The only Road movie added to the National Film Registry.
In 1940, Paramount Pictures paired crooner Bing Crosby with rising comedian Bob Hope and "Sarong Queen" Dorothy Lamour in the film, Road to Singapore. While they weren't the studio's first - or even second - choices for their roles, Road to Singapore was a smash hit, leading the way to adventures in Zanzibar, Morocco, Rio, and other exotic locales (all, thanks to movie magic, located on the Paramount lot in Hollywood). Indeed, over the next twenty years Hope, Crosby, and usually Lamour would make seven of the tremendously successful Road movies. Through those years, the trio would individually go on to become an Oscar winner (Crosby for Going My Way in 1944), a pin-up queen for the soldiers overseas (Lamour, natch), and top ten box office attractions with Bing the top draw in pictures for five straight years from 1944 to 1948, which I believe is still a record. By 1962, when the last Road movie was released, the pair had transcended mere stardom, having become cultural icons and institutions.
Bob agrees to another one of Bing's life-endangering schemes.
After Singapore, the trio took off for Road to Zanzibar in 1941, followed closely by Road to Morocco,considered by many the series' funniest, in '42; my fave, Road to Utopia, in '45; Road to Rio in '47; and Road to Bali in '52, the only one filmed in glorious technicolor. A long pause took place before the two were reunited in The Road to Hong Kong in 1962. Through all their travels their characters remained consistent: Vaudeville performers who were not quite honest but never entirely crooked. Bing was the sharpie - the man with the ideas - Hope was the guinea pig, and beautiful Dorothy the love interest they wrestle over. In film after film, the formula was the same: Bing sang, Bob joked, and Dorothy sizzled.
Huge stars on their own, together Hope and Crosby had chemistry. The duo sang, danced, played both straight man and top banana for each other. When not starring together, they would occasionally pop up in each other's films, appearing often in surprise cameos at the film's conclusion. From the first Road picture to Crosby's death in 1977, the pair had an imaginary rivalry. While that rivalry was faked, to an extent, so was their friendship. Not to say they didn't get along, but it was a professional friendship that seldom bled into their private lives. Further, they were busy with their own careers. In the 1940s alone Hope appeared in 20 movies and Crosby in 19. In addition the two each had popular weekly radio shows - Crosby with Kraft Music Hall and Philco Radio Time, Hope with Pepsodent Show. When they worked together, though, it was hard to believe these guys weren't the best of pals.
The pair fight over the beauty that is Lamour, as usual.
To watch the Road pictures is to capture these show biz giants at their peak. I first saw Hope and Crosby in the 1970s on television as tired old men. Hope tried to be relevant with weak jokes on his NBC comedy specials; Bing sang on his Christmas shows (watch his performance of "Little Drummer Boy" with David Bowie to see how painful trying to be relevant can be). Watching these programs I wondered what made them so famous. Then I saw Road to Utopia, and their magic was instantly apparent. These guys were young, vital, energetic, and relevant. Like their peers, Abbott and Costello, or teams like Martin and Lewis that came after, Hope and Crosby together were comic perfection. They paved the way not only for those comic duos, but for Sinatra's Rat Pack and its movies as well (their comic stylings are even in evidence in the Ocean's Eleven remake with George Clooney and Brad Pitt). And of course, they were the prototype for Warren Beatty and Dustin Hoffman in 1987's Ishtar. I suppose the intangible elements that made the Road movies so successful could never be repeated. It's hard to believe that two top stars today would ever get together that many times, nor would one play the buffoon so the other could get the girl. Agents, egos, script approval, top billing (for the record Bing was top billed in all but one of the Road pics), who would get the girl, and various other factors would far outweigh the quality of the script.
The last Road picture, 1962's The Road to Hong Kong, was the first in ten years, and it brought some changes. For one thing Lamour, now in her early forties, was no longer thought young enough to be the girl both Hope and Crosby wanted, so Joan Collins was hired to play the part instead (though Lamour did have a cameo). Hope and Crosby were not the young and carefree lads of days gone by, either. Both in their early sixties, the duo seemed to have lost a certain edge. Seeing these two guys cavorting and clowning around when their age indicated that they might have been more interested in being home with their families diminished their usual Road movie roles. Along with Dorothy Lamour, the film did benefit from assorted cameos from David Niven, Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and a really funny bit with Peter Sellers as an Indian doctor trying to cure Hope of his amnesia. Emphasizing how outdated the Road movies were, some critics remarked on how Sellers' freshness stole the show from the two stars. In 1977, a new script by Melville Shavelson, Road to the Fountain of Youth, would have brought the the old pros together once more, but Bing died of a heart attack in October of that year. And anyway, it's probably a good thing that the series didn't continue. The Road movies were best when its stars were young, foolish, and willing to do anything for a laugh.
Sources: Bing Crosby: Pyramid Illustrated History of the Movies by Barbara Bauer Bing Crosby: A Pocketful of Dreams, The Early Years by Gary Giddens
Wikipedia page on the Road movies
Photos courtesy of the internet
Alan Ladd in the title role of 1953's great western, Shane, saying goodbye to Brandon deWilde's Joey
Alan Ladd is not a name mentioned much anymore, but he has always intrigued me. No star is exactly who they are on screen: Clark Gable wasn't born the he-man womanizer he portrayed; he adapted that persona from director Victor Fleming. Bogart wasn't the wisecracking private eye/noir hero; he was the son of an affluent Upper East Side New York City family. Even Robert Mitchum, whose offscreen persona seemed to match his onscreen one more closely than any other actor, was only partly what he played on screen. While Mitch could also mix it up with the best of them, he was also a very sensitive, sweet guy who sang and wrote poetry.
For most film fans, the classic western Shane is just about the only time Alan Ladd's name is mentioned out loud without snickers or in an off-handed way. Ladd's reputation has not worn well. Even his films noir, which are more than respectable, don't generate the same heat as Robert Mitchum's or even Dick Powell's, though Ladd was a bigger star when Mitchell and Powell were his contemporaries.
The breakthrough: Ladd plays Graham Greene's killer, Raven, in 1942's This Gun For Hire.
