Seven Things to Know About Angie Dickinson

1. Angie Dickinson's favorite film role was as the sexy housewife who is brutally murdered after an adulterous encounter in Brian De Palma's Dressed to Kill (1980). She told Vanity Fair in a 2008 interview: "I’m good in it, and it’s a great part. I’m sorry I didn’t try to go for an Academy Award for that role. I think I could have won it. But the studio didn’t want to put up the campaign, and I felt that I didn’t want to go for a supporting-actor award, because I’d always thought of myself as the lead, even though by then I wasn’t getting starring roles. I regret it now. Of course, De Palma is to blame for the great performance."

2. She played Sergeant Pepper Martin for four years on Police Woman (1974-78). She received three Emmy nominations for Best Actress (Drama) and four Golden Globe nominations, winning the award in 1975. According to People Magazine, Police Woman was President Gerald Ford's favorite TV series--he once rescheduled a White House press conference because of it. Angie's then-husband Burt Bacharach turned down the opportunity to compose the theme for Police Woman...because he didn't think the show would last long.

3. Angie Dickinson and Frank Sinatra had a ten-year affair. She told Vanity Fair: "Frank and I stayed friends for all those years, and it was just one of those great, comfortable things, where you always desire somebody, but you can live without them."

4. Her 1965 marriage to Burt Bacharach was the second for each of them. Their daughter, Lea Nikki, was born prematurely and later diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome. She committed suicide at age 40. Dickinson and Bacharach divorced in 1981. In a 2019 interview that aired on CBS, she said of Bacharach: "He never loved me, I can tell you that right now, the way one loves. He loved in his own way, which is not too good. And so, he had no respect for me."

5. Howard Hawks cast her in Rio Bravo (1959) after watching her in an episode of Perry Mason ("The Case of the One-Eyed Witness").

Angie as "Feathers" in Rio Bravo.

6. Angie Dickinson returned a $75,000 advance on her planned autobiography in 1989. She said the publisher wanted her to address a rumored affair with President John F. Kennedy. She refused to do it and shelved the book after completing 100 pages. In recent years, she has expressed a renewed interest in writing her life story.

7. During one of her many guest appearances on The Tonight Show, Johnny Carson noted her outfit and asked Angie Dickinson if she dressed for women or for men. She famously quipped: "I dress for women. I undress for men."

The Five Best Western Directors

Stewart in Winchester '73.

1. Anthony Mann - Mann helped define the "Adult Western" of the 1950s with his seminal work Winchester '73. His output included five outstanding Westerns with James Stewart and classics with Gary Cooper (Man of the West) and Henry Fonda (The Tin Star). His heroes were often hard men with a questionable past seeking redemption (e.g., Bend of the River). He painted his tales against a backdrop of an American West in transition, in which budding towns would compete with the cattle empires.

2.  John Ford - Ford was a dominant figure in the Western genre for four decades. He brought prominence to the Western with Stagecoach, paved the way for Adult Westerns with his Cavalry Trilogy, and directed two iconic films late in his career (The Searchers and The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance). Ford's incorporation of Western landscapes (he shot several masterpieces in Monument Valley in Arizona) became his trademark. In fact, a popular lookout was named after him: John Ford Point. I suspect many film fans would have Ford at No. 1.

Eastwood in For a Few Dollars More.

3.  Sergio Leone -With Mann, Ford, and Hawks in the twilight of their careers in the '60s, Italian filmmaker Sergio Leone reinvented the Western genre visually and thematically. His protagonists were morally questionable men who usually did the right thing, even while portraying themselves as profiteers (e.g., Clint Eastwood in For a Few Dollars More). He showed the big towns, but also the decrepit shacks amid the dusty, windswept plains--where a bounty hunter or an outlaw could buy a shot of cheap whiskey. Like Mann and later Peckinpah, Leone was intrigued with the last days of the Old West and the men who didn't want to tame it.

4.  Sam Peckinpah - An uneven director, Peckinpah was at his best when working in the Western genre. While his films also took place in the dying days of the Old West, they focused on the relationships among the characters:  two old friends in Ride the High Country, a band of outlaws in The Wild Bunch; and an unlikely businessman, a prostitute, and a would-be preacher in his masterpiece The Ballad of Cable Hogue. In the former two films, most of the characters are unwilling to adapt to the coming of civilization. However, the hero of Cable Hogue embraces it and finds happiness in doing so (though the ending is bittersweet).

Delmer Daves' The Hanging Tree.

