Across the Pacific ... or Whatever It Was

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Rick Leland (Humphrey Bogart): I never saw anybody like you; you never have any clothes on.

Alberta Marlow (Mary Astor): Well if anyone heard you complaining about it they would put you in a psychopathic ward.

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Did you ever hear of a novel that was written about 14 years before the catastrophic sinking of the Titanic that, in hindsight, seemed to foretell the disaster with eerie detail?

"Across the Pacific," which made its debut on this day in 1942, was kind of like that. Let me explain.

Originally "Across the Pacific" was intended to be about an attempt to thwart a Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbor. It was a work of fiction.

Then when the Japanese actually did bomb Pearl Harbor, the script was rewritten to make the location Panama instead. Now that wasn't as implausible as it might seem on the surface. Several years before the U.S. entered World War II, military exercises were focused on defending the Panama Canal, and those activities received considerable attention in the press.

But the first two–thirds of the movie emphasized the hot–and–cold romance between Humphrey Bogart and Mary Astor, fellow passengers aboard a Japanese ship.

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And the script revision actually put all the action in the Atlantic and Caribbean. Never really got close to the Pacific.

I guess "Across the Pacific" was the original title — and, in spite of all the meticulous changes being made to the script, no one thought to change the title.

The script revision wasn't that meticulous, though. Director John Huston apparently had worked out an ending for the movie, but he was called up for military service, leaving it to his replacement, Vincent Sherman, to come up with an ending on his own.

Huston, by the way, thought Sherman's finish "lacked credibility," according to his 1980 autobiography "An Open Book." Maybe he should have shared his vision for the conclusion with Sherman before he shipped out.

At the very least he should have told Sherman how to resolve the predicament in which his filmmaking had left Bogart. If you watch the movie, I think you will agree that Bogart would have had to be Harry Houdini — or Indiana Jones — to get out of that one.

Yet somehow he did.

There were other problems with "Across the Pacific." For one, I have always had an issue with the casting of Astor as the female lead. Now, she was talented. I don't mean to imply that she wasn't. But I thought the role called for more of a beauty. Ingrid Bergman comes to mind. She combined great talent with great beauty.

Would that have invited comparison to Bogart and Bergman's classic "Casablanca"?

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Perhaps in hindsight. But "Casablanca" wouldn't have been on the minds of audiences in September 1942 because it wasn't showing on U.S. movie screens until two months later.

The actual cast did invite comparisons to "The Maltese Falcon," especially with Sydney Greenstreet reunited with Bogart and Astor. Greenstreet played an even more villainous character than he played in "The Maltese Falcon."

He showed up in "Casablanca," too.

By the way, Bogart, Astor and Greenstreet reprised their roles in a radio version of the story that was aired a few months later.

A Truly Offbeat Love Story

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I have never read Charles Shaw's novel on which John Huston's "Heaven Knows, Mr. Allison," which premiered on this day in 1957, was based.

But if the movie was true to the book, I think I would like to read it sometime.

I guess it would be called an "offbeat love story." But I've never really liked that phrase because it suggests that it is an atypical love story. But what, pray tell, is a typical love story? Aren't all love stories unique? A love story may share certain characteristics with other love stories, but it seems to me that every love story is unique because the people involved in them are unique, and their circumstances are unique to them.

When the movie began, the audience saw an inflatable life raft floating somewhere in the south Pacific in 1944. Stretched out in the raft was Robert Mitchum. The audience later learned that he was a Marine aboard a submarine who had managed to escape after being fired on by the Japanese.

Mitchum didn't speak for the first eight or nine minutes of the movie. In fact, there was no dialogue at all for the first eight or nine minutes. It was during that time that Mitchum's life raft floated near an apparently uninhabited island, and he made his way to it. As Mitchum explored the island, he saw structures in which others had lived at one time, but there was no one to be seen.

And the audience could more or less imagine the questions that were going through his mind. Who had lived there? Was anyone still around? Were they friendly or hostile?

Then he came upon a building that was clearly a church, but there was no human activity around it and no sound coming from it — until a nun (Deborah Kerr) emerged with a broom.

