A Tale of Lust

---

---

Baby Doll (Carroll Baker): I don't want to be in the same room with a man that would make me live in a house with no furniture! My daddy would turn over in his grave if he knew, he would just turn over in his grave.

Archie Lee (Karl Malden): If your daddy turned in his grave as often as you say he'd turn in his grave, that old man would plow up the graveyard.

---

Tennessee Williams really knew how to get to the heart of things, and there may have been no better example of that than "Baby Doll," which premiered on this day in 1956.

It was a steamy story, all right — and the fact that it was almost totally implausible seems to have had no influence on moviegoers of the day. It was erotic and titillating and all that good stuff — and there wasn't a second of nudity to be seen! That may be the most implausible part of the whole thing for modern audiences — but you have to remember that this movie was in theaters at a time when the Hays Code was still in charge of things.

Consequently, anything of that nature took place in the viewers' minds. (This is purely speculation, of course, but it seems all but certain that "Baby Doll" be a much different movie if a remake was attempted today.)

That seems to have been the state of things when the movie began, too. Too much was happening in the mind — and not elsewhere.

Archie Lee (Karl Malden) was a middle–aged bigot, alcoholic and failing cotton gin owner in Mississippi. Carroll Baker, in an Oscar–nominated performance, was Baby Doll, his 19–year–old wife. They had been married for two years, but they had never been intimate because of a promise Archie Lee had made to Baby Doll's dying father.

He had promised they would not be intimate until her 20th birthday, and he had been faithful to his promise, but now Baby Doll's 20th birthday was drawing nigh, and she was dreading it. Archie Lee, meanwhile, had been impatiently waiting for it like a child waiting for Christmas morning. Baby Doll slept in a crib and sucked her thumb, and Archie Lee watched her through a hole in the wall, lusting for her.

---

---

"Baby Doll" was about lust of all kinds.

Eli Wallach, in his big–screen debut, was Archie Lee's competitor. He ran a newer and better cotton gin that had been taking away Archie Lee's business — and Silvy wanted Archie Lee's business and his wife.

Archie Lee torched the competitor's business. Wallach's character suspected Archie Lee was behind it, and he came up with a plan to get even. He took truck loads of cotton to Archie Lee and asked him to process the cotton for him. While Archie Lee was busy with that, the competitor put the moves on Baby Doll.

It may well have been the dialogues between Baby Doll and Silva that best demonstrated Williams' flair.

"I wouldn't dream of eatin' a nut that a man had cracked in his mouth," Baby Doll said at one point.

"You've got many refinements," Silva replied.

---

---

But it wouldn't be a Williams script without one of the characters enduring great emotional pain because of the actions of another character, and Malden's character was tortured by his tantalizing tease of a wife. She and Silva flaunted their flirtations in front of him, and Archie Lee got angrier and angrier.

Then Silva confronted Archie Lee with an affidavit he had forced Baby Doll to sign that incriminated Archie Lee in the burning of Silva's cotton gin. The police were summoned, presented with the affidavit, arrested Archie Lee and took him away.

The adaptation of Williams' earlier work, a one–act play called "27 Wagons Full of Cotton," was nominated for an Oscar but lost — as did Mildred Dunnock, nominated for Best Supporting Actress for her performance as Baby Doll's senile aunt who lived with the couple.

"Baby Doll" was condemned at the time of its release as amoral. Ironically, by modern standards, it is so tame it is shown frequently on cable movie channels like AMC and TCM.

Was She, or Wasn't She?

---

---

"The poor have only one advantage; they know when they are loved for themselves."

Anastasia (Ingrid Bergman)

---

Of all the women who have graced the silver screen, few have combined great beauty with great talent the way Ingrid Bergman did.

In the '30s and '40s, she shared billing with some of the top actors in Hollywood and was directed by some of Hollywood's top directors. Many of her movies are still regarded as being among the best ever made.

But Bergman did not always live a charmed life. From 1949 until this day in 1956, Bergman was essentially — and hypocritically — blacklisted in Hollywood for having an affair with director Roberto Rossellini — and eventually giving birth to his child — while she and Rossellini were married to other people. The fact that Bergman and Rossellini married in 1950 and had two more children together apparently made little difference.

For more than half of the '50s, Bergman collaborated with Rossellini on foreign films while living in exile after being denounced by Colorado Democrat Edwin Johnson on the floor of the U.S. Senate. Bergman made eight movies during her exile; most have been seldom seen by Western audiences.