5.  Howard Hawks and Delmer Daves (tie) - A tie may be a bit of a cheat, but it was impossible to omit either of these two from our list. Neither director specialized in Westerns, but they made important contributions to the genre. Hawks' Red River (1948) paved the way for Mann's dark Westerns. His Rio Bravo is one of the most fondly remembered Westerns of the 1950s. And after other Western directors had hung up their spurs, Hawks continued to make Westerns with John Wayne up until 1970. Delmer Daves, another versatile director, dabbled in the Western genre often, his films ranging from intriguing (the Shakespearean Jubal) to unique (Cowboy with Jack Lemmon and Glenn Ford). He secured his place on this list, though, with two beautifully-crafted classics: the thriller-like 3:10 to Yuma and The Hanging Tree, a tale of redemption and love.

Honorable Mentions:  Budd Boetticher, John Sturges, Clint Eastwood, and Henry Hathaway.

A Song Is Born: Fabulous Music But a Waste of Danny Kaye

Danny Kaye as Hobart Frisbee.

A musical remake of Ball of Fire must have been one of the easiest pitches of all time. After all, the original 1941 comedy--penned by Billy Wilder and Charles Brackett--was about a bunch of academics writing an encyclopedia about music. Ball of Fire starred Gary Cooper as a naïve musicologist and Barbara Stanwyck as a brash nightclub singer who shakes up his world. The remake, A Song Is Born substitutes Danny Kaye and Virginia Mayo. It retains the plot, adds songs, and features many of the finest musicians working in the U.S. in 1948. How could it go wrong?

It gets off to a promising start with Professor Hobart Frisbee (Kaye) realizing that music has changed in the seven years that he and his colleagues have sequestered themselves to write their encyclopedia. To gain an appreciation for this "new" music, Frisbee embarks on a tour of New York City nightclubs. This serves as a great excuse for a musical montage featuring Tommy Dorsey, the Golden Gate Quartette, Lionel Hampton, Louis Armstrong, Charlie Barnet, and others.

Virginia Mayo as Honey.

Frisbee also encounters Honey Swanson (Mayo), a pretty singer who needs to find a place to lay low when the police close in on her gangster boyfriend. Honey decides that Frisbee's Totten Music Foundation would be the ideal temporary hideout--never mind that she'd be living with seven intellectual bachelors.

Given the source material, music, and Danny Kaye, I expected A Song Is Born to be much better than a middling musical that smolders without catching fire. Except for the opening jungle chant number, Kaye neither sings nor dances. In his Kaye biography Nobody's Fool, author Martin Gottfried notes that the comedian had temporarily split from his wife Sylvia Fine following his affair with Eve Arden. Fine wrote many of her husband's songs and she refused to be involved with A Song Is Born. As a result, Danny Kaye "did not--he would not--find anyone else to write material for him."

Benny Goodman as a professor.

Without the fabulous music and a fully functional Kaye, the second half of A Song Is Born lumbers along toward its obvious climax. To her credit, Virginia Mayo tries her best to keep the film afloat and occasionally succeeds (as in the "yum-yum" scene).

It was Mayo's fourth film with Danny Kaye, having teamed with him previously in Wonder Man, The Kid From Brooklyn, and The Secret Life of Walter Mitty. She even had a bit part in Kaye's Up in Arms. By the way, Steve Cochran, who played the villain in A Song Is Born, appeared with Mayo six times (including The Best Years of Our Lives and White Heat).

In addition to its plot, A Song Is Born shares other connections with Ball of Fire. Howard Hawks directed both films and Gregg Tolan served as his cinematographer. Mary Field also plays Miss Totten, the benefactor of the music foundation, in both films. Hawks expressed little enthusiasm for A Song Is Born, claiming that he made it only because Sam Goldwyn "pestered" and "annoyed" him into it.

Fortunately for Danny Kaye, his best films--White Christmas and The Court Jester--were still to come. And if A Song Is Born is nothing but a footnote in his long career, it's an still an interesting one that documents some of the great jazz and popular music instrumentalists of its era.

Rio Lobo--Howard Hawks' Sad Farewell

Howard Hawks' last film gets off to a rip-roaring start with a small band of Confederate soldiers hijacking a Union train carrying a gold shipment. Cord McNally (John Wayne), a Yankee colonel, takes off in pursuit of the Rebels, but is quickly captured. Surprisingly, he bonds with two of his captors, Captain Pierre Cordona (Jorge Rivera) and Sergeant Tuscarora Phillips (Christopher Mitchum). McNally escapes easily enough, but the trio meet up again at the end of the Civil War.

