Walt Disney's Live-Action Robin Hood

Richard Todd as Robin.

The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938) is one of the greatest films ever made--with its perfectly-cast characters, vivid color, fabulous sets, and iconic scenes (e.g., the archery contest, the climatic swordfight). Thus, it's surprising that Walt Disney chose to mount his own version of the Robin Hood legend just fourteen years later. And yet, what's even more surprising is that The Story of Robin Hood and His Merrie Men (1952) is a lively, diverting yarn with its own charms. To be sure, it will always be overshadowed by the Warner Bros. classic, but it still stands proudly on its own.

Joan Rice as Marian.

In this version, Robin (Richard Todd) and Marian (Joan Rice) are childhood sweethearts who are separated when King Richard leaves to fight in the Crusades. Marian is placed under the protection of the Queen Mother in London, while Robin and his father remain in Nottingham. When Robin's father refuses to support greedy Prince John and his handpicked sheriff (Peter Finch), he is murdered and his son becomes an outlaw. Robin soon forms his band of merry men, who live in the forest and rob from the rich noblemen and give the spoils to their overtaxed countrymen.

There are the requisite encounters with Little John (James Robertson Justice) and Friar Tuck (James Hayter) before Marian returns in time to get imprisoned by Prince John. That development, plus a scheme to steal King Richard's ransom money, sets up the climax in this fast-paced, 84-minute adventure.

Peter Finch as the sheriff.

The British cast impresses from top to bottom, with Richard Todd making a likable hero, Joan Rice sparkling as a sweet Marian, and an almost unrecognizable Peter Finch as Robin's worthy adversary. It's too bad the big duel between Robin and the Sheriff of Nottingham seems like an afterthought (though the latter's demise is memorably gruesome, especially for a Disney film). 

The same applies to the scenes with James Hayter as Friar Tuck and James Robertson Justice as Little John. The latter made a career out of playing bigger-than-life characters in films such as Doctor in the House, but he has little (pun intended) to do here. On the other hand, musician Elton Hayes gets some choice scenes as traveling minstrel Alan-a-Dale. One almost wonders if he was Danny Kaye's inspiration for his Giacomo in The Court Jester.

The Story of Robin Hood and His Merrie Men was just Disney's second live-action film, following 1950's Treasure Island. Like that film, the production values are high, with scenes shot in the real Sherwood Forest blending effectively with set pieces filmed in Pinewood Studios. Really, though, Disney should restore some of its early live-action movies, as the once vibrant colors have faded on the even best quality prints.

Richard Todd appeared in two additional Disney pictures the following year: The Sword and the Rose and Rob Roy, The Highland Rogue. Both are fine escapist fare and co-star Justice and the always enchanting Glynis Johns. Nevertheless, they lack the strong narrative that comes with the Robin Hood legend. There's just something about watching the men and women of Sherwood Forest performing their derring-do.

Two Disney Rareties: Rob Roy and Emil

Richard Todd as Rob Roy.

Richard Todd made three British-filmed historical adventures for Walt Disney in the 1950s: The Story of Robin Hood and His Merrie Men (!952); The Sword and the Rose (1953); and Rob Roy: The Highland Rogue (1953). James Robertson Justice co-starred in all three and Glynis Johns, one of my favorite actresses, appeared in the last two. Our subject today, Rob Roy: The Highland Rogue, was loosely based on the life of Scottish folk hero Robert Roy MacGregor.

It opens with Rob Roy (Todd) leading an attack in the Highlands against the much larger army of King George I. Taken prisoner by the sympathetic Duke of Argyll (Justice), Rob Roy later escapes with the help of his comrades--and his mother. He marries his sweetheart Helen Mary (Johns), but is arrested again on his wedding night.

Glynis Johns as Helen Mary.

Having replaced Argyll, the despicable Duke of Montrose (Michael Gough) promises amnesty to all the Scotsmen except for the MacGregors. But if Montrose thinks he can keep Rob Roy as a prisoner, he is mistaken....

