Having Fun With Olivia

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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."

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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.

Something Unpleasant This Way Comes

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In the years to come, she would be known as an Oscar– and Emmy–winning actress, famous for her work on the big screen, on television and on the stage.

But on this night 60 years ago, 29–year–old Cloris Leachman was a guest star in the second episode of "Alfred Hitchcock Presents," playing John Forsythe's former girlfriend and present sister–in–law. At the time, she was probably best known for competing in the 1946 Miss America pageant. No doubt Forsythe was the better known of the two.

Forsythe played a pianist who returned to his hometown, hoping to patch things up with his estranged father, with an unsettling feeling that something was wrong. Everything looked the same, but Forsythe's friends and family weren't comfortable seeing him, even though he had been gone four years. That alone was strange, but they were so evasive about certain things — like his father's whereabouts, for example.

He soon found out why. His father had died not long after he had left. His brother (Warren Stevens), who had married Forsythe's girl, had been the beneficiary of a rewritten will and had inherited the father's estate.

Forsythe thought the whole thing sounded fishy. OK, his father was dead, of that there was no doubt, but there was considerable uncertainty about when he died — and how. His father supposedly died of a heart attack while playing tennis, yet Forsythe found a hunting license for which his father had applied the day after he supposedly died.

So Forsythe went to the woods of Maine, where the hunting trip had been planned, to find out what happened.

What the viewers got was a classic Hitchcock double cross.

When the truth was finally uttered by Leachman, she told a story of Forsythe having murdered his own father. They had argued. Leachman's character mentioned a loaded hunting rifle and an accident, never saying how Forsythe killed his father, only telling him that he had never been a musician in Paris or Rome as he had claimed. Instead, he had spent the last four years in a "hospital" in Arizona, and he had run away.

Forsythe's brother, sister–in–law and her father had worked together to protect Forsythe and conceal the nature of the father's death.

"We thought it was the only thing to do at the time," Leachman said. "Now I'm not so sure."

That may have been the most honest statement in the episode. After all, how many times have you been faced with a situation in which you felt you had little choice but to go with the least–objectionable option? If you're like me, the answer is, "More than I can count."

I've heard such a choice described as "the lesser of two evils." That's more poetic than calling something a "no–win situation," but that is what the episode that aired 60 years ago tonight is.

And whereas I thought the series' first episode was a bit predictable, I must confess that, the first time I saw this episode, I didn't see that ending coming.

When the Inmates Ran the Asylum

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Ralph (Robert Christian): I was in that taxi cab, but I didn't rob it. It was my cousin. He's crazy.

Arthur (Al Pacino): What's his name?

Ralph: I don't know. I mean he lives out in Hillsberry.

Arthur: You don't know your cousin's name?

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In many ways, Norman Jewison's "... And Justice For All," which debuted on this day in 1979, was better suited for current times, given its focus on corruption and injustice.

There is always an audience for that sort of theme, I suppose, because some people are predisposed to believe they have been victimized in some way, and I don't really see that changing. No matter how much we may reach for what we believe is a utopian society, human nature (being what it is) will pull in the opposite direction.

The story of "... And Justice For All" could have been written in the early 21st century. A longtime judge (played by John Forsythe, who really did look like a judge), the very picture of establishment privilege, was accused of rape. And the fact was that he was guilty, although he didn't say so to anyone.

He was already loathed by just about every lawyer who worked in his courtroom, including Al Pacino's character, a defense attorney. The judge asked for Pacino to defend him because he thought it would be good public relations. He believed he would be acquitted if the attorney who was defending him in court was also known to hate him.

"Inevitably, it's going to look as if the fix is in," Roger Ebert wrote, "unless the defense is conducted by a lawyer who's clearly on record as despising Forsythe."

That's a pretty cynical way of looking at things — unless you happen to be the product of a corrupt system.

It's also kind of daring for director Norman Jewison, given the many characters and subplots competing for the audience's attention.

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As Ebert observed, the movie "has so many characters doing so many things to, with and against Pacino that it's a triumph of film making when all the stories end in the same movie."

When I say there was a lot going on, you can take that to the bank.

Perhaps the wildest character was played by Jack Warden. Warden played another judge who was as crazy as any character you'll find in the movies. He was a bit of a thrill seeker, spending his lunch breaks sitting on the ledge of the courthouse's fifth floor and flying helicopters, carefully calculating how far he could travel and return safely on the fuel he had — and then flying a little farther than that, just to see if he could make it back.