McNally harbors no ill feeling toward Cordona and Tuscarora, even though his protege, a young Yankee officer, died during the train robbery. Instead, McNally wants revenge on the Union traitor that tipped off the Rebels about the gold. Cordona and Tuscarora can't provide a name, but agree to contact McNally should they encounter the traitor again.

Scene-stealer Jack Elam shows up late.

It's not long before McNally, Cordona, and Tuscarora meet up for a third time...this time to fight some bad men in the town of Rio Lobo. And you can bet there's going to be some shootin' and some fisticuffs.

Ten of John Wayne's final twelve films were Westerns. These dozen pictures include a couple of gems (True Grit, The Shootist), some moderately entertaining oaters (Big Jake, The Cowboys), and a couple of genuine duds. Unfortunately, Rio Lobo is one of the duds, which is a shame considering it was director Howard Hawks' last film.

Jennifer O'Neill and Jorge Rivera.

The opening train robbery is the film's highlight and it's all downhill from there. The plot lacks interest, the dialogue teeters on risible, and there are two dreadful supporting performances. One of those belongs to Wayne's co-star Jorge Rivera. A major star in Mexico, Rivera never seems comfortable as the kind of young sidekick played effortlessly by James Caan in the earlier Hawks-Wayne Western El Dorado (1967).

It doesn't help that Rivera shares several of his scenes with Jennifer O'Neill. It was the former model's first major film role and she struggles just to speak a line of dialogue naturally. O'Neill's acting challenges led to Hawks' decision to cut her character from the film's ending. She just disappears with about 15 minutes left in the movie. In the book Howard Hawks: Interviews, the director said of Jennifer O'Neill: "She just couldn't take direction of any kind and didn't want to. But she thought she was good, she wanted to do things her way."

Future studio executive Sherry Lansing.

Yet, if Rio Lobo is a depressing final film for its famous director, there are a couple of bright spots. Jerry Goldsmith's rousing music underscores the action nicely. Sherry Lansing, who would later gain fame as a powerful studio executive, exudes charm and sex appeal as a Mexican girl. And, best of all, journalist George Plimpton pops up as a minor bad guy.

Plimpton documented the experience in one of his TV specials. I recommend watching it instead of Rio Lobo--it's a lot more entertaining.

George Plimpton: Acting with The Duke, Swinging on a Trapeze, and Playing Quarterback!

Plimpton and Joe Schmidt.

It’s embarrassing now to admit that I didn’t know much about George Plimpton when I started watching his TV specials at age 14. I knew he had written the nonfiction book Paper Lion, in which he went “undercover” as a rookie quarterback on the Detroit Lions football team. And I knew a 1968 movie had been made from Paper Lion starring Alan Alda as Plimpton. That was pretty much the extent of my knowledge about him when I watched the first of his six TV specials.

The premise of the Plimpton! TV specials was the same one the writer had explored in Paper Lion (and even earlier in his career): How would an average person fare in a “glamorous” profession? His first special premiered on ABC in 1970 and was subtitled “Shoot-out at Rio Lobo.” It traces Plimpton’s experience as an extra (billed as the “4th Gunman”) in the Howard Hawks Western Rio Lobo, which starred John Wayne.

Plimpton with John Wayne.

There’s a lot of humor in this behind-the-scenes documentary of life on a movie set as George spends much of the episode rehearsing his only line of dialogue. As he stands behind Wayne, he points his rifle at a lawman and utters: “This here’s your warrant, mister.” However, when it’s time to shoot the scene, director Howard Hawks walks over to Plimpton and tells him to change the line to: “I got a warrant right here, Sheriff.” The befuddled actor jokes that he spent a week rehearsing his line--but he still manages to speak the new one with appropriate menace. He then reacts convincingly when John Wayne “pops” him in the head with a rifle.

His big scene, though, is supposed to be when John Wayne shoots him. In preparation, Plimpton seeks advice from the stunt men on the set (one of them recommends that he die with his eyes open). However, when the time comes for his death scene, Plimpton is rigged to a harness that will pull him back into the saloon wall. He also learns that Jorge Rivero’s character will kill him instead of Wayne. When Henry fires, Plimpton is jerked back against the wall. It's a great effect—but, alas, leaves George no time for any acting during his “big death scene.”