Then Bergman made her triumphant return to the American silver screen with "Anastasia," which premiered on this day in 1956. Her performance in the title role won her an Oscar, her second.

For such an actress, only an extraordinary role would do for such a comeback, and the subject matter truly was extraordinary. It was one of history's intriguing mysteries.

History contains many mysteries. Who was Jack the Ripper? What happened to Amelia Earhart? Or Jimmy Hoffa? Did Lee Harvey Oswald act alone? Did he even act at all?

And Bergman's comeback subject was — and, to an extent, remains — one of the 20th century's greatest mysteries. What became of Anastasia, the 17–year–old grand duchess of Russia who supposedly perished with the rest of the Romanov family in 1918? For years there were rumors that she escaped the executions that her family suffered after the Bolshevik revolution.

Did she?

---

---

That was the question facing some of the characters in the story, but that was not a question the movie sought to answer. "Anastasia" was about a criminal plot to collect money being held in a trust for the real Anastasia.

The ringleader of the plot, a manipulative Russian businessman, was played by Yul Brynner, and he knew Anastasia didn't have to be perfect, merely convincing. As he presented his case to his fellow conspirators, Brynner asked, "Would you recognize the smile of a girl you knew 10 years ago?"

He went on to observe, "You're examining her as if she was the real Anastasia. There is no Anastasia! She was shot to death 10 years ago by a firing squad. We're not looking for her, gentlemen. We're seeking only a reasonable facsimile."

His mission was to persuade Helen Hayes, who played the sole surviving Romanov, that Bergman was legitimate. And she wasn't easy to convince. She had known the real Anastasia as a girl, and her memory was keen.

"I like the past," she said at one point. "It's sweet and familiar."

At the Oscars, Bergman received the Best Actress award. Brynner received Best Actor that night — but for his performance in "The King and I."

Planting a Bad Seed

---

---

"sociopath — a person with a psychopathic personality whose behavior is antisocial, often criminal, and who lacks a sense of moral responsibility or social conscience."

Random House Dictionary

---

"The Bad Seed," which premiered on this day in 1956, was a thought–provoking — for its time — contribution to the debate over nature vs. nurture that influences so many behavioral discussions.

In this case, the discussion centered on sociopaths. We've all known sociopaths, even if we didn't know that was what they were. The term sociopathy came into use in the 20th century — but I'm sure sociopaths have been around since time began. The defining feature of sociopathy is antisocial behavior. Some psychiatrists caution laymen to avoid using the terms sociopathy and psychopathy interchangeably as the former is less likely than the latter to be mistaken for psychosis — and socioopathic behavior is not necessarily the same as psychotic behavior.

And, while I am not a trained psychiatrist, it seems to me that antisocial behavior is more or less in the eyes of the beholder. I have known people who judged certain behaviors that did not conform to their preconceived notions too harshly and labeled them sociopathic when most people probably would consider them introverted.

The things that seem to define sociopaths are the frequently criminal nature of their behavior and the complete absence of any kind of remorse for their actions. They are concerned only with themselves. All others exist — or cease to exist — to serve the sociopath's needs.

In "The Bad Seed," Patty McCormack played a young girl who, on the surface, appeared to be every parent's dream child — brilliant in school, excelling in all things. But if you looked closely enough, you could see a pattern of vicious behavior when things didn't go young Rhoda's way.

For the adults in her world, it was easier to simply dismiss some things as childish misbehavior that she would certainly outgrow.

But a time came when the behavior could no longer be so easily excused.

---

---

That was when Rhoda did not win a medal for penmanship that she had believed she would win. When the boy who did win the medal turned up drowned at a school picnic, those closest to Rhoda began to examine her behavior with alarm. She just didn't respond to the tragedy the way the adults expected. A young girl, they reasoned, should be traumatized by such an event, but when Rhoda came home, all she said was that she was hungry because the picnic had been canceled before anyone could eat.

The boy's mother, played by Eileen Heckart, knew something — somehow. Perhaps she sensed it. It was known that Rhoda had been the last person to see the boy alive; they had been seen struggling near the lake where the boy's body was found.

Anyway, the boy's mother showed up at Rhoda's home, clearly intoxicated and accusing Rhoda's teacher of concealing information about how her son had died.