Colorful and passionate, Rob Roy is a likable tale of derring-do. Todd, in full beard, and Johns make an appealing pair and there are plenty of fights for action fans. Except for Kidnapped and The Fighting Prince of Donegal, Disney moved away from these costume pictures--and it's really a shame. Incidentally, the soldiers depicted in the film--to include the sweeping opening scene--were real-life Scottish warriors who had returned home from the Korean War.

Made just over a decade later, Emil and the Detectives (1964) is a more traditional Walt Disney family film. It's based on a 1929 children's novel by Erich Kästner. Bryan Russell stars as Emil (we're shown it's pronounced a-mill), who sets off by bus to visit his aunt in Berlin. During the trip, a pickpocket steals an envelope of money intended for Emil's aunt. When Emil realizes the money has been stolen, he's too embarrassed to report the crime.

Gustav advises the younger Emil.

Fortunately, he runs into Gustav, an industrious lad of many professions--one of which turns out to be detective work.With Emil as a client, Gustav and his operatives track the pickpocket to a hotel where he meets with two other criminals--whom the boys call "the Skrinks." They quickly learn that the Skrinks are up to no good, but just what is it?

Two of the three Skrinks.

Released after Mary Poppins, Emil and the Detectives is an unusual Disney film in that it features a no-name cast (except for villain Walter Slezak). It did, however, play a major part in turning young Roger Mobley into a TV star. As the charismatic Gustav, Mobley is easily the most talented of the young cast in Emil and Walt Disney took notice. One year later, he cast Mobley in the lead role in "The Adventures of Gallegher," which aired on The Wonderful World of Color. This two-part mystery about an aspiring teenage newspaper reporter in the Old West was immensely popular and generated several sequels.

As for Emil and the Detectives, it's an enjoyable outing with some unexpected quirky touches. Slezak has a grand time as a cultured criminal who stops to have caviar and wine in the middle of executing a crime. The young actors acquit themselves well, too, especially Cindy Cassell as Emil's cousin Pony, who publishes her own column and wants a scoop in return for her silence.

Emil and the Detectives was not a hit and faded into obscurity quickly, although it was serialized in 1977 on The Mickey Mouse Club under the title The Three Skrinks.

Kästner's novel has been filmed multiple times. Many critics consider the 1931 German version, written by Billy Wilder, to be the best adaptation. Alas, I have not seen it.

Chase a Crooked Shadow--An Absence of Brotherly Love

Anne Baxter as heiress Kim Prescott.

After a late night engagement, diamond heiress Kimberly Prescott (Anne Baxter) returns to her Spanish villa to be greeted by her brother Ward. Kimberly is stunned...you see, Ward died in a car accident and Kim identified his corpse. Despite her adamant protests, the alleged brother (Richard Todd) won't leave.

When Kim calls the local police inspector (Herbert Lom), Ward calmly provides a passport to prove his identity. Even more compelling, though, is that the photo of Ward in Kim's bedroom is the spitting image of the man claiming to be her sibling.

The next day, Kim awakes to find that Ward is still there. He has been joined by a female friend and a butler, having sent Kim's maid on vacation. What does this impostor want? Could he really be Kim's brother? Is she losing her mind?

Richard Todd...as her brother?

Released in 1958, Chase a Crooked Shadow reminded me very much of the British suspense pictures written by Jimmy Sangster for Hammer Films. Structurally, these films (best represented by 1961's Taste of Fear) build tension slowly before climaxing in an effective twist. In the case of Chase a Crooked Shadow, it's a nice twist but the film tips its hand a little with its opening scene. Producer Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. appears just before the final credits to ask viewers not to reveal the film's ending to those who haven't seen it yet.

Anne Baxter, looking smashing in costumes designed by Anthony Mendleson, creates a believable, increasingly perplexed protagonist. As the source of her problems, Richard Todd once again proves his adeptness at playing both heroes and villains (though I'll refrain from saying which one he is in this film!). Todd is one of those actors I didn't fully appreciate until later in my "movie-watching career." (Interestingly, David Niven was once announced as one of the leads, presumably playing Todd's role.)