In the other Plimpton! specials produced by David L. Wolper, George photographs elephants in Africa, tries his hand as a stand-up comic, and drives a race car. My two favorites, though, have George return as a quarterback (this time with the Colts) and train as a trapeze artist. The latter special is a fascinating examination of the strength and agility required to work on the trapeze. Plimpton prepares for weeks to perform what most of us would consider a simple trapeze move--“simple” only in comparison to the amazing feats we see high-wire artists routinely perform with ease.

In “The Great Quarterback Sneak,” Plimpton goes back to the football field. The difference this time is that everyone knows who he is. In Paper Lion, only the coaches knew that Plimpton was a journalist. Plimpton’s one regret from that experience was that the National Football League did not allow him to play in a pre-season game. In his TV special, Plimpton gets the opportunity to get on the field—even if it is during halftime—and run a few plays against his “former” team: the Detroit Lions. I don’t remember how Plimpton fared, but I suspect his success, if any, was modest.

George Plimpton--everyman.

In his obituary on George Plimpton, Bill Curry, who was the Colts center when Plimpton played, recalls some details not in the TV special: “(On) day one, he shocked us by requesting to get into the ‘nutcracker’ drill as a ball carrier. Now, the ‘nutcracker’ is one blocker, one tackler, and one runner. It is the most primitive, violent one-on-one drill in football. Well, when (linebacker) Ray May planted George head first in the dirt on his first carry, the ball went one way and George's right thumb went the other. "Dear Gawd, look at this!" he exclaimed as the injured digit dangled uselessly. We all assumed our little television experiment was over. We did not know George Plimpton. That afternoon, he was back in pads, taking snaps with the other quarterbacks.”

The Plimpton! TV specials are entertaining, insightful, and funny. Yes, it’s amusing to watch an “ordinary guy” try to do the things that only extraordinary people can do. But these shows also serve as a testament to a tough-minded journalist that was willing to take some risks to satisfy his own curiosity—and who was modest enough to share his experiences with the world. George Plimpton didn’t mind if we chuckled at his experiences even if he took them seriously.

Hatari! (Swahili for "Danger"...English for "Howard Hawks on Vacation in Africa")

In Todd McCarthy's Howard Hawks: The Grey Fox of Hollywood, a quote from the famous director describes his 1962 action film Hatari! as: "It's what happens when a bunch of guys get together to hunt...you can't sit in your office and describe what a rhino is going to do." This is true and it's how Hawks rationalized the flimsy plot that comprises Hatari!. 

John Wayne plays Sean Mercer, who heads a "bunch of guys" that capture wild animals in Africa for zoos. Sean's comrades have colorful nicknames like Pockets (Red Buttons), The Indian (Bruce Cabot), and Chips (Gerard Blain). In between roping giraffes, zebras, wildebeests, and--yes--rhinos, the once-burned Sean falls in love with a female photographer (Elsa Martinelli). Meanwhile, the other men begin to notice that their co-worker Brandy (Michele Girardon), who owns Momella Game, Ltd., has grown into an attractive young woman. That's all that happens during the film's running time of two hours and 37 minutes.

Wayne and Martinelli.

Before you totally write off Hatari!, please note that the action scenes are impressive and the cast is charming. It took me awhile to warm up to Elsa Martinelli, but she and Wayne develop a sweet rapport. There's no romantic chemistry between them--he was twice her age when the film was made. In fact, young actresses were cast opposite Wayne in several of his 1960s films: Martha Hyer in The Sons of Katie Elder; Elizabeth Allen in Donovan's Reef; and Charlene Holt in El Dorado. Personally, I always thought the middle-aged Wayne seemed more at ease playing opposite veteran actresses (Rita Hayworth in Circus World, Maureen O'Hara in McLintock!) or as a father figure (True Grit).

Girardon, who committed suicide
in 1975, and Kruger.

Howard Hawks originally intended Hatari! as a serious vehicle starring Clark Gable and John Wayne as hunters vying for the same woman. However, Gable's salary demands were too steep, so the script was rewritten. Hardy Kruger, three years before his terrific performance in Flight of the Phoenix, was cast as Wayne's chum. The part was rewritten so that Kruger and Buttons competed for Girardon's affections (although this subplot inexplicably peters out).

There are several interesting trivia facts regarding the film's production:

• All the animals captured in Africa (in what is now Tanzania) were transported to California for additional scenes. When the movie was finished, the animals were donated to the San Diego Zoo.
• You can spend your vacation at the Hatari Lodge in Tanzania. The lodge used to be Hardy Kruger's farmhouse. The actor fell in love with Africa during the filming of Hatari! and bought a farm with a scenic view of Mount Kilimanjaro.
• Henry Mancini, who composed the film's score, wrote a snippet of music for the baby elephants. The playful tune became known as the "Baby Elephant Walk" and its fame far exceeded the rest of the film's soundtrack.