---

---

And Leroy the handyman (Henry Jones) stumbled on to Rhoda's secret — and paid for it with his life when he was set on fire by Rhoda.

Rhoda's mother (Nancy Kelly) confronted her daughter with her suspicions and Rhoda tearfully confessed that she had killed the boy — and also confirmed her mother's suspicion that she had been responsible for the death of an elderly lady who had lived near them at one time. The elderly lady promised Rhoda she could have a trinket that she had admired "after I'm gone." Rhoda arranged for things to be moved up.

All this came at the same time that Rhoda's mother learned she had been adopted when she was young — and her biological mother had been a serial killer.

Thus the question of whether sociopathic behavior is learned or inherited was introduced into the story.

Rhoda's mother believed it was inherited, that she and her biological mother were responsible for this "bad seed" that she had spawned, and she took it upon herself to end it, once and for all. She gave Rhoda a lethal dose of barbiturates, then shot herself in the head. The sound of the gunshot brought people to the scene. The mother died, but the daughter was rushed to a hospital, where she was saved.

And it appeared that evil would triumph over good. Except ...

---

---

When a recovered Rhoda went out to the lake to retrieve the medal, she was struck by lightning.

The movie received four Oscar nominations in three categories but lost them all.

Kelly was nominated for Best Actress but lost to Ingrid Bergman in "Anastasia." Heckart and McCormack were both nominated for Best Supporting Actress but lost to Dorothy Malone in "Written On The Wind." Harold Rosson was nominated for Best Black–and–White Cinematography but lost to "Somebody Up There Likes Me."

Having Fun With Olivia

---

---

Olivia de Havilland, who marked her 100th birthday about three weeks ago, was an astonishingly fortunate woman in her youth.

She was one of those women who always looks younger than she is. Now, that is one of those things that most people attempt but few achieve. The ones who manage it seem to do so effortlessly. Perhaps some do. Perhaps others achieve it only after spending several hours working on it every day.

From what I have heard, de Havilland was one of those people who achieved it with no special effort. As a youth, I guess she was a natural beauty. It isn't necessary to guess, though. You can see it for yourself. She was in her early 20s when she made "Gone With the Wind."

She put that trait to good use in "The Ambassador's Daughter," which premiered on this day in 1956. In reality, de Havilland was 39 when the movie was being made — and turned 40 just before its theatrical premiere — but her character was probably in her 20s and, as the title suggested, the daughter of an ambassador (played by Edward Arnold), the ambassador to France to be specific.

A senator from America (Adolphe Menjou) declared Paris off limits to servicemen due to their misbehavior, and de Havilland's character took it upon herself to prove that U.S. servicemen could be gentlemen. She decided to do this by dating a serviceman who would not know her true identity. The serviceman (John Forsythe) was under the impression that she was a model, and he took her to nightclubs and on a humorous excursion to the Eiffel Tower.

There were some moments of deception on both sides.

Forsythe's character offered to buy de Havilland's character an airplane ticket to America when news of an emergency back in the States reached her, and she was suitably impressed — until she learned that counterfeit airplane tickets were a commonplace scam used by U.S. servicemen to score points with girls.

Forsythe, on the other hand, had been told that de Havilland was a Christian Dior fashion model, but when he went looking for her at a Dior fashion show, he discovered that Dior's staff had never heard of her. Then he saw de Havilland watching the show with the senator — and assumed they had some kind of relationship.

Everything got cleared up at the end when the two attended a performance of "Swan Lake."

---

---

Myrna Loy as the senator's wife, in a rather understated role for her, joined forces with de Havilland to persuade the senator to lift his ban. Thus, all was well that ended well.

Director Norman Krasna built his reputation in screwball comedies — which would, understandably, make potential viewers think they would be in for an off–the–wall experience with "The Ambassador's Daughter." But they would be wrong. It was a romantic comedy, but that really isn't the same thing. The dynamics of a romantic comedy and a screwball comedy are different — in often subtle ways but still different.

The cast seemed to have a good time, but as for the audience ... I can only guess.

Well, it would be hard not to have a good time watching de Havilland have a good time.

Jeepers, Creeper

---

---

Sixty years ago tonight, Alfred Hitchcock Presents aired what may well have been the best episode of its debut season. Titled "The Creeper," it didn't feature anyone today's audiences would be likely to recognize — which probably makes it easier for modern viewers seeing it for the first time to concentrate on the story.

