "Stalag 17," the Billy Wilder war comedy/drama that premiered 60 years ago today.

What I do remember is that — for awhile — I thought "Stalag 17" was the inspiration for Hogan's Heroes, a sitcom that was popular when I was little. Both, after all, were set in POW camps during World War II, and both had German sergeants named Schultz.

(Also, the camp in Hogan's Heroes had a name that was reminiscent of the movie — Stalag 13.)

But the Schultz in Hogan's Heroes was a buffoon whereas the Schulz (note the absence of the t) in "Stalag 17" was a by–the–book German soldier.

And, in nearly every respect, the plot and tone of each was different from the other — significantly so.

Consequently, I'm not nearly as inclined to see a solid link between the movie and the TV show

Hogan's Heroes was played strictly for laughs, usually at the expense of the incompetent Germans. That was probably easier to do with two decades separating the end of the war and the debut of the TV show. By that time, it was easier to joke about the Germans and the war.

Not quite eight years had passed since the end of the war when "Stalag 17" was showing on America's movie screens. The memory of Hitler and his regime was still fresh — still raw — in 1953.

There was more drama in "Stalag 17" — reflecting, perhaps, the respect that still existed for a Germany that had thrust the globe into two world wars in the 20th century. But, by the 1960s, that respect seems to have dissolved into ridicule — we beat the Germans twice in this century seems to have been the attitude by that time. Hogan and his co–prisoners were capable of doing anything they wanted to do; even if Schultz found out about something, he could be bribed into keeping his mouth shut.

The prisoners stayed there entirely by choice. It was presented as a patriotic thing, really. They could have escaped easily at any time, but they could influence the outcome of the war where they were.

Sometimes they used that to their advantage, setting up the Germans to discover some alleged breakout, giving the inept Nazi commandant and his easily influenced sergeant a chance to boast that no one had ever escaped from their prison camp.

But mostly they used it for the benefit of the Allied effort.

Sgt. Schulz, on the other hand, was a no–nonsense soldier, and the prisoners he ruled definitely were not there by choice.

Sure, there were slapstick moments, but I wouldn't call "Stalag 17" a slapstick movie — whereas Hogan's Heroes was often a slapstick sitcom.

Mostly, I guess, the comedy of "Stalag 17" came in the form of one–liners and sight gags — but there was a generous portion of drama in it as well.

William Holden, who had so many fine performances in his career, may have given his best in "Stalag 17" as the prisoner who was suspected by his bunkmates of being the informant responsible for the Germans' advance knowledge of many things, like the escape attempt of two young Americans who were gunned down outside the camp and the presence in the barracks of a radio that was used to monitor developments in the war.

(In fact, Holden won his only Best Actor Oscar for his performance in "Stalag 17." I suppose it is a matter of personal opinion whether that performance was better than the ones he gave in "Sunset Boulevard" and "Network," the other movies for which he was nominated for Best Actor, but that is the one that was honored, and the quality of his competition for the award — Richard Burton, Montgomery Clift, Marlon Brando and Burt Lancaster — is beyond dispute.)

Suspicion of Holden's character finally led the other prisoners to beat him up — one finds it hard to imagine the prisoners in "Hogan's Heroes" beating up Col. Hogan (or even feeling compelled to do so).

The prisoners in Hogan's Heroes had a quiet confidence that they were far superior to their captors. The prisoners in "Stalag 17" were much less secure and much more vulnerable. Their situation was real, and I guess I always assumed that their humor was more of a coping mechanism.

Anyway, when the prisoners learned what the audience had known for awhile — that the apparently All–American boy (Peter Graves) was the informant — they set him up permanently.

I guess that is an example of what I so often heard when I was a boy in Arkansas — "What goes around comes around."

Saturday, April 20, 2013

What a Friend We Have in Ethel



Mrs. Trumbull (Elizabeth Patterson): (reading the lease) 'It is expressly understood that at no time will children be allowed to live in said building.'

Ethel (Vivian Vance): Little Ricky!

Lucy (Lucille Ball): He's a children!

In fact, the episode of I Love Lucy in which Little Ricky was born had been broadcast about three months before the episode "No Children Allowed" was first aired 60 years ago tonight.

If you have ever had children — or if you have merely known people who had children — you know how chaotic and just downright noisy the adjustment to an infant in the household can be.

And, in an apartment building, it is virtually impossible to keep such a development a secret.