Finally, Hawks' fans will surely want to see Hatari! despite its limitations. In McCarthy's book, the author points out similarities between Hatari! and the director's other films. Martinelli befriends a leopard named Sonia and rescues an orphaned elephant who becomes her pet; Katharine Hepburn has a pet leopard in the Hawks' Bringing Up Baby. Sean and his friends engage in a dangerous occupation like Hawks' heroes in Ceiling Zero, Only Angels Have Wings, and Rio Bravo.

McCarthy even mentions that the famous French film critic and director Francois Truffaut once described Hatari! as a reflection on the filmmaking process. I think that's a stretch, but, really, who am I to argue with Truffaut?

Rio Bravo: Howard Hawk's "Response" to High Noon

The classic status attributed to Howard Hawks' Rio Bravo (1959) has always puzzled me. While it's a solid, well-done Western, it doesn't rank with the best Westerns of the 1950s (e.g., Shane, The Hanging Tree, 3:10 to Yuma, the Anthony Mann-James Stewart collaborations, etc.). It's also not as good as the movie that allegedly inspired it: High Noon.

Hawks, who disliked High Noon, famously said: "I didn't think a good sheriff was going to go running around town like a chicken with his head off asking for help, and finally his Quaker wife had to save him." Thus, Rio Bravo is often considered to be Hawks' and John Wayne's cinematic response to High Noon.

Dean Martin as Dude.

The plot is simple: Sheriff John T. Chance (Wayne) arrests Joe Burdette when the latter guns down a man in cold blood. Joe's brother, Nathan (John Russell from TV's Lawman) "bottles up" the town and hires a bunch of professional gunfighters to spring Joe from jail. That leaves Chance, his elderly deputy Stumpy (Walter Brennan), and his alcoholic former deputy Dude (Dean Martin) to guard Joe until a marshal arrives in six weeks. One of Chance's friends states it eloquently: "A game-legged old man and a drunk? That's all you got?"

In Hawks' world, though, that's all that Chance wants. Unlike Will Kane (Gary Cooper) in High Noon, Chance doesn't solicit help. It's not the job of married men with families to face hired guns. That's what Chance was hired to do (although he does eventually accept help from a young fast gun played by Ricky Nelson). This exaggerated view of public service lends a little thematic density to an otherwise lightweight plot.

A brown-haired Angie Dickinson.

Leigh Brackett and Jules Furthman, who co-wrote Hawks' The Big Sleep (with William Faulkner), certainly provide a quotable screenplay. After Chance and con woman Feathers (Angie Dickinson) follow up their first kiss with a sequel, she quips: "I'm glad we tried it a second time. It's better when two people do it." Granted, it's a line that seems more appropriate for The Big Sleep than a Western--but it's still entertaining. Indeed, Feathers seems to be a character lifted from a late 1940s film noir, as evidenced by the following exchange in which Chance confronts her with a "wanted" poster:

Feathers: This isn't the first time that handbill has come up. I'd like to know what to do about it.

Chance: Well, you could quit playing cards...wearing feathers.

Feathers: No, sheriff. No, I'm not going to do that. You see...that's what I'd do if I were the kind of girl that you think I am.

Dickinson and Dean Martin stand out in the cast. She hits all the right notes as the sassy Feathers, who keeps missing the stagecoach out of town because she has finally found a man that interests her. Martin has a more difficult role, playing a drunk trying to sober up in the middle of a life-threatening situation. He's quite effective in the film's first half before getting cleaned up a little too quickly for the big climax. As for Wayne and Brennan, they plays roles that each has done at least a half-dozen times.

Ricky Nelson as Colorado.

That brings us to Ricky Nelson, who seems miscast as Colorado, the young gunfighter. Still, he tries hard and it helps that he doesn't have a lot of lines. He does fine in the singing department when he and Dino duet on the memorably-titled "My Rifle, My Pony, and Me" (which Dimitri Tiomkin adapted from his own theme for Red River). Allegedly, Elvis Presley was interested in playing Colorado, but his business manager Colonel Tom Parker nixed the idea.