Alan Ladd was born in Hot Springs, Arkansas, on September 3, 1913. His father died when he was only four, and after his mother's remarriage, his family settled in North Hollywood, California. Ladd graduated high school in 1934 and settled into a seemingly normal life, starting a business and marrying his high school sweetheart in 1936. Around this time, however, his mother, who was increasingly emotionally unstable, swallowed ant poison after a fight with her son and died. Her suicide was a shock from which Ladd never completely recovered.
Ladd and his wife had a son in 1937 (Alan Ladd, Jr., established himself as an agent and eventually become production head at 20th Century-Fox. It was "Laddie," as his friends called him, who gave the greenlight to George Lucas's Star Wars.), but "normal" was short-lived when Ladd left his business and his wife behind to pursue an acting career. His rich, distinctive baritone voice was well-suited to the radio, and he found work in that medium as well as dozens of small film roles, including a minor part in Orson Welles's Citizen Kane. Signing with agent Sue Carol in the late 30s helped him enormously, as she promoted him vigorously. Alan and Sue married in March 1942.
A great and underrated screen team: Ladd and Veronica Lake in This Gun For Hire.The duo appeared together in four films.
Sue's aggressive promotion paid off when Ladd landed the role of Raven, a hired killer, in Paramount Pictures adaptation of Graham Greene's crime novel, A Gun For Sale. In the film, renamed This Gun For Hire, Ladd - billed fourth - stole the show. Also impressive was Veronica Lake as the nightclub entertainer Ellen Graham. Ladd and Lake continued to be paired together in such 40s noir thrillers The Glass Key, The Blue Dahlia, and Saigon. Veronica Lake was small - a good physical match for Ladd who only stood about five-foot-seven.
The height thing was a real problem for Ladd. The characters he played were the rough-and-tumble kind who were meant to be physically impressive. Ladd was supposed to have a Gary Cooper or John Wayne toughness, not be an Elisha Cook little guy who only thinks he is tough. Of course, not all tough guys are tall - Bogart's a good example - but I have never heard of stories about his leading ladies having to stand in ditches to appear shorter than he was or of Bogie having to stand on a crate to look taller. It's these kinds of stories about Alan Ladd's height, however, that are legendary.
With wife, manager, and agent, Sue Carol
The golden period of Alan Ladd's film career was 1942 to 1953. Noir-style thrillers were big box office in post-war America, and Ladd made a good number of them. He also appeared in the sea epic Two Years Before the Mast in 1946, the weepie And Now Tomorrow opposite Loretta Young in 1944, and the first sound version (after the 1926 silent) of The Great Gatsby in 1949. (The public domain copy of Gatsby that had been available on YouTube has disappeared, which may be a blessing, considering its awful picture quality made the movie nearly unwatchable.) Ladd also made a few successful westerns among which the best was 1953's Shane.
Ladd at his best as the iconic gunslinger Shane, 1953
Directed by the great George (Gunga Din, Woman of the Year, A Place in the Sun) Stevens, Shane is an intentionally mythic western about a lonely gunslinger who passes through a farmer's homestead only to stay and help the farmer and his family fight to keep his land from an evil cattle baron. The film received six Oscar nominations, including Best Picture (a rare thing for a western in those days) and won the award for it's still impressive cinematography (the jolting sound and the pinpoint editing were unjustly overlooked). In the finest work of his career, Ladd was overlooked by the Academy.
Legend persists that Paramount refused to lend any of its promotional muscle to Ladd in his bid for Oscar gold. Ladd had just left the studio that was his professional home for nearly a dozen years to start his own company, so Paramount made the big Oscar push for William Holden in Stalag 17. Ladd was left odd man out, which is too bad because his portrait of a weary gunslinger who hopes to put his past behind him is touching in its tender toughness. Shane's relationship with the farmer's son, Joey, is the crux of the film; if it weren't as effective, the audience wouldn't get misty-eyed (as I do) in the film's final scene when Shane tells Joey he has to move on, that a man has to be what he is. For Shane, who has tried to change and could not, that means going back to his wandering, gunfighting ways until the day comes when he meets someone who is a faster draw than he is. Ladd's Shane may be the most touching character in any western.
Life lessons: Saying goodbye to Joey in Shane
(If you don't get choked up at the end of this movie, it's time to have your pulse checked.)
Ladd was able to ride the wave of Shane's popularity for a few years; in 1953, he was number 4 and in 1954, number 6 in the Annual Exhibitor's Top Ten Box Office Stars. Unfortunately, Ladd made a string of poor films in England right after Shane wrapped. Dismal efforts like Paratrooper, Hell Below Zero, and The Black Knight were filmed in quick succession in 1953 and 1954. By the time Ladd was back in America and made slightly - though just barely - better films, it was too little too late.
His last love: Ladd and June Allyson in 1955's The McConnell Story
By the mid-50's the effects of the drinking problem Ladd had developed began to show on his face. A puffiness and tired, downcast look took hold. His marriage to Sue Carol, which had always seemed one of Hollywood's most solid, took a hit in 1955 when Ladd appeared to fall in love with June Allyson while filming The McConnell Story. He briefly moved out of the Holmby Hills home he shared with his wife, though the two soon patched things up. Still, he returned home without his ambition or the drive to improve the success of his film roles. Ladd began drinking more than ever.
1956 should have brought good news: Ladd was up for the part of Jett Rink in George Stevens new film, Giant. The big production would have been the hit he desperately needed, but Sue, who still managed his career, thought the part too small, and they passed on it. . . . Giant went on to be a terrific movie, earning several Oscar nominations, including one for James Dean, the actor who did take the Jett Rink role, and making a boat-load of money. Instead, Alan Ladd made Hell on Frisco Bay with Edward G. Robinson, a throwback to the tough guy films Ladd did so well in the 1940s, albeit this time in color and filmed in CinemaScope. While Hell on Frisco Bay was not a bad film - was even a modest hit - at this point Ladd needed more. He thought he had found the hit he'd been looking for with the splashy widescreen, technicolor film Boy on a Dolphin, replacing Robert Mitchum who had dropped out of the production. The film was shot on location in Greece, but the real attraction for moviegoers was Italian bombshell Sophia Loren making her English language debut.