I know that from firsthand experience. I have lived in apartments all my adult life, and I have always been aware when there were newborns in other apartments — even if those apartments were not next door to my own.

Consequently, it was just a little implausible that a fellow tenant would not have said something for three months — until Lucy had a particularly difficult night with Little Ricky.

It seemed the neighbor, Mrs. Trumbull (played by Elizabeth Patterson), had just discovered the child's presence. Mrs. Trumbull complained that Little Ricky's presence was a clear violation of the lease agreement. That always struck me as hard to accept. I mean, Mrs. Trumbull obviously was familiar with the terms of the lease. She knew what it said about children. And the audience was supposed to believe she raised no objection earlier? She didn't notice Lucy's belly swelling during her pregnancy? Come on!

Mrs. Trumbull threatened Ethel. If the Ricardos weren't evicted, she said, she and all the other tenants would leave. Even as a child, when I saw the episode for the first time, I was skeptical about that. I had neither seen nor heard anything that suggested Mrs. Trumbull had spoken to any of the other tenants, and I thought her threat was probably a lot of hot air.

Well, despite flaws in the story, "No Children Allowed" was a great character study, as the episodes in I Love Lucy often were. I'm sure they have inspired characters and story ideas for other TV shows.

There was the grumpy, sourpuss neighbor, of course — the antagonist. And there was the chagrined Lucy, who wanted only to care for her child and keep peace among the tenants.

And then there was Ethel (Vivian Vance).

Ethel was Lucy's friend as well as landlord, and she stood up to Mrs. Trumbull. She rushed to Lucy's defense, proclaiming that her friends meant more to her than any lease, and Lucy was suitably impressed. It was truly a noble moment.

The trouble was that Ethel wasn't content with that. She wanted everyone to know what she had done, and she began repeating the same story countless times.

And, as grateful as Lucy was for Ethel's support, the whole thing began to wear on her. When Ricky first heard Ethel's tale, he could not contain his gratitude and admiration for what she had done.

"Wasn't Ethel wonderful?" he asked Lucy — and was amazed when she showed no enthusiasm.

"You don't sound very appreciative," he said, and Lucy protested that she was.

"I'm up to here with appreciation," she replied, holding one hand just below her chin, and she recited for Ricky the many times Ethel had repeated the story. "Ethel acts as if she discovered penicillin!"

Lucy tried to keep her distaste to herself, but finally she could take it no more and began reciting the story with Ethel — who was, of course, offended.

"You don't care how many tenants I lose," Ethel retorted, "but you get awfully excited if I tell a couple of people about it!"

"A couple of people?" Lucy asked incredulously. "Ethel, that scene has had more performances than South Pacific."

Patterson made her first — but far from last — appearance as Mrs. Trumbull in that episode. When the Ricardos and Mertzes got into a fight over Ethel's good deed — prompting Mrs. Trumbull to come to the rescue of the distraught baby — a recurring character was born.

Patterson was nearly 80 when "No Children Allowed" was first shown, but it was her second appearance on I Love Lucy. During the first season of the series, she played the wife of the justice of the peace who re–married the Ricardos in what, I am sure, she regarded as a one–time–only thing.

Her appearance as Mrs. Trumbull started a three–year run for her on I Love Lucy. Admittedly, in those days, there were fewer choices on TV so ratings tended to be higher.

Still, for the entirety of its run, I Love Lucy ranked in the top three television shows.

Talk about a great career break.

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

A Traditional Agatha Christie Tale



"Men always tell such silly lies."

Agatha Christie
Funerals Are Fatal (1953)

The concept of a remake is hardly an alien one in the 21st century.

There are frequent remakes — or re–imaginings, as they are sometimes called — in the movies and on TV. Cover versions of old hit songs become hits themselves.

In fact, as I recall, remakes weren't new even in the late 20th century.
.
But, although it was before my time, it seems to me that remakes were far more rare in the mid–20th century — when Agatha Christie published "Funerals Are Fatal."

"Funerals Are Fatal" was published in the United States 60 years ago — in March of 1953 — and it was something of a remake in the sense that it was Christie's return to the formula that made her so popular in the '30s and '40s — a sprawling Victorian mansion with a sprawling Victorian family and lots of money up for grabs following the death of the eldest sibling.

And a butler.

I am not the Agatha Christie aficionado that my mother was, but one of the things that stood out for me when I read "Funerals Are Fatal" was the presence of the butler.