He took Pacino on such a ride — and, on at least one occasion, he fired a gun in his courtroom.

"Gentlemen," he said, "need I remind you you're in a court of law?"

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I never have figured out the purpose of Warden's character in that movie. His helicopter flight with Pacino may have been good for a little comic relief, but, otherwise, I saw little relevance to the story.

Unless the point was that the lunatics were (and still are) running the asylum. Of course, that could have been it — or there could have been more to it, and I just didn't notice with all the competing subplots.

"... And Justice For All" received two Oscar nominations — Pacino for Best Actor and Valerie Curtin and Barry Levinson for Best Original Screenplay — and lost both.

Bringing a True Crime Classic to the Screen

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Last spring, I finally saw the movie "Capote" and was inspired to re–read "In Cold Blood" during the summer.

I knew this year was the 45th anniversary of the premiere of the movie that was based on that book — that anniversary is today, by the way — so I knew that familiarizing myself with the book's content again would be useful, but it never occurred to me that there might be another reason for reading it again (well, aside from the fact that it's just a darn good book).

It isn't as if there was some new effort afoot to prove the killers' innocence. The two men who were convicted of the Kansas killings were executed nearly 50 years ago. As far as I know, there has never been any reason to doubt that they were guilty. No question about that.

Logically, that should have been the end of it.

I suppose, though, that my years of work in the news business should have told me that — potentially — nothing is ever really done in this world. (Several years ago, for example, authorities exhumed President Zachary Taylor to try to determine whether his death was due to natural causes or foul play. Taylor died more than 150 years ago.)

And, sure enough, the "In Cold Blood" case is back in the news — just in time for the anniversary of the movie's debut.

It was revealed a couple of weeks ago that authorities wanted to exhume the killers' remains to retrieve DNA samples.

No one is trying to disprove the conclusion of the Kansas jury that convicted them and sentenced them to death for killing the Clutter family in November 1959. Rather, the emphasis is on a similar case in Florida about a month later.

Truman Capote's book mentions the killers' travels after the Kansas murders, including a time when they were in Florida. The two were considered suspects in the Florida murders, but they were ruled out when they passed the lie detector tests of the day.

Now the Florida case is being examined again — and at least one area newspaper, the Sarasota (Fla.) Herald–Tribune, doubts that the two events are connected.

Well, that's another topic — to be resolved at a later date.

Today's topic is the 45th anniversary of the premiere of the movie that was based on "In Cold Blood," and moviegoers who hadn't read Capote's book probably had no idea that the killers ever went to Florida after they killed the Clutter family in Kansas.

It was never mentioned in the movie.

And there have been allegations for years that Capote invented some things to fit the story he wanted to tell. It was, as he described it, a "nonfiction novel," the story of an actual event but with many of its elements novelized — conversations, the sequence of events, etc.

In short, there are reasons to doubt that "In Cold Blood" told the whole truth.

But, even if it wasn't the whole truth, it still was a compelling story. The physical evidence of the killers' guilt is overwhelming so there is no reason to think the wrong men paid for the crimes.

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And if Alvin Dewey, the investigator who pursued the killers, was as determined as John Forsythe portrayed him to be, few were going to quibble about the details of conversations or personalities.

I get the impression from what I have read that Dewey, who died in 1987, was, indeed, a dedicated lawman — and he may well have been a friend of the Clutter patriarch, Herb Clutter, and, as such, may have been particularly motivated to find his killers.

But Dewey also was a friend of Capote's — well, he became one in the course of Capote's research into the case — and it is possible, even likely, that remarks he made to Capote, whether speculative or factual, became part of the narrative.

It is also possible, as the Lawrence (Kans.) Journal–World pointed out more than seven years ago, that the Alvin Dewey of Capote's book was a composite character, combining the heroic efforts of several investigators into one character.

By nearly all accounts, Dewey was a driven, dedicated lawman, and the success of "In Cold Blood" brought him worldwide recognition. But his glowing literary treatment may simply have been the result of good P.R. Even if he didn't know that the book would become the best–selling true crime book of all time, Dewey may have been savvy enough to know the value of any good publicity.

And Capote was only too willing to provide it. Capote "needed a primary character," a retired police officer told the Journal–World.

Well, he sure got one with Alvin Dewey.

And he provided the model true crime writers have been following ever since.