Step lightly, Mr. Ladd. Alan and Sophia in Greece for 1957's Boy on a Dolphin. Notice Loren on a step below Ladd and still matching him in height.
Sophia Loren had both a physical and acting presence that left Ladd intimidated. Their height was approximately the same - when Loren was on a step below Ladd. As writers Marilyn Henry and Ron DeSourdis point out in their book The Films of Alan Ladd, Ladd was paid about $290,000 to appear in the film as essentially box office insurance. His "complex about his height had intensified over the years with the passage of time and the gradual dwindling box offices receipts." On the plus side, the film was a solid box office performer - the best he'd had in some time. The downside was that the public really turned out for Sophia Loren, and Alan Ladd knew it.
For Ladd, the days of the 1950s turned into wasted weeks, months, and years, though the decade ended in a flurry of film roles. He made seven movies between 1958 and 1960, though none were especially noteworthy. The 1958 western The Badlanders was based on the 1950 John Huston heist film The Asphalt Jungle, and is an interesting movie that is worth a look. By 1961, Ladd found himself working in Italy in a true B-movie - a sword and sandals epic called Duel of Champions. When Ladd found out he wasn't being paid for this low budget opus, he walked off the picture. He returned and finished the film, yet it was hardly worth the effort. The film had a quiet New York opening before it was forgotten. He appeared in a solid crime film, 13 West Street, opposite Rod Steiger in 1962. While it was the kind of film he had made his name on in the early 40s, the time had passed when a Ladd film would have solid results on his name alone.
A tired looking Alan Ladd in the early 1960s
After the Duel of Champions debacle, Ladd spent time at his various properties (wife Sue was a wise and shrewd financial manager in spite of the questionable decisions she made regarding her husband-talent's film roles). Ladd took to wandering from
one property or another - to the hardware store in Palm Springs for
company and to his nearby house for privacy. In November 1962, he was found in a pool of blood with a bullet lodged near his heart. He recovered, and the incident was ruled an accident (explanations/excuses included cleaning a gun when it went off as well as hearing a prowler and tripping in the dark, causing the gun to go off), yet friends and family who knew of Ladd's unhappiness weren't fooled. Rumors of attempted suicide flew around Hollywood.
After a period of inactivity, Ladd signed on for the adaptation of the sensational Harold Robbins novel, The Carpetbaggers, though not as a lead. The lead role of Jonas Cord was played by up-and-comer George Peppard. Ladd took second billing and played the role of Nevada Smith. It's hard not to wonder if Ladd hoped for The Carpetbaggers to bolster his career like Giant might have done. The Carpetbaggers went on to make oodles of money for Paramount when released in April 1964, but it is a guilty pleasure rather than the highly regarded classic Giant became. That didn't matter much, though; by the spring of 1964 Alan Ladd would be dead.
Ladd with one of the real stars of The Carpetbaggers, the very sexy Carroll Baker
The Carpetbaggers is one of those bad movies movie lovers wallow in. Like The Oscar, one of the other great guilty pleasures of the 1960s, the film is an "inside" look at Hollywood and how the agents, producers, sex symbols, and studios really operate (apparently by thoroughly chewing the scenery). Supposedly a spin on Howard Hughes, the film became the number one box office attraction of the year, grossing a boffo $25 million. In an all-star cast, attention was lavished on George Peppard and, especially, Carroll Baker, who would briefly become one of cinema's reigning sex symbols, rather than second lead Alan Ladd. Ladd's notices were respectful, with some reviewers suggesting a successful career as a character actor might have been his for the asking if he'd still been around.
One more picture of Ladd with stardom just around the corner in 1942
On January 29, 1964, Sue Ladd got a call from the police informing her that her husband was dead from a combination of drink and sedatives. Cerebral edema was official cause of death. Ladd was only 51 years old. Suicide? Perhaps, though no one knows for sure. The one thing many agree on is that Alan Ladd did not seem happy or content in the last five or six years of his life. A kind of melancholy had taken over. People's lives are messy, and Ladd's past was particularly painful. Growing up practically fatherless, his mother's suicide, the neglect of his oldest son, the June Allyson affair, and the diminished career had left him with more than his share of regret and what-might-have-been's. In the end, it may all have been too much for the sensitive tough guy who could no longer put up a brave front. Unlike Shane, the iconic hero he personified so well, Alan Ladd just could not continue as the man who had to be what he was.
Lauren Bacall, who passed away today at 89, was the real deal - a genuine glamor girl who could give as good as she got. Whether asking Bogart if he knew how to whistle, playing mean and low down with Kirk Douglas, or putting Gregory Peck through the hoops, Bacall was never less than glowing. From her screen debut 70 years ago(!) in the classic To Have and Have Not; to How to Marry a Millionaire with two other cinema queens, Betty Grable and Marilyn Monroe; to Harper opposite Paul Newman; to the all-star whodunit, Murder on the Orient Express, Lauren Bacall was an always welcome sight and sound. With her deep, smoky voice and model-thin body, Bacall brought a sexy, seen-it-all, hard on the outside, soft on the inside quality to her best performances. Playing opposite the very best Hollywood had to offer (but Oscar nominated only once for The Mirror Has Two Faces as Barbra Streisand's domineering mother), Bacall made every film she was in special.
In the end, I suppose, Bacall will be remembered best as Humphrey Bogart's last wife, the one who finally made him happy and with whom he had his two children, Stephen and Leslie. They were nicknamed Bogie and Baby due to the extreme age difference (he was 45, she 20 when they met). She traveled to Africa when he made The African Queen and put her own career on hold to have their children in the early 1950s. She made him happy, which is saying a lot. And it wasn't all sunshine and roses (although, to be fair, what marriage is?). Bogie liked to drink and carouse and needle people. It took someone with plenty of fortitude to deal with it all, and Bacall grew up in a hurry. Yet Bogie gave her a life she couldn't imagine: meeting the biggies like Kate Hepburn and Spencer, Sinatra, John Huston, Peter Lorre, Richard Brooks, Howard Hawks, Ernest Hemingway. I suppose she could have met some of them without Bogie (in fact, Hawks discovered her), but Bogie's love and partnership gained her quick acceptance to that world. After he passed on, she always honored his spirit and work. When he died in 1957, Bacall was only 32 - a widow with two youngsters to raise. She was briefly engaged to Sinatra and married Jason Robards with whom she had a son - Sam - who would become an actor.