As long as I can remember, "the butler did it" is a cliche that inevitably is dragged out whenever a murder mystery is the subject of conversation. Almost without exception, all the murder mysteries that I read that were published after about the mid–1900s had no butlers.

In fact, in my lifetime, it seems that, whenever a butler has shown up in a book or a movie about a fictional murder, it has been as the setup for jokes based on the cliche.

"Funerals Are Fatal" actually did have a butler, but he was a rather minor character in the story. He had been the butler of the mansion when the now–deceased head of the house was bringing up his orphaned siblings, but the butler was a very old man by the time of the story so he was never a very plausible suspect as a multiple murderer.

And that, essentially, was what Hercule Poirot, Christie's most famous (and most lucrative) detective, faced in this story.

First, the eldest sibling died suddenly but apparently from natural causes, causing the scattered family to be summoned for a reading of the will — at which the dead man's only surviving sister ponders, "but he was murdered, wasn't he?"

Initially, that point wasn't clear — but what was clear was that the dead man's sister was herself murdered — in her own bed the day after her brother's funeral.

And then her paid companion nearly died from arsenic poisoning from a sliver of wedding cake. The niece of the dead man had declined to share the cake with her.

(Paid companion seemed, on the surface, to refer more to a business relationship, but as one so often had to do with Christie's works, it was necessary to read between the lines. I haven't read all of Christie's works, but it sees to me this was the first of her books — at least, it is the earliest one in which Poirot was a character — that mentioned lesbianism, even indirectly.)

In the course of his investigation, Poirot encountered the usual assortment of red herrings tossed in his way by Christie. All part of the formula.

Another part of the Christie formula involved having Poirot gather all the principal characters together for observation, and that happened in this book, too, but then there was a twist. The widow of the dead man's brother was struck on the head as she was about to reveal by telephone what she found odd on the day of her brother–in–law's funeral.

Two dead, two others who appeared to have dodged a bullet.

In typical Christie fashion, the explanation for everything was complex, but that must have been what longtime Christie readers liked about it. It had all the elements of the traditional Christie tale that her fans loved so much.

As I say, it was a remake — or, perhaps more accurately, a rehash — of the things that had worked for Christie in the past.

So it is ironic, I suppose, that very few screen adaptations of the story have been made.

Ten years after the book was published, a movie that was based on it was made — but the movie was called "Murder at the Gallop," and the detective was not Poirot but Miss Marple, Christie's second most popular detective (but her personal favorite).

More than 40 years later, a TV adaptation was made, but it, too, had numerous character and plot changes.

To date, no adaptation of "Funerals Are Fatal" that is true to the story has been made — not even under the original title Christie gave it, "After the Funeral," under which it was published in the United Kingdom in May 1953.

Monday, January 21, 2013

Over the Edge



George (Joseph Cotten): Why should the Falls drag me down here at 5 o'clock in the morning? To show me how big they are and how small I am? To remind me they can get along without any help? All right, so they've proved it. But why not? They've had 10,000 years to get independent. What's so wonderful about that? I suppose I could, too, only it might take a little more time.

They come and they go, the pinup sensations and the slinky actresses who seize our collective attention for a year or two until the next one comes along.

Marilyn Monroe, though, was different. Her decade was the 1950s, but she would have stood out in any decade. Only the clothes and the hairstyle would vary.

Sixty years ago, Marilyn was probably in her prime, and the movie that made its debut on this day in 1953 — "Niagara" — clearly was a turning point for her. In 1952, she made $750/week, but after "Niagara," her salary went up 67%.

She went on to make most of her most memorable films after her appearance in "Niagara," but that was really when the Marilyn phenomenon began.

About a quarter of a century later, "Charlie's Angels" was credited with pioneering what came to be known as "jiggle TV."

But the model for it was really developed on the big screen by Marilyn Monroe. I mean, did anyone ever walk away from a camera the way Marilyn did?

And I mean movie cameras. Still cameras could only capture her beauty. They couldn't fully convey her movements when she walked.

As I say, she stood out.

That was her character's problem in "Niagara," too. She attracted a lot of attention — from her actual lover, with whom she communicated in various ways, and those who wanted to be her lover, like the kids at the Niagara Falls motel where she and her husband (Joseph Cotten) were staying — and her husband, too, for that matter.