Well, devotees of TV soap operas might recognize Constance Ford, who had a long–running role on Another World from 1967 to 1992. She also had guest spots on some of the most popular TV shows of the 1950s and 1960s.

In the episode of Alfred Hitchcock Presents that aired 60 years ago tonight, Ford played a jittery housewife who was anxious about a string of unsolved stranglings in the area. In that sense, she seemed to be like everyone else.

But she was jittery about other things, too. For example, an old beau of hers was hanging around when her husband was out of town. He claimed that her husband had asked him to keep her company while he was away — the husband didn't know about their history — but she knew nothing about such a request and was suspicious of her old boyfriend's motives.

---

---

As it turned out, she had left this guy a couple of years earlier because he had a penchant for cruel behavior. "There's something wrong about you," she told him, and she was right. Being confronted with his shortcomings led him to assault her, switching up the radio to cover her screams.

Indeed, when the maintenance man came knocking on the door, it was to tell her to turn down her radio because the other tenants were complaining — not because anyone had mentioned her screams for help.

At that point, every viewer must have been sure that the ex–beau was the infamous "Creeper" who had been killing women. His behavior was simply too suspicious.

But Ford had put in a request with a neighborhood locksmith for a new lock for her door. He was swamped, though, and couldn't get away to install it for her, but he promised to send someone over to install it as soon as he could. Once she got the old beau out of her apartment and the locksmith called to tell her that an assistant was on his way over to install the lock, she began to breathe a little easier.

It was at that point that her husband called. He confirmed that, yes, he had asked the man who had been in the apartment to come over and keep her company while he was gone.

While they talked the assistant arrived and began installing the lock. The woman returned to the phone. Her husband had some important news for her. The police had a lead in the "Creeper" case.

They were looking for a locksmith.

She knew already.

I know, the ending will be apparent to most modern viewers long before the end actually comes. You have to remember, though, the first season of Alfred Hitchcock Presents was 60 years ago, and the plot must have come as a surprise to many viewers.

That's the way Hitchcock was. When he made "Psycho" a few years later, the story traumatized many viewers. More than half a century later, "Psycho" seems tame — if not lame — to modern viewers.

Hitchcock was cutting edge for his time. I can only wonder what he would do with all the advances that have taken place in film making and TV production since his death.

Maybe She Should Have Just Said No

---

---

It was the late Nancy Reagan, of course, who first used the phrase "Just Say No" in a public service announcement context. That context was to discourage people from using illegal drugs — but, really, it could be seen, in hindsight, as good advice whenever people did things that would have been better left undone.

It wouldn't necessarily have to be illegal behavior, just something that turned out badly.

As the episode of Alfred Hitchcock Presents, "Never Again," began on this night in 1956, a woman who had repeatedly pledged to stop drinking — and repeatedly broken that pledge — found herself in a strange bed with a bandage wrapped around one of her hands.

She concluded that she must be in the hospital — but she had no idea how or why she had been brought there. For that matter, she had no memory of what had happened the night before, only that she had been at a party and there had been lots of drinking — but not, she was sure, by her.

Whether you've been in her shoes — or in the shoes of those around her — that is probably a familiar scenario. It might not involve a hospital in your experience, but the rest of it ought to ring true if you are an alcoholic or are close to one.

And yet, the woman was certain that she hadn't been drinking the night before.

But, if she hadn't been drinking ...

Why was she in the hospital?

And why was her hand bandaged?

Gradually, she began to remember. She had run out of the party and found a taxi outside. She got into the taxi and went home.

Her boyfriend arrived shortly after she did, and they had a long talk. The woman decided she wanted to go back to the party. Her boyfriend worked with many of the people who were at the party, and she wanted to keep their tongues from wagging.

But when they got to the party, the woman found herself in a conversation with a young man who kept encouraging her to drink. He said he was the brother of the hostess, and she was the "life of the party," in his words.

She was clinging to the woman's boyfriend, and the young man, unaware of the woman's identity, spoke about how his sister was mad about the fellow, but he was going to marry "someone out of the business."

She was "a drunk," his sister had told him, and she was biding her time until the relationship fell apart.

As she listened, the woman lost her resolve to not drink — and she went on a binge with this young man, barhopping around town.

---

---

But her boyfriend tracked her down, accompanied by the hostess. Then he tried to take the woman home, but she fell and broke the glass she had been holding, cutting her wrist. That explained the bandage.