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Kerr told Mitchum she had only been on the island a few days. She came with a priest to evacuate another priest, but they discovered that the Japanese beat them to it. The natives who brought them to the island were scared and left abruptly. The priest, who was elderly, died a short time after, and the nun had been left alone on the island. At least until Mitchum arrived.

For awhile the two were alone on the island — until some Japanese landed with the intention of setting up a meteorological camp — a place to monitor weather conditions and provide up–to–the–minute data for Japanese forces. Mr. Allison and the nun retreated to a cave and kept out of sight. For food Mr. Allison would go out spearfishing after dark when he figured the Japanese weren't watching, but they couldn't risk a fire so they had to eat whatever he caught raw. The nun found it hard to digest so Mr. Allison crept to the camp and stole some canned goods.

While he was doing that he could see flashes on the horizon and concluded there was some kind of naval battle between American and Japanese forces. The Japanese who were on the island soon left, which led to all sorts of speculation on Mr. Allison's part about who had won the battle, whether anyone would be coming to their island and what that would mean for them. Partly out of frustration and partly out of jubilation, I suppose, Allison got drunk on some sake that had been left behind.

That was when he confessed to the nun his true feelings for her. He told her he loved her and he thought it was pointless for her to remain dedicated to her vows — she had not yet taken her final vows — since they were stranded on the island with little hope of being saved.

The nun ran out into the night and a tropical rain, becoming ill in the process. After Mr. Allison sobered up he found her shivering and carried her back to the camp. Meanwhile the Japanese had returned, and Mr. Allison took the nun back to the cave.

Mr. Allison tried to care for her, but she needed blankets, and the only blankets to be found were in the Japanese camp. He went back there to get some and was discovered, forcing him to kill a Japanese soldier. Consequently the Japanese realized they were not alone and started setting fires in the jungle to force the pair out into the open.

They remained in the cave, though, and expected a grenade to be thrown in with them — until they heard an explosion that Mitchum realized was not a grenade. It was a bomb. The Americans were attacking the island ahead of their landing.

Mitchum also knew that, when they returned to the island, the Japanese brought four big artillery guns that were well concealed — and he knew where they were. When the Americans tried to land, Mitchum mused, the Japanese would come out of their bunkers and open fire with those guns. It would be a messy landing.

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Then he had the inspiration to disable the weapons before the landing began, and that is what he did. He was injured in doing so, but he still managed to disable them, and the Americans easily overpowered the Japanese.

As the movie ended, the nun told Mitchum, in what the audience presumed would be the last time they would see each other, that they would always be close companions, and the Americans were puzzled by how the Japanese weapons had been disabled.

Mr. Allison never said a word. It was a time when movies and movie audiences still believed that virtue was its own reward.

"Heaven Knows, Mr. Allison" received two Oscar nominations. Kerr was nominated for Best Actress but lost to Joanne Woodward in "The Three Faces of Eve." And Huston was nominated with John Lee Mahin for Best Adapted Screenplay but lost to Michael Wilson, Carl Foreman and Pierre Boulle for "The Bridge on the River Kwai."

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

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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.

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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."

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"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."

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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.

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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!

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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.")

Bogie and Bacall's Last Flick

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Frank McCloud (Humphrey Bogart): When your head says one thing and your whole life says another, your head always loses.

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Some 30 years ago, Bertie Higgins had his only hit song — well, it was a semi–hit — "Key Largo."

It was inspired (supposedly) by the movie of the same name that made its theatrical debut 65 years ago today. I liked the movie, but I never liked the song.

I guess I was too much of a movie purist at that time, in spite of my tender years. But I was a Humphrey Bogart fan, still am, for that matter, and I didn't like to see his work trivialized.

I had seen most of his movies (I've probably seen them all by now), and I knew the song wasn't entirely accurate — nor was it entirely about "Key Largo," the John Huston–directed film noir set in Florida in the years after World War II.

A recurring line gave it away — "We had it all / Just like Bogie and Bacall / Starring in our own late late show / Sailin' away to Key Largo."

