The V.I.P.s and The Fog

Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton.

The V.I.P.s (1963).  A fogged-in London airport provides the setting—and serves as the catalyst—in playwright Terence Rattigan’s The V.I.P.s. This collage of mini-dramas shares the same structure as films such as Grand Hotel and Rattigan’s own Separate Tables. The principal characters include: an emotionally-withdrawn tycoon (Richard Burton); his ignored wife (Elizabeth Taylor), who plans to leave him; her lover (Louis Jourdan); a businessman (Rod Taylor) fighting a hostile takeover of his company; his secretary (Maggie Smith) who secretly loves him; an elderly, financially-strapped dowager (Margaret Rutherford); and a blustery filmmaker (Orson Welles), who stands to pay a hefty tax bill if he can’t leave the country by midnight. As expected, some subplots are engrossing (Rod Taylor’s dilemma), while others are filler (the plight of Welles’ filmmaker). The standout performances come from Richard Burton and Maggie Smith. Burton’s initially one-dimensional character gains depth as the film progresses, while Maggie Smith shines brightly from start to finish. A scene between Burton and Smith toward the end is a master class in acting. Dame Margaret Rutherford won a Best Supporting Actress Oscar as the befuddled dowager. She’s good, delivering a more reserved portrayal than usual. However, I would have given that award to the luminous Maggie Smith. 

Adrienne Barbeau in the lighthouse.

The Fog (1980). In his theatrical follow-up to Halloween (1978), John Carpenter opts to create a different kind of horror film with a supernatural tale set in an atmospheric Northern California coastal community. The premise is set up with a nifty recounting of a local story in which a clipper ship’s crew of six died in a crash against the rocks after mistaking a campfire for the lighthouse on a foggy night. A hundred year later, as Antonio Bay prepares to celebrate its centennial, a glowing fog engulfs the town—and brings forth the vengeful ghosts of the ship’s crew. But why are the murderous spirits seeking the lives of six town residents? The answer is somewhat interesting, but therein lies the problem with The Fog. It’s a middle-of-the-road effort that rarely lives up to its potential. The ghosts aren’t frightening, the characters lack interest, and Carpenter fails to generate adequate suspense (a surprise coming on the heels of his superbly-crafted Halloween). The cast—which includes real-life mother and daughter Janet Leigh and Jamie Lee Curtis—is game, but just doesn’t have enough quality material. One suspects Carpenter recognized these flaws as he shot additional footage after viewing the rough cut. The director certainly rebounded, with his next two movies, Escape from New York (1981) and The Thing (1982), ranking among his best.

The Birds--A Matter of Misdirection

Alfred Hitchcock’s most divisive thriller finds the Master of Suspense in magician mode. On the surface, The Birds is a traditionally-structured horror film, in which the bird attacks build progressively to three of Hitchcock’s most intense sequences. However, this is just Hitchcock performing a little playful sleight of hand with the audience. Our feathered friends play a strictly peripheral part in moving the plot along. In actuality, The Birds is a relationship movie about another memorable Hitchcock mother, her adult son, and the women who threaten to come between the two—a theme explored by Hitchcock earlier in Notorious and Psycho.

In The Birds, the son is the bland, but likable, Mitch Brenner (Rod Taylor). Mitch’s mother (wonderfully played by Jessica Tandy) fears losing her son to another woman—not because of jealousy, but because she can’t stand the thought of being abandoned. Young socialite Melanie Daniels (Tippi Hedren) views Mitch as a stable love interest, something she needs as she strives to live a more meaningful life. And Annie Hayworth (Suzanne Pleshette) is the spinster schoolteacher, willing to waste her life to be near Mitch after failing to pry him from his mother.

Mitch's mother places herself between the lovebirds,
turning her back to ignore Melanie.

These characters come together when Melanie follows Mitch to his home in Bodega Bay after a flirtatious exchange in a pet store. Melanie’s arrival coincides with the beginning of the bird attacks. It’s almost as if the birds arrive to prevent any potential love between Mitch and Melanie, perhaps an extension of Mitch’s mother’s anger at having to defeat another rival for her son’s love. (Taken to the extreme, there could a parallel between the birds and the creature created by Morbius in Forbidden Planet).

However, although the birds initially come between Mitch and Melanie, they eventually have a very different impact. They allow Melanie, who first appears spoiled and shallow, to show her courage and vulnerability. In the end, Mitch’s mother no longer sees Melanie as a threat, but as a woman worthy of her son. Once the friction between those two characters is resolved, the bird attacks stop and the movie ends. Hitchcock’s conclusion—often criticized as ambiguous—is perfectly logical.

Hitchcock goes to great lengths to misdirect his audience by disguising The Birds as a conventional thriller. Always concerned with audience expectations, the Master of Suspense told French director/film critic Francois Truffaut in Hitchcock, a brilliant collection of interviews: “I didn’t want the public to become too impatient about the birds, because that would distract them from the personal story….” For that reason, the first bird attack comes at twenty-five minutes into the film and occurs toward the end of a playful scene in which Melanie races her boat while Mitch drives along the lake road trying to beat her to the dock.


Mitch, with all the women in his life, looks
concerned after the birthday party bird attack.

From that point on, the birds become progres-sively more menacing and their appear-ances more frequent: Mitch sees them on the power lines after Melanie visits for dinner; a bird crashes into Annie’s front door and dies; birds swoop down to break up a children’s birthday party; they fly through the open flue into Mitch’s house; and Mitch’s mother finds the first human victim in a farmhouse. (I love how Hitchcock uses broken teacups in this scene to foreshadow the impending horror. Earlier, he shows Mitch’s mom picking up broken teacups after the birds-in-the-flue incident. Then, when she visits the apparently empty farmhouse, she sees broken teacups hanging on their hooks—just before discovering the bloody, eyeless body.)

