Tony Curtis as The Great Impostor

Young Ferdinand Demara, Jr. isn't one to take "no" for an answer, even after well-intentioned Father Devlin (Karl Malden) explains that sometimes you just have to accept your limitations.

Years later, Demara  (Tony Curtis) encounters a major career obstacle when his application for Officer Candidate School is rejected by the Army because he lacks a high school diploma. After mulling over the situation, he forges college transcripts and is accepted as an officer by the Marines. That plan goes quickly awry, though, when he learns he must undergo a security check by the F.B.I.

Tony Curtis and Raymond Massey.

Demara promptly fakes his suicide and embarks on a career of creating false identities. He spends time as a Trappist monk, a deputy prison warden, a military ship's physician, and a teacher. His ability to learn quickly serves him well--especially when performing surgical operations after reading a few pages of Gray's Anatomy! Not all goes according to plan since he's captured by the Army and spends 18 months in prison. But he even turns that into a positive and later becomes a leader for prison reform in a maximum security facility.

Incredibly, The Great Impostor is based on the life the Ferdinand Waldo Demara, Jr. While some of the film is fictitious, the real Demara did pose as a monk, assistant prison warden, naval surgeon, and teacher. His life was the subject of the biography The Great Impostor, written by Robert Crichton.

Tony Curtis with Sue Ane Langdon.

If you're looking for insight into Demara's extraordinary life, you won't find it in The Great Impostor. The lead character's rationale is he's doing these fantastic things because he can--and because the thrill of potential capture is exciting. It doesn't help that the film has been shaped as a breezy Tony Curtis vehicle for the most part. One almost expects a cheerful Curtis to break the fourth wall and start talking to the audience long before he smiles at us in the final shot.

There are couple of serious segments, such as when Demara tries to reach a hardened convict and later performs emergency surgeries on 18 Korean combat casualties. In these scenes, it becomes apparent that Demara wants to do good--even if his actions put innocent people at life-threatening risks. (Imagine being operated on by a man with no medical experience whatsoever!)

Tony Curtis's fans are sure to enjoy The Great Impostor. Coming off the most impressive stretch of his career (1957-60), the actor seems to be having fun and lays on the charm. He is surrounded by a bunch of veteran actors (Edmond O'Brien, Raymond Massey, Arthur O'Connell) and attractive co-stars (Joan Blackman and Sue Ane Langdon, who steals all her scenes). However, in the end, it's just a shame that Tony didn't get the opportunity to play Demara in a more serious film, something along the lines of Steven Spielberg's more compelling Catch Me If You Can (2002).

Up Periscope: Early James Garner

The same night that he proposes marriage to a recent acquaintance, Navy Lieutenant Kenneth Braden (James Garner) is whisked away to conduct a secret mission in the Pacific. Once aboard the submarine Barracuda, Captain Paul Stevenson (Edmond O'Brien) explains that Braden will be dropped off in a lagoon near a Japanese-occupied island. His task is to locate a enemy radio transmitter, photograph a radio code book, and return to the sub.

As if that's not challenging enough, the journey to the island is fraught with its own perils. The most significant may be that the submarine crew has lost confidence in its commander. During an earlier mission, Stevenson played it "by the book" and waited underwater for six hours while Japanese boats patrolled the ocean surface. However, as a result of the long wait, a young sailor died of wounds sustained during the attack.

Edmond O'Brien frets a lot.

Apparently, Warner Bros. was grooming James Garner, one of its biggest TV attractions, for movie stardom in Up Periscope (1959). However, it's clear that the studio didn't want to put too much effort into this modestly-budgeted actioner. The trek to Braden's destination contains some minor thrills (e.g., an aerial attack on the sub), but the plot never gains steam until the final half-hour. Add a pedestrian script and what you have is a rather perfunctory picture that does little but showcase Garner's natural appeal.

Edmond O'Brien deserves better than the clichéd role of the vessel commander who begins to doubt his own decisions. The same can be said of an interesting supporting cast, which is mostly wasted. Still, it's entertaining to watch early appearances by football player/future broadcaster Frank Gifford, Edd Byrnes, and Warren Oates. Judging by Byrnes' limited screen time, I'm guessing the production started before he became a pop culture phenomenon as Kookie on 77 Sunset Strip.

Alan Hale, Jr. with beard!

Two other actors may have unknowingly auditioned for their most famous roles. As Garner's bunkmate, Alan Hale, Jr. provides most of the film's humor--preparing him well for playing the Skipper in Gilligan's Island. Meanwhile, Henry Kulky, who plays the Barracuda's Chief Petty Officer, would play one again in the first season of the TV series Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea. (Sadly, he died of a heart attack, so the Seaview had a new CPO in seasons 2-4.)