About this time, a nurse came into her room, and the woman said she was all right and wanted to go home. She mentioned the word hospital, and the nurse told her it wasn't a hospital. It was the city jail. She had been brought there because she had killed a man the night before.

She looked at the window and, for the first time, noticed the bars on them. That confirmed where she was.

Who had she killed? the woman wanted to know — and, at the same time, it seemed she didn't want to know. Perhaps she already did.

In typical Hitchcock fashion, she was told that it was her boyfriend who had been killed. His throat had been cut with a brandy glass.

I know. It sounds a bit predictable now, doesn't it? But in the context of the times in which it was made ...

From that point, my guess is that she probably had no trouble keeping her promise.

The Fashion Plate

---

---

"What an inspired use of burlap!"

Lucy (Lucille Ball)

---

On this night in 1956, Ricky (Desi Arnaz) and Lucy (Lucille Ball), along with Ricky's band and the Mertzes (William Frawley and Vivian Vance), were in Paris in an episode of I Love Lucy titled "Lucy Gets a Paris Gown." See, after attending a Paris fashion show, Lucy had made up her mind that she had to have a dress designed by a leading French designer (who apparently was fictional). Ricky said he wouldn't spend the money. After all, he had invested in a Don Loper original in Hollywood the previous year. (Loper was not fictional.)

Lucy went on a hunger strike and resolved not to eat again until Ricky got her the dress.

Lucy was faking the hunger strike, though, and Ethel was her supplier. Now, I know that Ethel was Lucy's accomplice in just about everything, but, even though their actions clearly were intended to benefit Lucy, there was usually some residual benefit for Ethel, too. In all the times I have seen that episode, I have never figured out what was in it for Ethel. It couldn't have been because she expected to get a dress, too. After all, Lucy might have succeeded in wearing Ricky down, but Fred would pinch a penny until it bled. There was no way he would spring for a Paris original for Ethel.

Anyway, Ethel kept providing Lucy with food during her alleged strike.

Probably the biggest problem with faking a hunger strike is, at some point, it will become obvious that you have not been depriving yourself after all. Somehow, though, Lucy managed to look so gaunt by the third day of the strike that Ricky could bear it no longer and broke down, buying her a Paris original. But then he discovered that the strike had been a phony. Ethel had smuggled in a roast chicken that Lucy had hidden in a camera bag. When Ricky went to get the camera to take a picture of Lucy in her new dress, he discovered the chicken. He took the dress away with a renewed determination not to give in to Lucy's tactics again.

---

---

Earlier in the episode, Ricky and Fred had mocked the Paris fashions, saying the dresses looked like potato sacks and the hats looked like feedbags.

Away from their wives, Ricky and Fred plotted to get even for the phony hunger strike by having dresses made from actual potato sacks with designer labels sewn inside. They would make up some story to explain to their wives why they had decided after all to give them these original dresses.

Oh, and the hats. Lucy's hat was a horse's feedbag and Ethel's was a champagne bucket.

Lucy and Ethel were skeptical. The outfits were strange — but they were Paris originals, or so they believed, and they wore them in public, reveling in the attention they were receiving from the patrons at the cafe, including the fictional French designer. Ricky and Fred could stand it no longer and confessed to their wives what they had done. Beyond humiliation, Lucy and Ethel wrapped themselves in a tablecloth as if covering their nakedness and retreated from the cafe.

Well, Ricky and Fred apologized for what they had done and agreed to give their wives genuine Paris originals. On their way to the dress shop, they stopped at the same cafe, and, while they were there, some models came strolling by wearing the same burlap outfits the girls had been given.

---

---

Ricky and Fred saw an opening. They wouldn't have to buy Paris originals after all, they said, because the girls had the originals.

But the girls had to confess that they had burned those dresses as soon as they could.

John Wayne's Defining Role

---

---

"Figure a man's only good for one oath at a time; I took mine to the Confederate States of America."

Ethan (John Wayne)

---

Sixty years ago today, "The Searchers" premiered on America's movie screens. Its hero, played by John Wayne, was unabashedly racist. He was a middle–aged veteran of the Civil War, a former Confederate soldier who returned to West Texas a few years after the end of the war, presumably with the intention of forming a partnership with his brother.