Never one to be idle for long, Bacall conquered Broadway in Goodbye Charlie, Cactus Flower, Applause, and Woman of the Year. She received Tony Awards for the latter two. While always politically progressive, Bacall was in John Wayne's last film, 1976's The Shootist, and the two became good friends on set. She was voted one of the 25 most significant female stars in film history by the AFI in 1999. I always thought of her as a tough broad, as they use to say, but according to her autobiography, nothing could have been further from the truth. In fact, she was so terrified during the making of To Have and Have Not that she had to keep her head down to stop it from shaking due to nerves, resulting in the famous Bacall "look."
I don't know how to end this because I really don't want to. If I put an amen to it, it will close a chapter I wish were still open. I don't want to say goodbye. I never met her of course, but I feel like I know her well from her movies, her writings, her television talk show appearances. The heavens are getting more crowded with each passing day. Maybe now she will be reunited with her first love. Godspeed, Ms. Bacall. We were lucky to have you as a part of our lives.
He had many good roles in several good movies, and my guess is this one wouldn't crack most people's top five, but I have loved The Fisher King since I first saw it, in large part because of Mr. Williams work in it. He made me laugh, then he made me cry.
No one needs me to weigh in on this. Just a goddamn shame.....I really hope you can find peace.
The Four Marx Brothers in The Cocoanuts, their 1929 screen debut.
The Marx Brothers, I think it's safe to say, were my first BIG movie influence. Back in 1973, 14 years old, just bitten by the theatre bug, when KTLA channel 5 a TV station broadcast out of Los Angeles, showed The Cocoanuts, Monkey Business, Duck Soup and Horse Feathers on consecutive nights Monday thru Thursday at { I think } 1AM-2:30AM. I don't recall why I wanted to see this madcap comedy team that consisted of four actual brothers. Everyone has a favorite, but mine was Groucho. I had never seen anyone so verbally abusive and funny at the same time. A role model that I still carry with me every day.
With Eva Marie Saint in On The Waterfront, 1954
Brando. What can I say? I've already done a couple of blog entries on some of his { lesser ? } work, but On The Waterfront was the movie that brought his genius home to my front door. I had previously seen Mutiny on the Bounty, I think, but other than that I was pretty clueless about his work. His portrayal of ham-and-egger Terry Malloy was the first that hit me deep, where I live. This movie and Brando's interpretation of Malloy still resonate with me.
Family portrait : Butch, the Kid and Etta Place
Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid. Butch was the first movie character I really wanted to inhabit. He was so glib and charming { even if he didn't possess all the answers like he thought he did } that, as a ten year old, I couldn't help but fall under his spell. One of the great buddy movies of all-time.
He's a very nosy fella : Gittes tries to avoid it, but nothing can keep him out of Chinatown.
Jack Nicholsonin Chinatown. J.J. Gittes, a descendent of Bogart's Philip Marlowe, part sleuth, part wiseguy/smart ass, who deals in " matrimonial work ". Nicholson's performance here is rich, subtle and varied. It's a demanding part; the dude is in every scene. Helluva piece of work and a character that I keep in mind when I'm in over my head and haven't the foggiest notion what the hell is going on. When my life turns into a mystery, I have J.J. Gittes to help me piece it all together.
The Beatles : The end is nigh. .
I think everyone who reads this blog knows how I feel about these guys. Best band ever. Period.
The nefarious Prof. Fate!
Jack Lemmon aka Professor Fate from Blake Edwards' The Great Race. Lemmon's dual role as Fate { " push the button Max! " } and the lightly gay Prince Friedrich Hapnick { " brandy, more brandy! " } was a perennial favorite of mine as a youth { the dual roles must have appealed to the Gemini in me }. To this day I can sit in front of the tube and revel in Lemmon's comic mastery in this, along with two more early favorites : his amazing C.C. Baxter in The Apartment and his wonderful turn as Frank Thurlowe Pulver in Mister Roberts. Lemmon was one of Hollywood's genuinely nice guys that everyone loved, yet there must have been a dark side to him as he supposedly battled a drinking problem. Who'd thunk Jack Lemmon could have demons?
Dean as ranch hand Jett Rink : " Ain't nobody king in this country. "
I first came under the influence of James Dean on a Sunday night watching East of Eden on a 19 inch black and white television when I was suppose to be sleeping and preparing for another week of high school. Well, I was prepping alright. Studying how to have teenage angst while, somehow, look cool doing it. I got the angst down fairly well { still do, from time to time }, but I never achieved the coolness that I always aspired to. As for Jimmy, I think his Jett Rink in George Stevens' Giant may be my favorite, but it took several years and innumerable viewings to reach this conclusion. It was a reach, a stretch of his talent; a possible precursor to what his future could have been had he not met a different fate on September 30, 1955.
Sinatra as comedian Joe E. Lewis, back when drunks were funny, The Joker is Wild, 1957
Frank. The Voice. The Chairman of the Board. Ol' Blue Eyes. Sinatra was a later influence than the rest of these guys, I came to him when I was twenty. I'd seen a couple of his movies, but it was when I got into his music that everything fell into place. After that it was just a short hop to his work in films and reading nearly everything that's been written about him. I became obsessive about not only his work, but his life as well, reading the { mostly bad } bios, along with one or two good ones { Sinatra in Hollywood by Tom Santopietro, along with Frank : The Voice by James Kaplan are the best }. Sinatra won a Supporting Actor Oscar for From Here To Eternity, which started the great comeback for him, but my three favorites are The Joker Is Wild, Pal Joey and Some Came Running.