Bogart and Lauren Bacall did co–star in "Key Largo," but neither of their characters sailed there. Bogart arrived by bus in the earliest scene of the movie, and Bacall's character was already there, the daughter–in–law of the proprietor of a Key Largo hotel.

I guess Bacall could have sailed there when she first arrived — unless she was born and raised in Key Largo. It was never mentioned in the movie.

(The proprietor was Lionel Barrymore, who was only a couple of years removed from his infamous turn as Mr. Potter in "It's a Wonderful Life," the sixth–most villainous character in movie history, according to the American Film Institute. With Barrymore confined to a wheelchair in this one, a new generation of viewers who know him only as Mr. Potter may find it astonishing that such a reprehensible individual in one movie could arouse such feelings of empathy from the audience in another.)

That song also made use of lines that were familiar from "Casablanca," which was a Bogart movie as well — but his co–star was Ingrid Bergman, not Bacall.

Oh, well.

I didn't care for the song, but I did like the movie.

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It was the last one that Bogart and Bacall made together, and it was the most chaste of the four, by far.

Movie viewers who went to see it at the theaters in 1948 expecting to see another "To Have and Have Not," in which the Bogart–Bacall on–screen relationship sizzled, undoubtedly were disappointed. Bacall's character was the widow of one of Bogart's Army buddies, a woman who had just about given up on everything but there was still a smoldering sensuality to her.

Beyond a rather liberal interpretation of glances between the two, though, there was no overt indication of an attraction between Bogart and Bacall, with the possible exception of the final scene (and their only interaction in that scene was via ship–to–shore communication technology).

In what was perhaps an odd response, I was reminded of another Bogart movie — "The Petrified Forest" — when I first saw "Key Largo." In both movies, a group of people were being held hostage by a gangster (played in "Key Largo" by Edward G. Robinson).

But there were differences between the movies that, I suppose, reflected changes in America and the world from the depths of the Depression, when Bogie made "The Petrified Forest," to the postwar environment, in which "Key Largo" was made.

In "The Petrified Forest," there were noble perceptions of self–sacrifice, and ample justification was given for the casualties of World War I. It had been, after all, "the war to end all wars."

In "Key Largo," the emphasis was on one's moral obligation to oppose evil and the value of individual lives. (I always thought Claire Trevor, who won the Best Supporting Actress Oscar, was a good example of the latter. She played Robinson's alcoholic and frequently abused girlfriend who showed plenty of dignity in spite of Robinson's demeaning treatment of her.)

In between the two movies, of course, was World War II, probably the greatest and costliest clash (in terms of both lives and treasure) between good and evil in world history. It changed how many people perceived things. Given the fact that "Key Largo" was made against the emerging backdrop of the Cold War, it is hardly surprising that there was a strong we're–all–in–this–together feeling to it.

Bogart himself was the ideal example of this. His character in "Key Largo" began the movie with no confidence in himself and ended it recognizing that it was necessary to remain, as Donne put it, "involved in mankind."

A nice reminder — then and now — that there are still battles worth fighting and winning and even causes worth dying for.

The Real Treasure of the Sierra Madre

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Gold Hat (Alfonso Bedoya): Badges? We ain't got no badges! We don't need no badges. I don't have to show you any stinkin' badges!

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Humphrey Bogart is my favorite actor, and "The Treasure of the Sierra Madre" is my favorite Bogart movie.

But Bogart didn't utter the most famous line from that movie, which premiered on this date in 1948.

That was Alfonso Bedoya, the Mexican actor who played Gold Hat, the bandit who famously protested that "I don't have to show you any stinkin' badges!"

The American Film Institute ranked that line 36th in its list of the Top 100 movie quotes. No other line from "The Treasure of the Sierra Madre" made the list.

There were some other great lines in that movie. There were some great performances, too. But, for whatever reason, Bedoya's line is what people always seem to remember.

Well, it was his most memorable role, and the line has become somewhat iconic. So I suppose that is understandable.

But it is still worth remembering that Bedoya's role was a comparatively small one. And it would qualify as a supporting role only because it had far too few lines for it to be considered a leading role.