Capitalizing on its Spanish seaside setting, Chase a Crooked Shadow is an engrossing, well-acted suspense drama that doesn't bear close scrutiny. I rather enjoyed it.

Walt Disney's The Sword and the Rose

Mary Tudor, the younger sister of England's King Henry VIII, gets the Disney treatment in 1953's The Sword and the Rose. Glynis Johns stars as the spunky Princess Mary, who falls in love with Charles Brandon (Richard Todd), the dashing captain of the palace guards. When her romance with Brandon threatens the King's plan to marry her off to King Louis XII of France, Mary runs away to join Brandon on a voyage to America. Unfortunately, the young lovers are captured and a displeased Henry VIII accuses Brandon of high treason and imprisons him in the Tower of London. As Brandon awaits his execution, Mary must decide how to save the man she loves.

Richard Todd as Charles Brandon.

The Sword and the Rose was one of four Disney costume adventures produced in Great Britain in the 1950s. The others were Disney's first all live-action film Treasure Island (1950), The Story of Robin Hood and His Merrie Men (1952), and Rob Roy, the Highland Rogue (1953). The latter two films also starred The Sword and the Rose's Richard Todd and James Robertson Justice, while Glynis Johns reunited with her co-stars for Rob Roy. Walt Disney's decision to shoot the films in Great Britain was a financial one. British treasury restrictions prevented him from moving profits from his cartoons to the U.S. He used those funds to establish a British studio that produced live action films through the 1960s.

Johns "disguised" as a boy.

The Sword and the Rose's strongest virtue is its first-rate British cast. Johns is delightful as the mischievous Princess Mary, who knows just how to manipulate her royal brother to get what she wants. She also looks fetching when dressed as Brandon's page. Indeed, her performance and appearance in The Sword and the Rose surely led to her casting as another spunky heroine opposite Danny Kaye in 1955's comedy classic The Court Jester. As for Todd and Justice, they are well-suited to the kind of roles that made them famous: Todd as the swashbuckling hero and Justice as a blustery, but good-hearted, father figure. Michael Gough is also on hand as the de facto villain, a nobleman who wants to be more than friends with the lovely princess.

Robertson as King Henry VIII.

However, despite its acting pedigree, The Sword and the Rose lacks the flair of the decade's best swashbucklers. Until the climax, there's much more rose (an emphasis on Mary and Brandon's romance) than sword (any kind of derring do). Granted, the plot is partially constrained by historical events--though even there, The Sword and the Rose takes liberties. In real life, Brandon was a duke and not the captain of the palace guards; he had already been married two previous times and had two daughters. Plus, Michael Gough's Duke of Buckingham had no interest in Mary. 

The screenplay was based on Charles Major's 1898 novel When Knighthood Was in Flower and filmed previously in 1922 with Marion Davies as Mary Tudor. The Sword and the Rose was retitled When Knighthood Was in Flower when it was broadcast in 1956 in two parts on the Disneyland TV series (later known as Walt Disney Presents and other titles).

Richard Todd Owns "The Hasty Heart"

As World War II comes to an end in Burma in 1945, Lachlan McLachlan (Richard Todd), a Scottish corporal, steps on a land mine. Amazingly, except for the loss of one kidney, his injuries appear to be superficial. The reality, though, is that McLachlan's other kidney is "defective" and that he will die from renal failure in a few weeks. Knowing that the Scotsman has no family nor close friends, the field hospital's commander decides not to tell McLachlan about his impending death. Instead, he places the young man in a ward so he can "be content" during his final days.

Patricia Neal and Richard Todd.