If you're a James Garner fan, you probably ought to see Up Periscope. Garner displays everything that made him a film and TV star for decades, from the heartfelt love scenes with Andra Martin to the physicality of his (backlot) jungle scenes. That's the best recommendation for this otherwise soggy adventure.

James Garner and Andra Martin on the beach.

The Wild Bunch - Looking Back on Peckinpah's Classic After 50 Years

William Holden in The Wild Bunch.

Fifty years ago, two of American cinema's most influential Westerns were released: the revisionist Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and Sam Peckinpah's The Wild Bunch. Neither film staved off the decline of the Western genre, but each impacted Hollywood in significant ways. The former may not have been the first "buddy picture," but the pairing of Paul Newman and Robert Redford revitalized those kinds of films. As for The Wild Bunch, while more violent and bloody films preceded it, they weren't mainstream movies with big stars and a major director. Many critics and filmgoers considered its violence shocking at the time.

Indeed, The Wild Bunch opens and closes with beautifully choreographed and edited scenes of carnage. It was enough, according to one Peckinpah biographer, for some audience members to walk out of the film when it was first released. However, sandwiched between those bloody scenes, Peckinpah presents a carefully-crafted tale of family loyalty and changing times.

Robert Ryan as Deke Thornton.

The Wild Bunch opens with Pike Bishop and his gang riding into a bustling town to rob a railroad office. Bishop (William Holden) has no idea that it's a trap set by a former pal, Deke Thornton, whose permanent release from a brutal prison hinges on his capture of Bishop. By the time, the outlaws realize it's a set-up, it's too late and their only option is to shoot their way out of town. The ensuing gunfight leaves the streets littered with dead bodies, including many innocent townspeople caught in the hail of bullets.

When Bishop regroups after a narrow escape from the town, his gang has been reduced to just five members. Moreover, their loot from the robbery turns out to be bags of worthless metal washers and Thornton is leading a gang of bounty hunters in pursuit. With few alternatives remaining, Bishop and his men journey to Mexico, where they make a deal with a ruthless revolutionary leader to steal guns and ammunition from a heavily-guarded train for $10,000. It's a decision that will ultimately result in the demise of the quintet.

Except for the bookend shoot-outs and a splendid train robbery scene in the middle, The Wild Bunch is a dialogue-driven film. Bishop repeatedly emphasizes the importance of family loyalty, for make no mistake that these outlaws are a family. They bicker, threaten each other, and talk of splitting up, but ultimately they abide by Bishop's code: "When you side with a man, you stick with him." It's enlightening when Bishop reveals to Dutch (Ernest Borgnine), his closest companion, that he feels responsible for Thornton's capture in the past. For his part, Thornton has nothing but respect for Bishop--although he's willing to capture or perhaps kill him to avoid returning to prison.

Pike's gang leaves a poor village that provided them with a moment of peace.

Set in 1913, The Wild Bunch also explores one of Sam Peckinpah's favorite themes: the end of the Wild West. Bishop and his gang marvel when they see an automobile and talk about machines that can fly in the air. The days of horse-riding outlaws are coming to an end and Bishop knows it: "We got to start thinking beyond our guns. Those days are closing fast." It's a theme that Peckinpah visited earlier in his elegant classic Ride the High Country (1962) and would return to again in The Ballad of Cable Hogue (1970).

Peckinpah wanted Lee Marvin to play Pike, but Marvin instead chose Paint Your Wagon (1969), which offered a hefty payday. That was fortunate for The Wild Bunch, for William Holden gives one of his finest performances as the weary, gritty Pike. According to most accounts, the star and the director clashed often on the set, arguing about issues such as whether Holden should wear a fake mustache (he initially refused, but finally agreed...and it's hard to imagine his character without it).

Ernest Borgnine as Dutch.

The supporting cast is exceptional, especially Borgnine, Robert Ryan as Thornton, and an unrecognizable Edmond O'Brien in his last great role as an old-timer who is fiercely loyal to Pike. The camaraderie between Holden and Borgnine seems so genuine that the two were paired again in the 1972 Western The Revengers (which is strictly a standard oater).

Sadly, the graphic violence in The Wild Bunch doesn't seem as horrifying as it once did. Slow-motion shots of bullets entering into bodies and blood spurting everywhere have become too commonplace on the silver screen. However, it is still jarring to see children participate in the violence, whether they're playfully reenacting the opening gunfight or actually picking up guns and shooting people in the climax. One has to wonder what will become of these desensitized youngsters as they grow into adults.

The Wild Bunch makes their final walk.