When I say the character was racist, those who haven't seen "The Searchers" might presume from what they have read so far in this article that the character was anti–black. But he wasn't. He was anti–Indian.

See, in the story, Indians raided a neighbor's homestead and stole some cattle. Wayne and some others went in search of the Indians to retrieve the cattle, but it turned out that the theft was simply a ruse to get the men away. When the men returned, Wayne's brother's home was in flames. His brother, his brother's wife and their son were killed. Their two daughters had been kidnapped.

So Wayne and his nephew (Jeffrey Hunter) embarked on a search.

---

---

The search went on for five years. Early on, the body of the oldest daughter was found brutally murdered and, presumably, sexually assaulted. The search went on for the youngest daughter, who had been 8 years old at the time of her abduction. No one knew what had become of her.

They finally found out. She was with the chief of a company of Comanche. She was played by a young Natalie Wood, 17 in real life and one year removed from her Oscar–nominated performance in "Rebel Without a Cause." Seventeen is a bit older than Wood's character would have been. Kidnapped at the age of 8, discovered five years later.

I saw it a few years ago after having gone several years without seeing it, and I remember thinking that Wood looked really young in the early part of the movie, much younger than she should have been. It wasn't until later that I realized that the young version was Natalie's younger sister, Lana Wood, who would have been about 9 when the movie was made.

Natalie played the role briefly at the end when Wayne found her in the Comanche camp. She said she was now a Comanche and didn't wish to return with him. Wayne would have preferred to see her dead and pulled his gun on her, but Hunter shielded her.

---

---

I had to wonder, as I watched it a few years ago, if "The Searchers" would have been a success in the theaters today. Wayne's racism certainly would have been a lightning rod for criticism, but, like Captain Ahab, there was a kind of beauty in his character, driven by an obsession that seems ugly without its redemptive qualities.

What are those redemptive qualities? Well, the character stood for principles like devotion and loyalty, but he was driven by the desire for revenge. He was a complicated character, worthy of Shakespeare.

It was a gritty story; the American Film Institute ranked it #12 all time — and #1 among the westerns. High praise.

It was pretty successful at the box office, too, but it received no Academy Award nominations. That surprised me when I heard that for the first time. I wasn't really surprised that Natalie Wood wasn't nominated. Her part was pivotal, but her screen time was brief. She did far more to deserve that nomination for "Rebel Without a Cause."

But the failure to nominate Wayne was a big mistake on the part of the Academy.

I once read a Roger Ebert column about the movie, and I recall that he said Wayne's character was the most compelling character Wayne and director John Ford ever created together. And that is certainly saying something, given how many times they made movies together.

It also happens to be true.

---

---

John Wayne's fans will point to all sorts of movies and roles that they will tell you defined the Duke — but it is hard to imagine either a John Wayne movie or role that could be said to have defined him better than "The Searchers."

Spoiling the Perfect Murder

---

---

Most television series run Christmas–oriented episodes at, you know, Christmas time.

But Alfred Hitchcock never did things the way other people did them.

Actually, the episode of Alfred Hitchcock Presents that aired on this night in 1956, "Back for Christmas," really had very little to do with Christmas at all. It mostly just mentioned the holiday in the title.

See, the story centered on this middle–aged couple about to embark on a trip to America. The length of this trip was unclear, but they insisted they would be back in time for Christmas — hence, the mention of the holiday in the title. The apparent purpose of the trip was for the husband, John Williams, a metallurgist, to work on a temporary assignment on the West Coast.

On the day of their planned departure, Williams (who appeared in three Hitchcock movies and half a dozen other episodes of Alfred Hitchcock Presents) killed his wife and buried her in the basement, where he had ostensibly been digging a wine cellar. In typical Hitchcock fashion, viewers didn't see the blow that killed Williams' wife. They only saw him raise a club and bring it down where the audience knew her head to be.

Williams had directed her to take a close look at the hole he had been digging, and she fell right into it after the blow. The audience knew because there was an audible thud a few seconds after the club came down.

The audience also knew that, earlier in the episode, Williams had assessed his wife's height and compared it to the rectangular hole he had been digging. The camera allowed the viewers to see what Williams was seeing, and the audience knew that was no wine cellar. He had been digging her grave.

---

---

The next thing the audience knew, Williams' ship was arriving in America. He and his wife had told their friends they didn't like to fly and were crossing the Atlantic by ship. They were taking their car with them so they could drive across the continent — and, I presume, to have their own transportation in America.