Dylan, hat, flowers and eye liner during the Rolling Thunder Revue days of the mid-70's
Dylan, my last great obsession. I'd never been a great fan of his music until ten years ago I became friends with a band called The Snake, The Cross and The Crown. I had no girl, time on my hands and was ready to cut loose a bit { middle age crazy }, so I spent nearly every weekend with them and every weekend was a party. No matter how slow the evening may begin by night's end { or the day's beginning }, there was sure to be interesting people of all sorts and music was always a big part of the scene. They were all Dylan fans, so I decided to take the plunge and bought { of all things }1969's down-home family album Nashville Skyline, a work not typical of Dylan at the time, but it had an ease and kind of country-funk that I surprisingly enjoyed. At the time he made this album Dylan was fed up with his persona and decided to turn left at Albuquerque to try to throw off the fanatics. I too was fed up with certain aspects of my life and this seemed a good tonic. After that it was on to the Martin Scorsese doc No Direction Home, his great 60's work, his still-neglected 70's work { his Rolling Thunder Revue being particularly fascinating for me } and discovering that there was more to the guy than a songwriter with a twangy-nasal voice that drive some to distraction. I've been hooked ever since.
Sorry to hear that James Garner aka Jim Rockford/ Bret Maverick, has passed on today at the age of 86. Garner made a name for himself in the late 50's on the television western Maverick, beginning in 1957. Garner would leave the top-rated show after the third season to pursue a life in film. A major star of TV, jumping to the big screen was a new and fairly radical venture. Garner's film career began with A-List projects, starting off with William Wellman's second-to-the-last-directed feature Darby's Rangers, followed by Cash McCall with ingenue Natalie Wood. 1961 foundGarnercaught between Audrey Hepburn and Shirley MacLaine in The Children's Hour, director William Wyler's remake of his own 1936 adaptation of These Three, based on the play by Lillian Hellman. His biggest hit of the 1960's, possibly of his entire career, came in 1963's POW - WW II classic The Great Escape. Starring alongside Steve McQueen and a couple of not quite but future stars, Charles Bronson and James Coburn, Garner played "the scrounger ", Flt. Lt. Robert Hendley.
The success of Escape helped pave the way for Garner the rest of the decade. One of his best roles was in The Americaniztion Of Emily, with Julie Andrews, as Lt.Cmdr. Charlie Madison, a self confessed coward who is picked to be a hero at the invasion on Normandy on D-Day. Though not a big success at the time, this Paddy Chayevsky-penned film has gathered a cult following thru the years and is the personal favorite of both Andrews and Garner. Per Wikipedia, William Holden was originally tabbed for Garner's role, but when Holden backed out, Garner stepped in. If so, I can imagine Holden in the part too. Probably would have fit him like a glove as both actors project an ease and naturalism on camera, with Garner being particularly adept in comedic parts. Garner would round out the 60's in just such a role, Support Your Local Sheriff, a surprise hit from 1969. For most of the 1970's Garner would focus on television. His big success portraying P.I. Jim Rockford in The Rockford Files, and it may be the work he is best remembered for today. Premiering on NBC on September 13, 1974 at 9pm, Rockford was an instant hit with tube watchers. However, due to the pressures of a weekly television show, Garner was to suffer from ulcers, which would precipitate his leaving the show. Just goes to show the stress involved in making it all look easy.
1982 brought the gender-bending comedy Victor/Victoria, again with Julie Andrews, and in 1985's Murphy's Romance, Garner - opposite a sexy, thirty-something Sally Field as a divorced mother with a teenage son - played the widowed, 50-ish Murphy Jones, druggist of a small Arizona town, who gets a second chance at love. Charming and easy going - though at times irascible - Garner had one of the best parts of his career and was honored with an Academy Award nomination for Best Actor. Irascibility combined with an easy going charm may seem opposite ends of the spectrum, yet Garner, like Cary Grant, seemed to make crabby almost likeable. Certainly, he made it funny. In the 1969 film Marlowe { not an especially good adaptation of Chandler's book Little Sister, yet as to date the only one we have }, there is a scene in which Marlowe is getting roughed up by some thugs. Check out the very beginning of this video. It is an example of what James Garner did so well.
I have always loved that smart-ass, throw-away humor that Garner was so great at. A lost art, I'm afraid. That's what Garner seemed to do best, and may qualify as to why he never really got his due as an actor. Like Mitchum, Grant, Holden and a handful of others, these guys made the difficult craft of acting look effortless. Garner never showed the wheels spinning. I cannot even think of a film or television show in which Garner was not, at least, good. The man never gave a bad performance. R.I.P. Jim Rockford/Bret Maverick/Murphy Jones/Charlie Madison, etc. You were one of the best.
One of my favorite lines from one of my favorite films, A Hard Day's Night, 1964
Very sincere and heartfelt birthday wishes to Ringo, the beloved drummer from that band called The Beatles. Seventy Four years young today, Ringo may be the most beloved of all the Fab Four. His affable good humor { which led to at least a couple of immortal songs like, a hard days' night and tomorrow never knows, both Ringo-isms } , even temperament, off-key singing, and steady drumbeat helped keep the group jelled throughout their time together. While John may have had issues with Paul or George, or George may have had issues with Paul or John, nobody, I mean nobody ever had issues with Ringo: it may be that his greatest strength was, paradoxically, his greatest weakness. At times, because of his ability to be everybody's friend, { good ol' Ringo }, they took him for granted.
Good ol ' Ringo, everyone's best mate, circa 1967.
At least once, it seems, Ringo got fed up with it all. Whether it had to do with being overlooked, tried of the fighting that had recently started within the group, or he just went on holiday, is not known. What is a known is that in August 1968, while the band was working on what came to be known as The White Album, Ringo - the last to join The Beatles - was the first to walk out. Just left. For two weeks or so, leaving the band without a drummer. Therefore, Ringo has the distinction of being the first member to quit the world's most famous band. Consequently, the band's all-round utility player, Paul McCartney, played drums on Back in the USSR and Dear Prudence. Ringo eventually came back a couple of weeks later, after the band sent him flowers and love letters saying things like " you're the best rock drummer ever ", and " we love you, Ringo, come back ". Goes to show how bad things had gotten for the Fabs when the most affable member is fed up and needed a holiday.
Ringo, about to knock the button off Paul's lapel, circa 1965.