Director Howard Hawks, who was a master at crafting lean movies, surprisingly lets Rio Bravo drift along at a leisurely 141 minutes. He still musters some exciting action scenes, although his best set piece contains little action and comes at the beginning of the film. Rio Bravo opens with a four-minute scene with no dialogue, but contains plenty of information. We learn that Dean's character is a drunk that will stoop to anything for a drink. We see the murder committed by Joe Burdette that sets the film's plot in motion. And we see that the townsfolk, after witnessing a senseless murder, are too intimidated to do anything about it.

Interestingly, Hawks, Wayne, and screenwriter Brackett teamed up again seven years later for the semi-remake El Dorado. This time around, Wayne is a gunfighter, Robert Mitchum is an alcoholic sheriff, and James Caan is a young gun named Mississippi. It's not as good as Rio Bravo, but, like its predecessor, is a pleasant way to spend a couple of hours.

About John Gilbert...an interview with Leatrice Gilbert Fountain

Today Turner Classic Movies will showcase the films of silent screen star John Gilbert as part of its "Summer Under the Stars" line up. Viewers will have a chance to see eight silents, a mix of Gilbert's most celebrated films and lesser-known gems, as well as six sound pictures, most rarely seen.

If this daylong tribute marks a high point in the resurgence of John Gilbert, it is also a triumph for his daughter, Leatrice Gilbert Fountain, who has worked tirelessly for nearly 40 years to restore her father's reputation.

I spoke with Leatrice after the "Summer Under the Stars" schedule was announced.

"Speechless and surprised," was Leatrice's reaction to the all-day honor, "and it's so satisfying."

Leatrice was born just as her parents, John Gilbert and silent film star Leatrice Joy, were divorcing in the mid-1920s. Raised by her mother (the two are pictured at right), she yearned to know her father. She recalls, "My nurse told my mother that I kept asking when my daddy was coming home." But the marriage was finished and Leatrice had little contact with her illustrious dad.

Time passed, and then came a summer Leatrice and her mother spent in Malibu - where, it turned out, her father was also staying. She had been trying but hadn't managed to run into him yet when one day, as she was rolling in the surf, the victim of a rogue wave, strong hands snatched her from the sea. Leatrice looked up to see that her rescuer was her handsome father.

A while later Leatrice sent him a letter; she asked for his picture and enclosed one of herself. This ignited what Leatrice calls "a brief, intense relationship" that spanned the last year of John Gilbert's life.

"He appeared, we clicked and the future looked bright," she remembers. He was the only adult in her life that didn't talk down to her, he spoke to her as an adult and asked her grown-up questions. "I was a news junkie even then," she says, and her father talked with her about various topics of the day, from President Roosevelt to the repeal of prohibition. In that short period, Leatrice achieved a bond with her father that she didn't have with her mother ("a sweet fluff-head") or stepfather.

"My father lived on a Hollywood hillside in a Spanish-style home near a water tower. In my mind he lived in the tower of a castle at the top of a hill." Gilbert had the aura of a storybook prince for his daughter and when he died suddenly of a heart attack in January 1936 at age 38, Leatrice was devastated. Her longed-for connection with him had completely engaged her and then he was gone - "I felt a great emptiness...I don't think I ever got over the loss."

As years passed, John Gilbert, a top MGM star at the height of the silent era, was reduced to a Hollywood footnote. What most people knew about him, if they knew anything, were oft-repeated (and reprinted) tales of an inadequate voice that didn't translate to sound, a broken romance with Greta Garbo, questionable acting ability and a drinking problem that killed him.

At the time of his death Gilbert's great silent pictures were no longer shown and his career was in flux, so Leatrice grew up not knowing enough about her father's life or career to actively dispute the mythology that had become accepted as truth.

By the early 1970s, Leatrice was a married woman with five children living on the East Coast. Though she didn't know it at the time, she was about to embark on one of her life's missions, the restoration of her father's name. New York's Museum of Modern Art invited her to a screening of one of John Gilbert's signature silent films, Erich von Stroheim's The Merry Widow (1925). Watching the film for the first time, Leatrice experienced a jolt; she realized her father was not simply a handsome face, but a gifted actor. She recalls, "A young fan came up to me and commented on the "wonderful film" and said he wanted to write a book about John Gilbert. It then became my cause...I knew I wanted to be the one to write the book."

Once committed, Leatrice began to seek out her father's other films. She traveled to Eastman House in Rochester, NY, where she told fabled film curator James Card, "I don't know anything about my father's work," and Mr. Card eagerly replied, "Come with me and I'll show you..." Between Eastman House, MOMA and the Library of Congress, she saw all of John Gilbert's available films.