That neatly covered most of the loose ends.

The viewers watched Williams arrive in New York, then drive across the country to California, where he was set up in a ritzy hotel. He wrote forged letters from his wife to the friends back home, at first reassuring them that, yes, they would be back by Christmas, then gradually allowing doubt to creep into their minds. By the time the couple didn't return for Christmas, it would hardly be a surprise.

The surprise was on Williams. His wife — who could be bossy in the preparations for their departure — had secretly arranged for excavators to turn the basement into a wine cellar while they were gone.

Williams got an advance bill for the excavators' services, addressed to his wife, and he knew what that meant. In the course of their work, they would find the body.

Well, she had insisted that the excavators have the work done before Christmas. Apparently, that was to have been her Christmas gift to him. Instead, he was going to be getting a much different gift — presumably well before Christmas. It was only a matter of time before some detectives would be knocking on his door.

The story supposedly was based on a real murder in the United Kingdom. As I understand it, the perpetrator in real life was a doctor who dismembered his wife after killing her.

That was too messy for Hitchcock. I do recall he made one movie in which a man killed and dismembered his wife, but it was all supposition until late in the movie. As a matter of fact, I believe that movie was based on the same case.

That's the way Hitchcock liked it. He's been gone more than 30 years; I think he would have been very uncomfortable with the horror movies that have been at the theaters since he's been gone. They're mostly too gory, too graphic for his taste.

Hitchcock preferred more style than that, more sophistication. He almost always presented murders in such a way that there was at least a touch of ambiguity. You might be 99% certain that someone killed someone else, as Jimmy Stewart was in "Rear Window," but it was always hard to get around that last 1%. I guess it was Hitchcock's way of reminding us that suspicion of guilt is not the same thing as proof of guilt.

Not a bad thing of which to be reminded, is it?

We Interrupt This Holiday With Original Programming ...

---

---

Happy New Year!

Speaking of which, I suppose TV programming on New Year's Day is not done the way it is on ordinary days. I never really thought about it before, but I guess TV networks resort to special programming on the New Year's holiday, just as they do on other holidays. Whether usual programming is being preempted by college football or something else, I guess that's the norm.

And there are so many networks these days. You've got to do something to set yourself apart from the rest in the eyes of viewers who have seemingly unlimited options — and lots of time on their hands.

Whether it is an attempt to attract viewers or appease the cast and crew of a television series by giving them a holiday — or, as I suspect, a combination of the two — I guess there isn't much original programming on New Year's night. I suppose there never was.

To which Alfred Hitchcock said, "Rubbish!" — or something comparable — 60 years ago tonight. Hitchcock presented a first–time showing of an original episode; please note that I said it was original and not necessarily his best or even great. In fact, good might be stretching it. But that is largely because it seems rather obvious from the vantage point of 2016, not 1956.

Now I have probably fallen into that trap of judging the past by modern standards. It's a common trap, and lots of folks fall into it these days. But that is no excuse, I guess.

Sixty years ago, there were only the three major networks — ABC, CBS and NBC — and TV was in its infancy. The networks were experimenting with everything, including programming; special holiday programming may well have been experimental. Having been a child in the pre–cable era, I know that special holiday programming was always heavily advertised, and that was many years after the Hitchcock program that premiered 60 years ago tonight.

I'm sure there were holiday specials in those days, but there were no marathons and probably few sports telecasts, even on New Year's Day. I recall once, when I was a child, one of the networks showed "Oklahoma!" on Thanksgiving night — and spent weeks promoting it. Original programming on holidays probably was more common then than it is today.

On New Year's night 1956, Alfred Hitchcock Presents aired an episode called "A Bullet for Baldwin" that featured some familiar faces for folks who have watched 1960s TV. Such folks have probably heard of at least one of their names, too — Sebastian Cabot. He played a partner in a turn–of–the–century business.

The other familiar face belonged to a fellow named John Qualen, a Canadian–born son of Norwegian immigrants. He was always playing mild–mannered characters in all sorts of TV series, but he had a pretty impressive movie resume, too. He was in "The Grapes of Wrath," "Casablanca," "Anatomy of a Murder," "The Searchers" and "The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance," among others.

Anyway, Qualen played a mild–mannered company employee, and the story began with Cabot's character — the Baldwin of the episode title — dismissing Qualen for making repeated mistakes.