Besides excelling as a drummer, Ringo also dabbled in acting. Besides the good reviews he received for A Hard Day's Night and Help!, Ringo also appeared in the all-star sex-romp Candy, and The Magic Christian opposite comic genius Peter Sellers, while still making music with the band. After the group split Ringo still made music and had a surprising run of hit records thru the 70's. According to that beacon of facts, Wikipedia, at one time RIngo had seven straight top ten hits including : Photograph { co-written by George Harrison }, Oh My My, a cover of the 50's hit You're Sixteen { which made #1 }, and the No No Song. The 1970's were a busy time for Ringo, besides records he continued with his movie making : That'll Be The Day, Ken Russell's Lisztomania and Mae West's last film, Sextette. Starr's biggest try for the big time as an actor was in 1981 with the comedy Caveman, which also starred Dennis Quaid, Shelley Long, and Bond Girl Barbara Bach. Ringo and the lovely Ms. Bach would be married about a year after the film was made, and have been in happy cohabitation ever since. The failure of Caveman essentially ended Ringo's big screen ambition's, although he would appear in Paul McCartney's movie Give My Regards To Broad Street and the first two seasons on the TV kiddie show, Thomas The Tank Engine& Friends, as the best Mr. Conductor ever { just ask my son Tim }. Except for a rare cameo, Ringo's film appearances have been confined to documentaries in which he is usually the warmest, most honest person in the film. His reminisces in The Beatles Anthology and, especially Living In The Material World, Martin Scorsese's film on the life of Harrison, are especially poignant.
The above clip is what I like about Ringo. He's not afraid of just being himself, not shy of sharing his emotions when most would keep that side private, and then come up with the Barbara Walters line as a topper. Perfect. Just so folks don't think Ringo is resting on his laurels, he is currently on tour with the latest edition of Ringo Starr and His All-Star Band. In fact, Ringo and his chums will be at the Santa Barbara Bowl this Saturday July 12. So, Happy Birthday to the boy from The Dingle - Liverpool's rough slum where he grew up a sickly youth - the lad who happened to be in the right place at the right time. Happy Birthday Mr. Starkey, the luckiest man in show biz.
P.S. Just for the record, my favorite song Ringo sang is one he did back in 1967 with his best mates, a little ditty called With A Little Help From My Friends.
It's been 50 years this month since A Hard Day's Night opened in British cinemas. The movie, which wouldn't open stateside until August, was a revelation upon release. The Beatles proved they could not only handle dialogue with the best of them, but they also had expert comic timing and screen presence to burn. Screenwriter Alun Owen followed the group around for a couple of weeks to get their Liverpudlian rhythm down, incorporating their unique speech patterns and slang into the screenplay while the film's director, Richard Lester, imbued the film with a silent-movie slapstick, cinema verite style.
"Hey mister, can we have our ball back?"
Filmed in black and white for just $500,600 over seven weeks shortly following their Ed SullivanShow appearances on American television, the movie was made so United Artists could get the rights to a Beatles soundtrack album. UA got that and a whole lot more; they got a commercial hit (no big surprise); a critical, Academy Award-nominated hit (big surprise); and ultimately, a bona fide classic (biggest surprise of all), making the movie, as Andrew Sarris called it, "The Citizen Kane of jukebox musicals."
Today, "jukebox" is an antiquated term, but 50 years on, the movie - unlike jukeboxes - not only holds up, it may actually have improved with age. It's still a rollicking, good, fictional day-in-the-life of The Beatles. Besieged by fans, living life in "a train and a room a car and a room and a room and a room," it makes life on the road of the world's most wildly successful band manic with its perpetual movement. Indeed even by today's on-the-go standards, A Hard Day's Night is never boring; it hardly stops for a breath. The witty repartee between the Fabs, the press conference, the tormenting of the TV director and the band's manager (in fact, any authority figure), the sheer exuberance and joy of being young and alive with talent and promise (best represented by the "Can't Buy Me Love"sequence, below) with all the world as their oyster make the film irresistible.
And then there's the music. The songs in the movie were from the Beatles third album, but it was the first to have only Lennon and McCartney songs with no covers. McCartney's contribution is significant but relatively small with "And I Love Her," "Things We Said Today," and "Can't Buy Me Love" figuring prominently. But there is no doubt who the mover and shaker is on the soundtrack: John Lennon.
The bulk of the writing was done by Lennon, still in the manic/leadership role he had been in since the group began to jell in the late 1950s. Giddy from the insane heights the band had scaled in just two years, Lennon hadn't yet found the time to let the fame - and, for him, emptiness - sink in. That would arrive on his psychological doorstep soon enough. By the time The Beatles next film, Help!, was being filmed in early 1965, Lennon and the rest of the group had discovered the magic of marijuana and were consuming it with a vengeance (when they were "smoking marijuana for breakfast.") But none of the others were affected by a drug-induced introspection like Lennon was. While he continued to write brilliant songs, he would never again dominate a Beatles album like he did A Hard Day's Night.
The original soundtrack that was issued in the US had only the eight songs performed in the film. The five additional songs on the UK version would find their way to American shores via other albums released by the Capitol record label that distributed the Fabs records here. With only eight cuts on the US version, United Artists added four instrumental tracks to round out the soundtrack.
The original soundtrack album issued in America, courtesy of United Artists
The movie opened to surprisingly glowing reviews, with special regard for the eclectic array of songs (the album is probably their bestfrom the Beatlemania days, with both uptempo and more melancholy compositions). The zest of director Lester's vision, the wit of Owen's screenplay, and the film's slashing cut-and-run editing and photography were all singled out. Among the four Beatles as actors, Ringo was praised for the vignette in which he temporarily walks out on the band just before a television appearance and makes friends with a ten-year-old boy who has cut class for the day ("I'm a deserter, too."). The concert performed at film's end is, to me, the best example of the frenzy and fury of Beatlemania, the word that gave the movie its original title. By the time the dust had settled, A Hard Day's Night would receive two Oscar nominations for Best Screenplay and Best Scoring of Music. Amazingly, given the subsequent success of pop music artists at the Oscars, none of the Lennon-McCartney songs got a nod from Oscar. There may not have been any kind of uproar at the time regarding that snub, but if the film were made today there certainly would be. At the time, however, the two noms it did get were pretty big news for a movie that wasn't expected to achieve much. At the box office the film raked in over $12 million, according to IMDB, which is a ridiculously successful return on investment (adjusted for inflation, the cost would be $3.6 million, and a return of nearly $90 million).