Leatrice was a busy wife and mother when she began her research and so she worked "in bursts" over several years. In the course of her work she met with many people who knew or worked with her father. Today Leatrice looks back and realizes she began her undertaking in the nick of time; most of the people she interviewed were soon gone. She met with cameramen and other technicians, she met with directors like Clarence Brown, John Ford, Howard Hawks and King Vidor, and she met with stars like Joan Crawford, Marlene Dietrich, Lillian Gish and Norma Shearer.

According to Leatrice, some remembered John Gilbert from before he was a star, when he was affectionately looked upon as "an adopted kid on the MGM lot." All responded warmly to her and Leatrice discovered that they all had liked her father and respected his work. She stayed with King Vidor's daughter and was able to spend days talking with the man who had directed her father in two of his best silent films, The Big Parade (1925) and Bardelys the Magnificent (1926). Clarence Brown, who directed Gilbert and Garbo in Flesh and the Devil (1926), generously spent an entire afternoon with Leatrice sharing his memories.

Norma Shearer, whom Leatrice believes may have once had a fling with Gilbert, told her of his passing, "Some of the tears I shed while making Romeo and Juliet were for your father."

The transformation in industry and public perception of John Gilbert came slowly, but Leatrice recalls a moment when she knew attitudes were shifting. In the early '80s she was invited by esteemed silent film historian/author/documentary filmmaker Kevin Brownlow (co-producer of the distinguished Hollywood series for Thames Television) to introduce a screening of Flesh and the Devil in London. She remembers enthusiastic crowds of young and old lined up to see the film and that, "New writers and reviewers watched without bias and wrote about what they saw on the screen."

In 1985 St. Martin's Press published Dark Star: The Untold Story of the Meteoric Rise and Fall of the Legendary John Gilbert, Leatrice's biography of her father, written with John Maxim. Filled with Leatrice's detailed research, the book not only recounted the story of John Gilbert's life but also went a long way to set the record straight on the rumors about him.

Perhaps the most virulent myth debunked is the story that John Gilbert's "high voice" had caused the collapse of his career. Gilbert's first talking feature, a film Leatrice describes as "a romantic comedy that was mistaken by audiences and critics for a straight romance," was a resounding flop. The dialogue was laughable and laughed at. But some said it was Gilbert's voice that caused the tittering. The voice theory was not the consensus at the time but it was the story that stuck over time. Leatrice calls her father's voice "a light baritone similar to Douglas Fairbanks, Jr.'s." Ultimately, a combination of factors plagued Gilbert's transition to sound: his disastrous relationship with MGM kingpin Louis B. Mayer, the quality of the early talkies to which he was assigned and, perhaps, a change in audience tastes from Victorian-era morality to pre-Code realism.

In her book Leatrice pointed out that John Gilbert continued to receive film offers till the end of his life. Marlene Dietrich, his final love, had persuaded him to co-star with her in Desire (1936), but he was forced to drop out after he suffered one in a series of three heart attacks, the last of which killed him. Leatrice is firm that, though her father did drink to excess, "he did not drink himself to death."

Regarding Gilbert's storied romance and rumored near-wedding with Greta Garbo, Leatrice comments,"I don't think she ever had any intention of marrying him."

Dark Star was a great success and Leatrice traveled the talk show circuit, spoke to college audiences, appeared at silent film events and gave countless interviews. She still gives an occasional interview and has continued to frequent silent film festivals and screenings around the world, introducing her father's pictures and taking part in panel discussions. Her "swan song" on the road, she told me, might have been last year's annual Pordenone Silent Film Festival in Italy, the largest silent film festival in the world. At this writing, though, Leatrice is beginning to change her mind...she just might go to Pordenone again this year...I hope so.

She muses, "In his lifetime, my father did not believe his film work would last or be remembered and he said as much to his close friends."

Leatrice Gilbert Fountain's passionate campaign to restore her father's reputation has succeeded beyond anything she might once have imagined. Today she is happy to report that her children are able to "bask in the reflected glory of their grandfather." Like their mother, they attend screenings and introduce his films to new generations of appreciative fans.