Bogart probably was regarded as the lead actor in the movie, but his performance wasn't nominated for an Oscar. I don't know why. I've seen all the performances that were nominated that year, and I didn't think any of them were better than Bogart's.

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Howard (Walter Huston): Water's precious. Sometimes it's more precious than gold.

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Walter Huston won the Oscar for Best Supporting Actor. His son, John Huston, won Oscars for directing and writing.

The movie itself was nominated for Best Picture but lost to "Hamlet." Oh, well. It's tough to beat Shakespeare. Those tales have been around for centuries.

The story was a morality play worthy of those that were popular in Europe before Shakespeare's time. Morality plays tend to be conflicts between good and evil, and, admittedly, "The Treasure of the Sierra Madre" didn't necessarily invoke God or the devil or religious themes in general — well, not directly — as most morality plays do, but it did focus on greed, which, it seems to me, is in the same ballpark.

It did, however, suggest that 1 Timothy was right when it said, "For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil," so perhaps there is a strong religious theme at work here.

Three Americans set off on a trip to prospect for gold in the wilds of Mexico. Initially, their intentions are noble, and those intentions include dividing the gold they find evenly, but greed takes over as the piles of gold begin to grow.

Bogart's character underwent the most radical change, going from a generally decent (if flawed) guy to a greedy, conniving, paranoid character, a virtual Jekyll–Hyde role that must have been fun for him to play.

(If nothing else, it was good prep for his later role as Captain Queeg in "The Caine Mutiny.")

Ironically, given the status the movie has achieved with modern fans, my understanding is that it wasn't particularly well received by the public 65 years ago.

Apparently, many moviegoers of the time did not want to see Bogart playing such a reprehensible character.

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Dobbs (Bogart): Nobody puts one over on Fred C. Dobbs.

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Those moviegoers deprived themselves of one of the great acting jobs in movie history. It was a real treasure.

But if you have never seen it, you don't have to deprive yourself much longer. Turner Classic Movies will be showing "The Treasure of the Sierra Madre" Saturday afternoon at 4:30 (Central).

A Treasure of a Film

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I guess it's sort of ironic that the most recognizable line from "The Treasure of the Sierra Madre" is uttered by a minor character, a Mexican bandit known only as Gold Hat.

"Badges? We ain't got no badges! We don't need no badges! I don't have to show you any stinking badges!" Gold Hat exclaims when Humphrey Bogart's character asks to see badges after Gold Hat says he and his men are mounted police. The American Film Institute rates that line as the 36th most recognizable line in a movie in the last 100 years.

I guess there is a certain allegorical quality in Gold Hat's name, considering that "The Treasure of the Sierra Madre" was probably the finest film about greed until "Wall Street" came along about 40 years later.

And gold was obviously at the heart of things in "The Treasure of the Sierra Madre." It is what brings Bogart, Tim Holt and Walter Huston together. It is the thing for which they sweat and struggle and sacrifice for months. And it is lost at the end of the movie when bandits mistake the gold for ordinary sand and scatter it to the winds.

In addition to telling a great story, the movie also made motion picture history. John Huston won an Oscar for Best Director. His father, Walter, won an Oscar for Best Supporting Actor. It was the first father–son win in Oscar history.

Nearly 40 years later, John's daughter Anjelica became the third–generation Academy Award winner in the Huston family when she won an Oscar as Best Actress for her performance in "Prizzi's Honor." (Ironically, that was one of John's last directorial efforts.)

But it seems to me that the line is almost symbolic of the hubris that often accompanies greed. Although Gold Hat and his men can be seen as frightful stereotypes in the 21st century, they are essential to the telling of the story.

And it's a story that seems to be at least as old as the oldest tales in the Bible. It's the story of greed, and it's the story of lust (in this case, the lust for treasure) and it's the story of values.

Turner Classic Movies showed it this afternoon as part of its "31 Days of Oscar" salute. I would have mentioned it here earlier, but TCM shows it fairly frequently. If you missed it, I'm sure you'll get another chance.

Seize it.