Showing posts with label Inger Stevens. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Inger Stevens. Show all posts

Thursday, March 29, 2018

A 72-Hour Odyssey in Spanish Harlem



Daniel Madigan (Richard Widmark): I'm in love with Julia.

Jonesy (Sheree North): Who's asking for love?

The book on which "Madigan," which premiered on this day in 1968, was based primarily focused on the character of the police commissioner (played by Henry Fonda) — but the decision was made to emphasize a detective on the street (Richard Widmark).

Thus, the movie began with a small–timer getting the drop on Widmark and his partner, relieving them of their weapons when they became momentarily distracted by the small–timer's naked girlfriend and escaping after trapping them on the roof of his building. That small–timer became the chief suspect in a homicide.

That kicked off a 72–hour odyssey for Widmark and his partner, and catching this small–timer was only part of it. The commissioner gave them 72 hours to round up the small–timer, but Widmark had other things to deal with during that time frame as well.

The cinematography of the movie is important. While some portions were filmed in Hollywood backlots, many were filmed with the New York City of 1967 as its backdrop — which was appropriate, since most of the action took place in Spanish Harlem. Consequently the movie absorbed much of the look and feel of New York in the '60s, which became, as backdrops often do, a character in the story.

Madigan had problems with the commissioner, who didn't trust him, and his wife (Inger Stevens). The commissioner had his own problems. He had been looking forward to delivering a commencement address to graduates of the police academy, but this matter with Madigan demanded his attention, as did the case of an inspector (James Whitmore) shaking down a bar owner and complaints from a black minister that his son had been harassed by police when he was picked up for questioning in a rape case. On top of that, the commissioner's married mistress had made the decision to end their relationship.

It was a gritty movie with a lot of twists and turns. I'm not usually a fan of police movies, and this one is a little dated, but it has a first-rate cast — including a rather brief appearance by Sheree North as a sexually frustrated nightclub singer with whom Madigan had once been involved. She didn't try to conceal her continuing attraction to Madigan. Madigan, though, was direct with her, saying that he was in love with Stevens — whose character was also sexually frustrated by Madigan's job and his frequent absences.

But North wasn't interested in love.

A pivotal absence occurred when Madigan took his wife to a dress ball that included a night in a fancy hotel. That appeased her until she realized that he was going to skip out early to go back to work on bringing in the small–timer. He left her in the care of a colleague, who tried to get her drunk and seduce her. He nearly succeeded, too.

That's the kind of thing that you don't have to be in law enforcement to see — although I have no doubt that being the spouse of a detective is a lonely and stressful way of life — and Stevens portrayed it well, especially in her final scene. That was in the hospital where Widmark had been taken after being shot and where he ultimately died.

In my newspaper career, I saw many people who either never married or had their marriages destroyed by their work. Spouses make sacrifices that others don't see — and sometimes those sacrifices are simply too great.

With that in mind, I thought it may have been Stevens' best performance — even if it was in a supporting role.

In the end, Stevens grieved Widmark's death in the execution (so to speak) of his job, but I got the feeling that the others, while sorry that Widmark was gone, didn't feel the loss as deeply as she did. They knew it was the risk they all took.

I've heard some people say they were bored by the story. Perhaps it was too tame for audiences accustomed to more modern treatments of crime and punishment.

I've heard others say the story is engaging, even after half a century.

I'm somewhere in the middle, I suppose. The movie could benefit from what they call reimagining these days. If that doesn't happen, though, "Madigan" stands the test of time — provided you keep it in the context of when it was made.

Wednesday, January 24, 2018

A Rare Western With Fonda and Stewart



"It's a lesson I learned a long time ago. A man worth shootin' is a man worth killin'."

Bob Larkin (Henry Fonda)

Franklin D. Roosevelt is remembered for, among many other things, saying, "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself."

And there is much truth in that. In fact, I believe that was the great theme of "Firecreek," a western that premiered on this day in 1968. People can become trapped by fear and can only be free by confronting their fears. That takes courage, and sometimes courage is hard to find. Perhaps no two actors could illustrate that better than Jimmy Stewart and Henry Fonda.

Stewart and Fonda were such great actors — and great friends — that you would think they would have made several movies together. But they didn't. They did, however, appear in "Firecreek" together.

If you ever saw "High Noon," then you essentially saw "Firecreek."

Well, that isn't entirely true. I mean, "Firecreek" wasn't a scene–for–scene remake of "High Noon," but there were plenty of similarities.

Stewart played the part–time sheriff of a small western town who became its full–time defender when an outlaw gang terrorized it.