---

---

Qualen's character went to his desk, retrieved a revolver from the top drawer, returned to Cabot's office and shot him point blank.

Qualen's character was certain he had killed Baldwin, and he was prepared to wait at his home for the police to come for him. Instead, he got a phone call from the office telling him that Mr. Baldwin wanted to see him. Bewildered, he went to the office and was stopped by the other partner, who took him aside to give him some work instructions.

At that point Qualen's character confessed to shooting and killing Mr. Baldwin. The partner was convinced that Qualen had had some kind of mental episode; after all, everyone in the office had been under such pressure lately. Then he took Qualen to Mr. Baldwin's office, and he (and the audience) saw someone who looked like Baldwin and sounded like Baldwin preparing for an important business trip.

The partner assured Qualen that he wouldn't say anything about their conversation and told him he would receive a raise. Qualen returned to his desk, apparently relieved that he had imagined the whole thing.

And the partner went into Mr. Baldwin's office — and that was when the audience found out that Mr. Baldwin really had been killed. The fellow who was pretending to be Baldwin was a — pardon the pun — dead ringer for him. The partner had been having an affair with Mrs. Baldwin, and he had been in the office when Qualen had shot Baldwin. He hid in the office until Qualen left, all the while trying to figure out how to manipulate the situation to his advantage.

And he came up with the idea of having an impostor play the role so he could gaslight Qualen.

The partner decided to feign ignorance when Qualen thanked him for his discretion — and the raise. Then, as Baldwin had done before him, the partner discharged Qualen.

---

---

And Qualen did exactly as he had done the first time. He went back to his desk, retrieved a revolver, confronted the partner and shot him point blank.

When Alfred Hitchcock gave his customary closing remarks, he called the story "amusing" but assured viewers that his TV program was more than entertainment. It was intended to reinforce some of life's wisdom, although he admitted that he didn't know what the moral of "A Bullet for Baldwin" was.

Maybe it was a cautionary tale for employers. Be careful who you fire — and why.

Science Fiction Comes of Age

---

---

It was 55 years ago that "Forbidden Planet" premiered on America's movie screens, and I suppose it's kind of a bittersweet time for fans of the sci–fi classic.

Anne Francis, who was in her mid–20s when the film was made, died three months ago at the age of 80. Her co–star, Leslie Nielsen, died about five weeks earlier. He was 84 — would've turned 85 in February.

By 1956, filmmaking in general had been maturing for decades, but some genres — science fiction, for example — were still in their infancies. Bruce Eder of AllMovie observes that science fiction didn't really begin to distinguish itself from "horror films and movie serials" until after World War II.

Nielsen and Francis helped the genre come of age.

A few years ago, the American Film Institute came out with its Top 10 lists of movies in 10 categories — and "Forbidden Planet" wasn't on the list of science fiction's best.

That wasn't terribly surprising. Only two of the films on the list (and I would argue that one of those films would be more properly designated as a "horror film," to borrow Eder's phrase) were made before "Forbidden Planet" — and the subsequent films on the list all came along more than a decade later, when the special effects were more advanced.

A sci–fi film's special effects are crucial, and the effects in "Forbidden Planet" often look cheap to modern eyes. Thus, it may come as something of a surprise to those modern viewers to know that most critics, Hal Erickson of AllMovie among them, think the special effects were state of the art.

And they were — for that time.

Beyond the special effects, though, the story was great — timeless, in fact — and the cast was top notch.

Ultimately, I guess, that is what "Forbidden Planet" proved on this day in 1956. Even though sci–fi flicks have always needed whatever special effects the then–current technology could provide, they will always need a good story to hold everything together.

And there was no question that "Forbidden Planet" had a great story. It was inspired by Shakespeare's "The Tempest." Consequently, it was really more of a romance than it was a story about space exploration.

It was a story about a lot of things, really. Obviously, it raised some eyebrows over the subplot's hints at Francis' relationship with her father (played by Walter Pidgeon).

But it also introduced a more humanlike robot — "Robby" — to the science fiction story. Robby has been the model for generations of mechanical companions that have followed (the robot from Lost in Space, the characters in the "Star Wars" movies, etc.); after "Forbidden Planet," robots were routinely members of the cast.

It has been observed that, before "Forbidden Planet," science fiction was a genre that mostly appealed to juveniles. After "Forbidden Planet," the genre came of age.