The ward's compassionate nurse, Sister Margaret (Patricia Neal), and the other five patients know the truth. They try to befriend McLachlan--whom they quickly nickname Lachie--but their attempts are rebuffed. The hot-headed, self-sufficient Lachie doesn't make friends freely by his own admission. His first act in the ward is to move his bed away from the other patients. He meets each attempt at civil conversation with a curt, guarded reply. Fortunately, Sister Margaret doesn't give up easily and she eventually finds a way to reach the stubborn Scotsman.

Based on John Patrick's 1945 stage play, The Hasty Heart is a heart-lifting tale rather than a sad one. Patrick wisely avoids a death scene and its aftermath because, after all, that's not the point of his drama. It's a story about love and friendship and knowing that, however briefly we may cherish one another, it's worthwhile to let them into one's heart. (The film's title is derived from a Scottish proverb that states: "Sorrow is born in the hasty heart.") The film's biggest challenge is its premise. The decision not to tell Lachie his fate is questionable at best. Doesn't a soldier deserve to know if he's dying and be given the choice to make his own decisions during what little time remains?

Director Vincent Sherman makes no attempt to hide the film's stage origins. Most of the scenes take place in the ward's tent or in the area around it. His focus is clearly on the script and the performances. Fortunately, the performers are up to the increased scrutiny.

Ronald Reagan and Todd.

Richard Todd gives a brilliant performance as the proud Scot who gradually opens up and then overflows with the joy of friendship and perhaps even love. Richard Basehart, one of my favorite actors, created the role on Broadway and I'm sure he was very good. Gordon Jackson (Hudson on Upstairs, Downstairs) was considered for the film and, again, I think he would have done it justice. But frankly, I can't imagine anyone being better than Richard Todd, who rightfully earned an Oscar nomination for Best Actor (losing to Broderick Crawford in All the King's Men). It's hard to pick Todd's best scene as Lachie. While his marriage proposal is wonderfully awkward, my choice is probably the scene where the other patients celebrate his birthday--an event that the solitary Lachie has forgotten.

The rest of the cast gives effective supporting performances (though both Patricia Neal and Ronald Reagan are billed above Todd). However, it's clearly Todd's picture and your feelings toward the film will likely hinge on whether you embrace his portrayal of Lachie.

Patrick's play has been adapted several times for television. The most notable productions appeared in 1958 and 1983. The former version appeared on the Dupont Show of the Month starring Don Murray as Lachie and Barbara Bel Geddes as Sister Margaret. The 1983 made-for-television film featured Gregory Harrison and Cheryl Ladd in these roles. Perry King earned a Golden Globe nomination for the Ronald Reagan character.

Stage Fright: Hitchcock, Lovely Ducks, and a Controversial Flashback

Spoiler Alert:  The following review reveals the film's ending.

As the film that preceded Hitchcock's "comeback" classic Strangers on a Train, Stage Fright (1950) is typically glossed over in the famed director's filmography. While it's true that it doesn't rank with his masterpieces (e.g., Vertigo, Rear Window), Stage Fright has much to offer: a clever opening, a playful homage to acting, a pair of delightfully quirky supporting performances, and--of course--that infamous flashback.

The proceedings get off to a fast start when two people in a convertible exchange the following dialogue as the car whisks through the streets of London:

EVE: Any sign of the the police?

JONNY (looking over his shoulder): It looks like we're getting away with it.

EVE: Good.

Jonny enters the apartment--the start of
a memorable, single-take tracking shot.

It quickly becomes apparent that Jonny (Richard Todd) is in trouble and has turned to Eve (Jane Wyman) for help. When probed by Eve, he explains that his lover Charlotte Inwood (Marlene Dietrich), a famous stage actress, came to him after murdering her husband following a quarrel. Charlotte needs Jonny to destroy her bloodstained dress and fetch a new one from her flat. Jonny does more than that--he restages the crime scene but is spotted by a maid and transitions from accomplice to suspected murderer.

Eve, who believes she's in love with Jonny, deposits the wanted man with her oddball father (Alastair Sim). She also becomes determined to prove Jonny's innocence. After a chance meeting with Charlotte's dresser, Eve hatches a risky scheme to go undercover and collect the evidence that will clear Jonny.