Cotten's character clearly had issues with his wife's behavior — at one point, when Marilyn was about to leave the motel to meet her lover, Cotten told her she "smell[ed] like a dime store," and she tauntingly replied, "I'm meeting somebody, just anybody handy, as long as he's a man!"

(OK, sometimes the dialogue in "Niagara" lacked subtlety, but I doubt that most film noirs, as melodramatic as they tended to be, managed to avoid that pitfall.)

She knew how to push all his buttons, but she didn't want to annoy him. She wanted to be rid of him, and her lover was going to help her do that. That, essentially, was the plan.

But things didn't go according to plan.

There was a lot of electricity between Monroe and Cotten. In the first half of the movie, it was face to face, but in the second half of the movie, when Monroe realized that her lover, not Cotten, had been killed, the electricity took on a more sinister and shadowy aura.

He was out there, somewhere, and Monroe knew why he had killed her lover — because her lover had tried to kill him. He knew that she had cajoled her lover into coming after him — perhaps because he had been cajoled by her into killing someone else years before.

(That's just speculation on my part. But who knows?)

Ultimately, Cotten's character — who, it was suggested earlier in the movie, had been discharged from an Army mental hospital — killed Marilyn and then accidentally abducted a young woman who had been kind to him at the motel. Their boat ran out of gas on the river above the Falls, and Cotten put the young woman (Jean Peters) on a rock just before the boat went over.

Just before that, when Peters was still on board the boat, Peters' husband (Max Showalter) muttered "Scuttle it!" as he watched from the shoreline. Later, after Peters was retrieved by helicopter, an officer observed, "That's the first time somebody said 'Scuttle it!' as a prayer."

"And had it answered," Showalter replied.

Critics of the time were tepid in their praise of Monroe, but I think she often got (and continues to get) the short end of that stick. Because of her beauty, the assumption was and is that she was a dumb blonde — when, in fact, it was Marilyn who really created the dumb blonde.

The characters she played may have been dumb, but she wasn't dumb — and certainly not in "Niagara." She was cold and conniving. Her plan did not fail because it was a bad plan. It failed because her husband found a way to beat it.

Nevertheless, Monroe was dismissed as human scenery.

Don't get me wrong. Monroe was and still is pleasing to the eye. But there was much more to the package. (As far as I am concerned, Peter was every bit as appealing — in her own way — as Monroe in "Niagara.")

Some reputations are determined to live on, and it is likely that Monroe will still be regarded as an airhead decades from now. But, for those who are willing to evaluate her with fresh eyes, her movies are out there waiting to be seen, and "Niagara" will bear witness to her talent.

Saturday, January 19, 2013

The More Things Change



Today is Desi Arnaz Jr.'s 60th birthday.

I'm quite a few years younger than he is so I can't speak based on personal observation, but, from what I have heard, his must have been the most widely publicized birth ever.

Certainly it was the most widely publicized in TV history.

He was the son of Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz, the stars of the popular sitcom I Love Lucy, and his mother's pregnancy was written into the series' storyline in the 1952–1953 season.

Some of the series' best episodes — my personal favorite was the one in which Lucy hired an English tutor (Hans Conried) to improve the language skills of the adults who would influence her child's early years — came from this arrangement. But be the episodes great or mediocre, there was a lot of attention paid to Lucy's pregnancy in the series.

Anyway, the episode in which Lucy gave birth to her child had been taped nearly two months before. Coincidentally, it aired on the same day that Ball gave birth to her real son — about 12 hours after Desi Arnaz Jr. was born, as a matter of fact.

News didn't travel quite as fast in 1953 as it does in 2013. There was no internet, no cable TV, no texting. In fact, broadcast news was still in its infancy at the time, and television ownership wasn't nearly as pervasive in America as it is today.

Nevertheless, the word must have spread to a certain segment of the population, but I'm sure there were those who had no idea that Ball had given birth that day.

But the publicity about the episode in which Lucy gave birth attracted great ratings 60 years ago tonight. And, whether those who were watching knew that Lucy had given birth to her actual son earlier that day, everyone was told about it as the final credits rolled.

Dwight Eisenhower, the man who was idolized by millions for leading the Allied triumph in World War II, was sworn in as president the next day, but his TV ratings paled compared to Lucy's. He got about half as many viewers as Lucy did.

What does that tell me about America and its priorities then and now?

It tells me that things probably haven't changed that much.