One of the most interesting aspects of A Hard Day's Night is that the band is never named. In other words no one, not once, refers to them as "Beatle Paul" or "Beatle John" or "The Beatles." The only real acknowledgement that they are, in fact, The Beatles, is the logo on the front of Ringo's drum kit. Other movies with musicians like Bing Crosby or Frank Sinatra or Elvis Presley were successful, but they didn't play anyone like themselves. Elvis, maybe in Jailhouse Rock, was an extension of his real self, but they always played characters. With A Hard Day's Night, we are thrown into this movie knowing exactly who John, Paul, George, and Ringo are. No needless exposition on how they got where they got, no backstory. Since they are all named after themselves, and the film is shot in a semi-documentary style, audiences of the day assumed this was who they were since they were not actors in real life. Seeing their press conferences on TV news - the way they would volley answers back to the reporters - made the film seem a genuine portrayal of their life, which undoubtedly contributed to its success. (This, of course, would only confuse fans just two years later in 1966 when rumors began to swirl about a possible break up of the band, following the group's decision to stop touring. Those rumors would intensify a year after that when their manager Brian Epstein died of a drug overdose. But that was all in the future.)
Americans were already traveling a hard road by 1964. The shock and dismay that accompanied the assassination of President John Kennedy signaled the turmoil to come over the next six years of the decade. But thanks to the lads from Liverpool, Americans got a little joy back into their lives. In the summer of 1964, A Hard Day's Night was the right antidote for a battered world.
Bogart and Bacall, together again for the first time
On
October 10,1944, shooting had started on a new Humphrey Bogart film,again
co-starring Lauren Bacall and with director Howard Hawks at the helm. The movie
was a detective story, The Big Sleep, based on the book by Raymond
Chandler, a pulp fiction writer whose Farewell, My Lovely was adapted by
RKO Studios as Murder, My Sweet, starring Dick Powell.
Bogart
and Bacall had cooled the affair they’d begun on the set of To Have and Have
Not and not seen each other since late summer while Bogie moved back in with
Mayo to give his marriage one last chance. Though miserable, Bogie felt he owed
it to Mayo and confided as much to Bacall, who didn't like the decision one
bit. The effort was short-lived; a week later, Bogart had left Mayo again, thus
continuing a cycle of makeups and breakups between the Bogarts for the rest of
their marriage. When filming started on The Big Sleep, they were back together.
"He said that, that's what the man said, he said that."
Marlowe, up against it, in The Big Sleep
Mayo,
alone all day with alcohol as her only friend and fighting her anxieties, lost
the battle. Bogie would get home from the studio and find her drunk, in a nasty
mood, and spoiling for a fight. Sometimes he would join in, drinking and
fighting. Other times he would leave, hightailing out into the night. On
October 19th, Warners made the announcement that the Bogarts were separating.
Bogart sequestered himself at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Bacall would stop by
from time to time but always with a companion, which would make Bogart morose.
He wanted Bacall alone. Then there was Mayo, who was not about to go down
without a fight. She would call him at the Beverly Hills Hotel and call friends
to intervene, leaving Bogart with little peace. It worked. In early November, Bogie
moved back in with Mayo. Bogart broke the news to a heartbroken Bacall on set
in late October. For Bogart, a gallant man, the situation seemed hopeless.
Early
in the shooting, Bogart stepped easily in the role of world weary, cynical private
eye, Philip Marlowe. Always on time, hitting his marks, knowing his lines, he
was the ultimate professional, no matter what he faced in his personal life or
how much he may have had to drink the night before. Hawks was tremendously
impressed with such discipline, and impressing Hawks wasn't an easy
accomplishment.
The
bookshop scene (above) in which Marlowe is on the trail of a pornography ring (camouflaged
due to censors) and assumes a bogus identity as a gay customer (“Do you happen
to have a Ben-Hur 1860?") is funny, though somewhat stereotypical of what gay
looked like in 1940s America. Bogie improvised the scene on set, which Hawks
loved. One of the most fascinating things about the film is how all sorts of
women throw themselves at Marlowe throughout the movie, and how Bogart as Marlowe
is supremely confident and assured. In fact, these were the exact qualities
Bogart lacked due to his domestic situation.
While
Bogie-as-Marlowe seems to have the time of his life trading double entendre
with the older, wiser, and just as slinky sister (played by Lauren Bacall) of
his client, Carmen Sternwood (played by Martha Vickers), Bogart was having a
truly miserable time off screen. Drinking more than usual (impressive,
considering that Bogie always drank a lot), out of love with his wife, and
on pretty thin ice with Bacall, the soon-to-be 45-year-old Bogart was probably
also experiencing a mid-life crisis. In her book, Bacall tells of one night
when Bogart, having drunk too much, telephoned her.
“Hello, Baby."
"Where are you where are you calling from?"
"I'm home. I miss you."
Just then "Sluggy," as Bogart called Mayo, earned her nickname and
snatched the phone from him. "Listen, you Jewish bitch, who's gonna wash
his socks? Are you?!"
Bacall
hung up, shaken. On set the next morning, there was no sign of Bogie. Bacall
went to Hawks and asked what was going on "Bogie called,” he replied. “He's going to be late."
Hawks
shot around Bogart as much as he could, but Bogie didn't show up that day. For an
actor who prided himself on his professionalism, missing a day was anathema.
When Bogart reported for work, he told Bacall what had happened. He had walked
out after his phone call to her and proceeded to drink further. At about 7AM,
having not slept, looking like hell, and having walked the streets for hours, he
stopped, looked through a window, and saw a woman fixing breakfast for her
family (imagine Humphrey Bogart looking through your window). The
husband opened the door and invited him in. Bogie sat with this happy family,
sipping coffee as they ate their breakfast.
Bogart
would have more physically arduous shoots - Treasure of the Sierra Madre
and The African Queen, both John Huston films, come to mind – but filming
The Big Sleep, while vacillating between Mayo and his Baby, was the most
personally difficult time he faced during his professional acting career.