That would be the first of many differences between "Firecreek" and "High Noon." The town in "Firecreek" was really tiny next to the town in "High Noon" (Hadleyville looked like a thriving metropolis compared to Firecreek). But being the sheriff in Firecreek was not for the faint of heart.

Another difference was that in "High Noon," the movie was mostly about the anticipation of the outlaws' arrival. In "Firecreek," they were there from the start, raising hell even though their leader, played by Fonda, cautioned them to stay out of trouble.

That being said, "Firecreek" was one of the best westerns of its day. At its core it was a classic hero–villain confrontation, and there could be no two actors better suited for that than Fonda and Stewart. I suppose you could call their characters reluctant heroes and villains. In the end, circumstances forced Stewart to be a real sheriff and Fonda to be a real villain.

In a way, Fonda's character reminded me of Gregory Peck in "The Gunfighter," but Peck's character was a loner and Fonda's was the leader of a gang and not a sole outlaw. That probably helped Fonda make the transition that was necessary in the public's mind for him to play a really bad man later. It was an against–type role for Fonda, playing bad guys when he spent most of his career playing more respectable types.

1968 was that kind of year for Fonda. Later that year he played a really bad guy in "Once Upon a Time in the West." It could be fairly said that he prepared for that role with his performance in "Firecreek."

On the other side of the tracks ...

In addition to his obligation to the town, Stewart's character had other things on his mind — like a pregnant wife who was due to give birth at any time.

I thought the acting in general was good. Fonda's gang was well cast if a bit rowdy — but anything less wouldn't have seemed as authentic. They had a relaxed relationship that worked well in the story.

Speaking of relationships, Fonda's character found some romantic diversion with Inger Stevens in the movie, but it was a bit too much of a May–December thing for me (even if you didn't know there was nearly 30 years' difference between their ages in real life).

In an interesting twist at the end, Fonda took a bullet from Stevens in a scene that must have been lifted straight from "High Noon." It wasn't quite the same. While Fonda could be said to be in Gary Cooper's league, Stevens wasn't on Grace Kelly's level.

The movie was dark and gritty, but it was well worth watching.

And it made me wonder why Stewart and Fonda, lifelong friends, seldom appeared in movies together. They occupied opposite ends of the political spectrum and once came to blows over politics, then agreed to never discuss politics again and enjoyed a warm friendship.

Perhaps they believed working together might threaten that friendship — although they would appear together again in "The Cheyenne Social Club" a couple of years later.

Wednesday, December 02, 2015

The Interchangeability of Perfection



I don't remember how old I was when I first saw the Twilight Zone episode — "The Lateness of the Hour" — that made its debut on this day in 1960. I do remember that I didn't care for it.

It really had nothing to do with the story — I rather liked it when I watched it the second time — or the people in it. As a matter of fact, I recall having a brief crush on Inger Stevens, who played the daughter.

You see, "The Lateness of the Hour" was one of about half a dozen Twilight Zone episodes that were shot on videotape instead of film, then transferred to film (a process called "kinescoping"). My understanding is that it was a cost–cutting tactic; trouble was that the quality suffered. As a child, I didn't know what it was, but when I got older I learned it was a loss of depth perception that made the episodes look like live on–stage performances. All I knew at the time was that it looked different — so different that it distracted me from the story. I probably couldn't have told you much about the episode right after I saw it for the first time.

In the end, the savings amounted to an average of $5,000 per episode, which really wasn't worth all the trouble, and the rest of the Twilight Zone episodes were filmed, not videotaped.

The story was about a small family, the family of a scientific genius. The genius had designed everything in the house to fulfill its function with perfect efficiency, and the family's every need was tended to by five servants who were robots designed by the genius to perform specific roles. One of the robots gave expert massages.

The daughter (Inger Stevens) was concerned that her parents had grown so dependent on the servants — as well as the perfect environment — and she advocated shaking things up. She looked upon her isolation in her parents' perfect home as a sort of imprisonment.

"I've kept you from harm," her father replied. "I've protected you against disease, and insulation in this 20th century is no crime. It's a service. You've never had to look into the face of war or the face of poverty or prejudice. You've been isolated, yes, but what you think of as imprisonment just happens to be asylum and security, yes, and survival."

The daughter was undeterred. She insisted that her father dismantle the robots. She went from request to ultimatum in a bit of a hurry, insisting that she would leave if her father didn't dismantle the robots, and her father yielded to her.