The twist in Stage Fright is that Jonny is not Hitchcock's typical innocent-man-on-the-run. Indeed, Jonny murdered Charlotte's husband and everything he told Eve at the start of the film--shown to the viewer via a flashback--was a lie. This revelation slips out as Eve and Jonny hide from the police in an opulent theatre at the film's climax. In a matter of seconds, Jonny evolves from hero to villain.

Jonny reveals the truth in
the theater.

Much has been written about the "lying flashback," chiefly that it doesn't play fair with the audience--a view postulated by Francois Truffaut in his book of Hitchcock interviews. However, this contention assumes that everything we see in a film is the "truth" as presented by the filmmakers. Hitchcock makes it clear that we are hearing and seeing Jonny's version of the events. It's not dissimilar from the various versions of the truth recounted (also in flashback) by the different characters in Akira Kurosawa's Rashomon. The key difference is that Jonny is an actor and he casts himself in the role of the framed innocent man--a part he plays not only in the flashback, but also in his post-murder dealings with Eve.

Alastair Sim, as Eve's father, paying
off blackmailer Kay Walsh.

Acting and the theater are a recurring motif in many Hitchcock films:  Judy played the role of Madeleine in Vertigo; Uncle Charlie was just a character masking a serial murderer in Shadow of a Doubt; and the mini-plays in Rear Windows were framed by windows, an analogy to the confines of a theatrical stage. However, Stage Fright trumps them all in the number of characters playing parts. In addition to Jonny playing the innocent man, Eve assumes the roles of newspaper reporter and Charlotte's dresser. Since deception is acting, too, Eve's father gets in the act by lying about Jonny to Eve's mother. The theater motif is emphasized too strongly perhaps, with opening credits against a stage curtain and a backdrop that crushes Jonny at the climax.

One imagines that Hitchcock was drawn to the source material because it stands one of his favorite themes on its head. Quick, how many Hitchcock films can you name about men wrongly accused of a crime who set out to prove their innocence and/or stop the bad guys with the aid of a strong woman? It's dominated his career from Young and Innocent to The 39 Steps to Saboteur, North By Northwest, and others. But in Stage Fright, the innocent man really is a killer--a point that must have amused Hitchcock.

Marlene singing: "My poor heart is
aching to bring home the bacon..."

In Truffaut's interview with Hitchcock, the Master of Suspense maintains that the two great flaws in Stage Fright are that the villain is weak and the characters are never in any tangible danger. I disagree with the villain being weak--when Jonny finally reveals his true self to Eve, he becomes an acceptable villain. I maintain that the problems are that: (1) Jonny is a minor character who disappears from the film for long stretches; (2) since Jonny is role-playing a good guy, there is no villain until the climax. And, as a standard mystery, Stage Fright puts forth few legitimate suspects: Charlotte, Jonny, Charlotte's manager, or the dresser Nellie (with the latter two in very little of the picture).

Joan Grenfell promoting the chance to
to shoot "lovely ducks."

While the principals in Stage Fright carry the load admirably (especially a charming Michael Wilding), two marvelous character actors almost steal it. Alastair Sim injects the film with some much-needed dry humor ("What sort of father are you?" asks a police inspector. The reply: "Unique.") Yet, even he is upstaged in a delightful scene with Joyce Grenfell manning a fund-raising booth for an orphanage at a garden party ("Half a crown to shoot a lovely duck!)". These two veteran British comedians play off each other brilliantly, providing the perfect levity for the classic Hitchcock scene that follows them: a young child carrying a bloodied doll through the crowd as Charlotte performs on a stage.

While the entertainment value is high in most Hitchcock films, I have a soft spot for the lighthearted ones that seem to show the director in a playful mood (this one, To Catch a Thief, and I'm slowly turning the corner on The Trouble With Harry). That's one of the reasons why I find Stage Fright methodically moving up my list of favorite Hitchcock films with each viewing.