Lobby Card
By December 4, nearly a month into his reconciliation with Mayo, Bogart announced
their separation. For good this time, he said. "It's hard to break up a
marriage of six years.... She can anything she wants if she will let me
go" was the quote from Bogie in newspapers around country. Supposedly,
it wasn't that easy (although what divorce is?). Mayo didn't want a settlement;
she wanted her man. All through this ordeal, Mayo actually appeared to be the
stronger of the two. Clifton Webb, Bogie's good friend from their days in the
New York theatre, claimed that Bogie was "a softie," and that
"any woman could walk all over him." This time, however, Bogart held
firm – he wasn't going back. Mayo, at the end of a very thin rope, turned all
her anger inward. Going on crying jags, she seemed to lose any fight that was
left in her. Bogie, despite all his talk of not moving back with Mayo, of
wanting "a new life," was scared. Alone in his hotel room, he
finally had the time to look back on his past and contemplate his future. But
an excess of time exacerbated his doubts and fears. While it's true that he
wanted to start fresh and have a new beginning, Bogart felt responsible for
Mayo. She had threatened suicide in the past, and he worried about her
emotional state.
The
Bacall situation came with an entirely different set of issues. Though in love,
the age difference between them was a huge factor. It held Bogart back and kept
him off kilter. While his three previous wives had all been contemporaries,
Bacall was a kid; it wasn't for nothing he called her “Baby." And
she'd probably want kids (Bogart was childless). To Bogart, the past with all
its troubles held more solace that an unknown future with a girl a quarter
century his junior.
Incredible
as it may seem, Bogart gave Mayo one last chance. By mid-December, trying to
stay strong yet beside himself with angst, Bogie started to come to the set
late. The log book of unit manager Eric Stacey, whose job it was to keep the
film on schedule, shows some significant entries:
Dec 12th: "Mr. Bogart overslept this morning."
Dec 14th: “Company waited for Bogart one and a half hours."
Dec 15th: “Bogart delayed company one full hour this morning."
Dec 20th: “30 minute delay. It was necessary for Hawks to speak to Bogart and
straighten him out relative to the 'Bacall situation,' which is affecting their
performances."
Off
set, Bogart was working on Mayo, trying to persuade her to move to Reno for a
quick divorce, but she was having none of it. With his depression
deepening, Bogart had emotional breakdown over the Christmas holiday. The
company had been dismissed at noon on December 23rd, a Saturday. For Christmas,
he gave Bacall a gold watch, but spent the day – his birthday – alone. He was 45.
Drinking
the day away, he decided to see Mayo on December 26th. Very drunk, he
confronted Mayo. Fifteen minutes later, assistant director Bob Vreeland
received a call from Mayo, sounding terrified. By the time Vreeland, Eric
Stacey, and studio cop Blayney Matthews arrived at the Bogarts’ house, Bogart
had passed out. In a report to Jack Warner, Stacey reported, "[D]o not
feel Bogart's condition can be fixed overnight.... Bogart had been drinking for
three weeks....mental turmoil...entering into the situation."
Hawks
shot around his star, again, as much as possible before sending the company
home early. The next day, Hawks faced an empty set. No Bogart. The log sheet stated,
"Company did not work today, due to Mr. Bogart's illness." The film
was scheduled to wrap on November 28, but at that time Hawks had only finished
about half the shooting script. Though never one to be rushed, Hawks,
already contending with script rewrites and the film’s problematic second half,
tired of the delays Bogart's personal problems had cost the film. Filming had
been sporadic since early December.
After
Bogart’s December 28th return to set, Hawks and company could at last finish The Big Sleep, which they did on January
13, 1945. However, due to Bacall's huge impact in To Have and Have Not,
Jack Warner wanted more scenes of his two stars together. Additional retakes
were shot late in January, including the very racy dialogue between Marlowe and
Bacall’s character, Vivian Rutledge, about horse racing and who is "in the
saddle."
With
the film in the can, next up was a publicity bit in New York City as To Have
and Have Not prepped for its nationwide release. Also in New York was
Bogie's good friend and drinking buddy, Peter Lorre. Bogie told Lorre to meet him
at the Astor Hotel, which Bogart had frequented as a young actor. Over drinks, a
nostalgic Bogart reminisced about the times he would spend sitting at the bar
with other actors, hoping for that big break. He was talking about the 1920s,
when his Baby was just that – a baby. Hell, he said, he probably would be lucky
to get five, maybe ten years out of a marriage to Bacall. Wouldn't be easy.
Couldn't last. Lorre told him to shut up, that he could be happy, that
everything could work out, that he liked Bacall and thought her a great dame. Bogart
couldn’t help but agree.
In
May Mayo, who'd at last taken up residence in Reno in March when a divorce settlement
had been agreed upon, was in court for the final dissolution of her marriage to
Bogart. Bogart generously gave her nearly everything a soon-to-be-ex-wife could
want, including their house on North Horn, two-thirds of his cash, his life
insurance, and his investments in two Safeway grocery stores. Though Bogart
felt he was buying himself out of the marriage, he was, at last, a free man.
May 21, 1945, Bogie and Baby's wedding day. Don't they look happy?
On
May 21, 1945, at the home of writer Louis Broomfield in Ohio, Miss Betty Joan
Perske (aka, Lauren Bacall) was wed to Humphrey DeForest Bogart, Jr. They would
have two children, Stephen and Leslie; always refer to each other as Slim and
Steve, their characters’ names in To Have and Have Not; and live as husband and wife in
apparent wedded bliss until Bogie's death from lung cancer in 1957. Mayo died on
June 9, 1951, back home in Portland, Oregon (Bogie's take on her death:
"Too bad. Such a waste.") As for the film, The Big Sleep would
be a tremendous money-spinner for the Brothers Warner, go on to be a film noir
classic (possibly the best of it's kind), and add immeasurably to the cult of
Bogart that took off in the 1960s and hasn't stopped to this day.
Sources:
Bogart by A.M. Sperber & Eric Lax
By Myself by Lauren Bacall
Howard Hawks: The Grey Fox of Hollywood
by Todd McCarthy