The daughter was overjoyed and started gushing about having parties and making friends and going on trips. And then she started talking about meeting a nice young man and producing grandchildren — which forced her parents to make a rather awkward confession.

They didn't do so right away, though — but the expressions on their faces told the daughter that something wasn't right. Then she recalled that, in all the photos in the family photo albums she had been looking at, there were no pictures of her as a child. When she pursued the point, her father made the confession that she was already realizing as she connected all the dots. She, too, was a robot. More highly developed than the servants, but a robot nonetheless.

They had been childless, her father told her, and desperately wanted someone to love. The daughter was so distraught by the revelation that her father decided he had to remove her from the family. But he couldn't bear the thought of not having her around anymore.

So he transformed her into a maid — apparently she became the maid who was so good at giving massages.

The audience never saw who the new daughter was. I guess I always assumed it was the robot who had been the previous massage–giving maid.

I didn't really think about that. There was something else I noticed when I watched the episode a second time. OK, all the servants — and the daughter — were robots. And Inger Stevens' character aptly demonstrated that robots couldn't feel physical pain when she repeatedly slammed her forearm on the banister of the stairs and lamented, "No pain! No pain! No pain!" Then she collapsed in a heap, sobbing. It was very dramatic — and very contradictory. Robots couldn't feel physical pain, but they — or, at least, Inger Stevens' character — clearly could feel emotional pain.

By the way, if the father looks familiar to you, there is a reason for that. About six months later, the actor who played the father, John Hoyt, was a Martian in "Will the Real Martian Please Stand Up?" which was filmed in the normal way.

Thursday, January 22, 2015

One of the Best Episodes in Twilight Zone's First Season



By the time she appeared in "The Hitchhiker" on Twilight Zone 55 years ago tonight, Inger Stevens was an entertainment veteran, having appeared in several films and TV series — even though she was only in her mid–20s.

Her face should have been familiar, even if her name was not, and that face really was perfect for the part she played in "The Hitchhiker" — bewildered, frightened, vulnerable. Well, I guess that could describe most of the lead characters in Twilight Zone episodes. They typically found themselves cast in thoroughly illogical situations, and Stevens' character was no exception.

I am tempted to suggest that this episode really set the tone for future Twilight Zone episodes. It was, after all, the 16th episode of an anthology series that lasted for another 140 episodes. It was still evolving when this episode first aired.

But then I remember that there had already been several episodes that set the tone for the series before "The Hitchhiker" was shown. So I must conclude that it wasn't as influential on the series as I first thought. It is, I have discovered, a general favorite among Twilight Zone fans. In fact, I have a friend who watches for that episode in particular when Syfy has its New Year's and Fourth of July Twilight Zone marathons.

Stevens' character, Nan, a buyer for an East Coast department store, was making a cross–country trip and experienced a blowout when she was driving through Pennsylvania. She was unhurt and managed to get the tire replaced — she even joked with the fellow who replaced the tire. He told her she was quite lucky; with a blowout like the one she had at the speed she had been traveling, she should have been killed, but she had walked away without a scratch.

Then suddenly she began seeing the same strange little man hitchhiking at every point along her route. She began to panic. It wasn't possible that the same hitchhiker should always be ahead of her, was it? At one point, it was suggested that maybe he kept catching rides and getting dropped off just ahead of her. Nah, that seemed a little too coincidental.

Nan became progressively worried. At one point, she picked up another hitchhiker, a sailor, and offered herself to him (in the manner of early 1960s television) if he would stay with her until they reached the coast.

But the sailor couldn't see the hitchhiker and had concluded that Nan was unstable; he declined the offer. So she proceeded alone — but never completely alone. The hitchhiker was always there, just around the bend.

Finally, in need of reassurance — or perhaps just a desire to hear a friendly voice — Nan stopped and called her mother. A woman she did not know answered the phone. When Nan demanded to know who she was, the woman replied that Nan's mother had been hospitalized following a nervous breakdown she suffered when she learned her daughter had been killed when a tire blew out in Pennsylvania.

Nan walked slowly back to her car, realizing that she was, in fact, dead — and the hitchhiker, rather than wishing her ill, was the embodiment of death, waiting for her to come to the realization that she was dead. When she eased into the driver's seat, she adjusted her mirror, revealing the hitchhiker in the back seat. "I believe you're going ... my way?" he asked.

"Nan Adams, age 27," said Rod Serling at the end of the episode. "She was driving to California, to Los Angeles. She didn't make it. There was a detour … through the Twilight Zone."

I would say it was one of the best episodes of Twilight Zone's first season.