John Gilbert on TCM, Aug. 24
(Times shown = Eastern/Pacific)

The Busher (1919) - silent with Colleen Moore - 6am/3am
He Who Gets Slapped (1924) - silent with Lon Chaney and Norma Shearer - 7am/4am
The Merry Widow (1925) - the silent film that made Gilbert a star - 8:30am/5:30am
The Show (1927) - silent directed by Tod Browning - 11am/8am
Desert Nights (1929) - Gilbert's last silent - 12:30pm/9:30am
Way for a Sailor (1930) - with Wallace Beery - 1:45pm/10:45am
Gentleman's Fate (1931) - directed by Mervyn LeRoy - 3:15pm/12:15pm
The Phantom of Paris (1931) - Gilbert took the title role followng Lon Chaney's death - 5pm/2pm
Downstairs (1932) - "a dark little masterpiece" - 6:30pm/3:30pmThe Big Parade (1925) - silent classic, perhaps Gilbert's best film - 8pm/5pm
Bardeleys the Magnificent (1926) - swashbuckling silent classic - 10:15pm/7:15pm
Flesh and the Devil (1926) - silent classic with Garbo - 12am/9pm
Queen Christina (1933) - Garbo and Gilbert's classic sound film - 2am/11pm
The Captain Hates the Sea (1934) - Gilbert's last film, with Victor McLaglen - 4am/1am

31 Days of Halloween: Boil it, bake it, stew it, fry it? It's hard to destroy The Thing!

One of my favorite science fiction movies is the 1951 version of The Thing from Another World. Even though it was made long ago, it remains an excellent, scary movie. Although Christian Nyby gets the sole directing credit on the screen, most critics agree that producer Howard Hawks helmed much of the film. The screenplay is loosely based on the short story “Who Goes There?” written by John W. Campbell in 1938. John Carpenter’s 1982 remake of this story is a more faithful adaptation, because the alien in Campbell’s story is a shape shifter. In Hawk’s 1951 film, the alien is a more traditional monster.

The movie stars Kenneth Tobey, Margaret Sheridan, Douglas Spencer and Robert O. Cornthwaite, and James Arness as The Thing. I love this movie and watch it several times a year. The main reason I like this version is because the plot is simple and moves quickly, the characters are likable people, and the dialogue is witty and flows naturally. The characters are like old friends and are comfortable with each other; they don’t skip a beat when talking to one another.

Set in Alaska, the film opens with Air Force Captain Hendry and his men being sent to a remote Arctic research station to check on a group of scientists who claim a mysterious aircraft has crashed landed near their research facility. Captain Hendry (Tobey) allows a newspaper reporter to accompany them in the airplane along with sled dogs and other equipment.

Once there, Hendry quickly assesses the situation and discovers that the unknown aircraft has melted into the ice and refrozen. My favorite scene is when the scientists and Hendry’s men determine the shape of the craft. They each walk out to the rim of the craft and hold out their hands. Immediately, they realize they have found a round flying saucer. They all agree the best way to melt the ice to get to the craft is by using thermite heat explosives. However, they accidently blow up the spacecraft. Crew chief Bob, played by Dewey Martin, discovers the body of the alien frozen in the ice. (Interestingly, this icy-set scene was filmed at the RKO ranch in the San Fernando Valley in 100-degree heat.)

Dr. Carrington (Cornthwaite) is the film’s “mad scientist.” He tries to grow some “baby Things” using an arm torn by a sled dog who attacked the creature. He even uses human blood plasma to feed the seedlings, ignoring the possibility that he’s creating a race of Things that will consume the Earth’s population for food. But Carrington cannot help himself—his quest for knowledge about the unknown drives him to do these things. He does not want The Thing destroyed, so he pleads with Hendry: “We have only one excuse for existing, to think, to find out, to learn what is unknown.” A second later, one of Henry’s men quips: “We haven’t a chance to learn anything from that Martian, except a quicker way to die.” This theme of science vs. military became a staple of 1950s science fiction films (even in The Day the Earth Stand Still, Klaatu is shot by an Army soldier and later seeks out men of science because no one else will listen to his message).

Crew chief Bob is the most creative of the characters. He comes up with all the effective ideas not only to kill the Thing, but how to keep it at bay. His ideas save everyone! When they learn the monstrous alien is more vegetable than human, Scotty asks: “Here’s the sixty-four million dollar question, what you do with a vegetable?” Nikki quickly replies, “Boil it, bake it, stew it, fry it?” Bob says they have plenty of kerosene, so why not try to burn it? This is what I mean by natural dialogue that flows quickly between the characters.

You won’t find out the fate of the Thing in this review. Just watch the film and enjoy the screenplay and likable, interesting characters. The most famous quote comes at the end when Scotty warns people everywhere to “watch the skies.”

There is a colorized version of The Thing From Another World on video. My father recorded the film from television for me many years ago and I still have it. My husband got me the DVD for Christmas last year. That fact alone tells you how much I love this movie.