While The Wild Bunch may be Sam Peckinpah's most famous film, it's not his best (that would be The Ballad of Cable Hogue). But fifty years later, one can appreciate The Wild Bunch as a landmark motion picture that showcases its director's visual flair and love of the Western genre. It also contains one of the most iconic images of 1960s cinema:  the shot where Thornton's men are seemingly suspended in air for a split-second when Pike blows up both ends of a bridge. It's a brilliant metaphor for the end of the Old West, which is literally slipping away from men like Thornton and Pike. It's also a reminder that--when he wanted to be--Sam Peckinpah could be a truly great director.

The bridge collapses out from under Thornton's men.

This post is part of the Classic Movie Blog Association's (CMBA) Anniversary Blogathon. Click here to check out all the other great entries as the CMBA celebrates its tenth anniversary.

The Friday Night Late Movie: Edmond O'Brien Solves His Own Murder in "D.O.A."

As a man crosses the street into a police station, huge 3-D letters fill the screen with the film's foreboding title. The camera follows along behind the man as he staggers down a hallway to Dimitri Tiomkin's march-like theme. As he enters the office of the Homicide Division, the man's determined face becomes visible for the first time. He tells the division chief he wants to report a murder. When the chief inquires who was murdered, the man calmly replies: "I was." From this gripping opening, D.O.A. spins a film noirish flashback which explains how an unassuming tax accountant named Frank Bigelow (Edmond O'Brien) came to be a murder victim. The tale begins with Frank leaving for a week vacation in San Francisco, so he can get away from his possessive girlfriend Paula (Pamela Britton). Frank cares for Paula, but he's unsure about making the commitment she wants from him.

His Bay City hotel is overflowing with traveling salespeople (it's Market Week) and attractive women who keep distracting Frank. He goes to several nightclubs his first night, drinks a lot of bourbon, and wakes up feeling unusually nauseous. When he visits a physician, the doctor informs him that he has ingested luminous poison, which has already been absorbed into his system. There's no antidote. He could die within 24 hours--he will die within a week. Frank spends his final days trying to figure out who killed him and why.

The rest of the film unravels in a convoluted fashion as Frank encounters crooked businessmen, violent thugs, and treacherous women. Ironically, the questions that drive Frank--the mysteries of who and why--become secondary to the film's colorful characters and atmospheric locations.

O'Brien gives a believable performance in the lead role, but he gets upstaged by the secondary villains. These memorable heavies include Luther Adler as the polite Hispanic gangster Majak, Neville Brand as his homicidal henchman Chester, and Laurette Luez as a beautiful, but tough-minded, Majak accomplice. When Frank treats her roughly for not answering his questions, she snarls back: "If I were a man, I'd punch your dirty face in." Chester, on the other hand, prefers to punch Frank in the stomach. When Frank winces from pain caused by the poison, Chester chides him about being "soft in the belly." Majak shows his sensitive side when he orders Chester to leave Frank alone and privately explains about Chester: "That unfortunate boy--he's psychopathic. He's not happy unless he gives pain. He likes to see blood."

Director Rudolph Mate makes effective use of the San Francisco and Los Angeles settings. He stages imaginative chases through a deserted factory and a busy drugstore--a thrilling set piece which climaxes in an unexpected shootout. Overall, though, he fails to recapture the level of excitement generated by the opening scene. The screenplay certainly deserves some of the blame. The mystery angle, involving stolen goods and a missing bill of sale, doesn't work well in D.O.A. The film also lacks suspense, in a traditional sense, because there's no doubt that the protagonist will die.

Aside from the premise, the most interesting aspect of the script lies in its moral depiction of Frank. Although Paula clings to Frank, she truly loves him. Frank thinks he may love her, too, but he want s to sow some wild oats before settling down. Once in San Francisco, he ogles all the women at the hotel. He dances the rhumba with an attractive woman across the hall. He even tries to pick up a stranger in the nightclub where he's poisoned. Ultimately, he remains faithful to Paula. However, his death is an indirect result of his impure thoughts. His San Francisco trip and his pursuit of other women give the killer an opportunity to poison him discreetly--an opportunity which would not have presented itself had Frank stayed with Paula in the first place.

The two official remakes, Color Me Dead (1969) and D.O.A. (1988), jettisoned the moral context for a more conventional approach. They actually functioned better as mysteries, but they lacked the interesting characters, dark urban settings, and the originality (of course) that distinguished the 1950 version.

The Friday Night Late Movie is a weekly film review that focuses on the kinds of films (and occasional TV shows) that used to pop up on the late show...on Friday nights. I fondly recall watching The CBS Late Movie in the 1970s and experiencing action pictures, horror flicks, forgotten B-films, made-for-TV movies, cult classics, and offbeat TV series like Kolchak: The Night Stalker, The New Avengers, and Return of the Saint. Hey, you just read a preview for what you'll see here on Friday nights in the coming weeks!