Melanie trapped in the phone booth, a metaphor for
her previously sheltered, empty life.

The remainder of the film consists of the three major set pieces: the bird attack outside the school-house; the attack after the gas station blows up; and Melanie’s struggle with the birds in the attic. Again, following the classic horror film structure, Hitchcock separates each sequence with a transition scene that allows the audience to relax and catch its breath. The scene in the restaurant with the ornithologist is one of Hitch’s rare missteps in The Birds; as Truffaut points out, it goes on too long without contributing to the narrative structure. I won’t dissect the birds’ attack on the school children—it’s an iconic sequence—but I strongly recommend that Hitchcock fans seek out Dan Auiler’s Hitchcock’s Notebooks, which includes the director’s hand-drawn storyboard and notes.

Though less famous, the burning gas station sequence is no less impressive. In the midst of the terrifying chaos, Hitchcock shows Melanie protected—and trapped—inside a phone booth. This “glass cage” is a marvelous metaphor for her previously sheltered life (also symbolized by the lovebirds in the birdcage) from which she is rescued by Mitch (literally…when he pulls her from the phone booth).

The three years between Psycho and The Birds (1963) comprised the longest gap between Hitchcock films up to that point. Much of that time was spent dealing with the technical difficulties in bringing Daphne du Maurier’s short story to the screen. In Truffaut’s book, Hitchcock admits that he discovered narrative weakness in The Birds as he was shooting it. A compulsive pre-planner, who storyboarded every shot in every film, Hitchcock began to improvise during the shooting of The Birds: “The emotional siege I went through served to bring out an additional creative sense in me.”

That creative genius is captured for all to see in The Birds. From its use of bird sounds in lieu of music to its disturbing closing shot, The Birds is an atypical Hitchcock film which finds the director in a mischievous mood. He gives us a classic chiller, but then reveals that it’s all wrapping paper and that’s what inside is a relationship drama. It’s an unexpected gift and, hey, Hitchcock even includes a birthday party for us—although it’s disrupted by those darn birds!

There's nothing ambigious about the ending--the real
conflict has been resolved.

The Liquidator: "Life is not all sex and sun lamps"

One of the first spy spoofs in the wake of Goldfinger (1964), The Liquidator stars Rod Taylor as Boysie Oakes, a reluctant secret agent--or assassin, to be more precise. Boysie enjoys the swinging bachelor pad, the expensive sports car, and the ladies that come with the job. He just doesn't like the killing. So, he sub-contracts out his targets to Mr. Griffen, an efficient blue-collar contract killer. This arrangement works out well until a weekend vacation in Monte Carlo reveals that someone is using Boysie as a pawn in an espionage plot to steal an experimental aircraft.

The Liquidator is an amusing film that borders on satire, a contrast to later (and more financially successful) spoofs like Our Man Flint (1966) and the Matt Helm movies. British intelligence head Wilfrid Hyde-White creates Boysie's job because red tape is preventing his department from catching enemy spies legally. Wouldn't it just be easier to have them killed? His second-in-charge, Mostyn (Trevor Howard), has understandable reservations:

Mostyn:  Chief, this is tantamount to murder.

Chief: Then go find a murderer.

Trevor Howard as Mostyn.

Mostyn remembers Boysie from a World War II incident in which the latter saved the former's life by shooting two spies. What Mostyn doesn't know is that Boysie's gun fired when he tripped on some rubble. He finds Boysie in a rural cafe called the Bird Cage (a probable pun since Taylor had appeared in Hitchcock's The Birds two years earlier). The diner actually features colorful birds in a cage, setting up the film's best double entendre involving a buxom young woman and another word for "bird." Boysie is reluctant to leave his current situation, but once he sees his pad--and the pretty interior decorators--he signs all the government documents without reading them.

Rod Taylor and Jill St. John.

Rod Taylor is the perfect choice for the capable, but not always intelligent, Boysie. Indeed, one of my few qualms with The Liquidator is that I wish the hero had been given a few more heroic things to do. I was surprised to learn that MGM considered making a series of Liquidator films. Unless Boysie evolved into a more realistic spy, I couldn't imagine his character sustaining additional installments.

Of course, there were eight Boysie Oakes novels written by John Gardner between 1964 and 1975. Gardner portrayed Oakes as a cowardly anti-Bond who succeeded as a spy in spite of himself. That may have worked on the printed page (and Gardner is a good writer), but I doubt if movie audiences of the 1960s would have embraced the literary Boysie in a film series.

Jill St. John as Iris.

Speaking of 007, The Liquidator shares some interesting connections with the Bond films. Rod Taylor's co-star Jill St. John would portray Tiffany Case in Diamonds Are Forever in 1971. Lalo Schifrin's theme song to The Liquidator is sung by Shirley Bassey, who recorded the Bond title tunes for Goldfinger, Diamonds Are Forever, and Moonraker. Finally, Ian Fleming's publisher selected author John Gardner to write new 007 novels, starting with 1981's Licence Renewed. Gardner went on to write 13 additional Bond books.

The Liquidator lacks the style and wit of my favorite spy spoof--Our Man Flint--but it's a colorful diversion with a good cast and a decidedly different hero. If you're a fan of 1960s cinema (as I am), then you will likely enjoy it. Plus, you can't dislike a movie in which Trevor Howard wisely notes: "Life is not all sex and sun lamps."

Dark of the Sun: Mercenaries with Mixed Motives

Rod Taylor as a mercenary.

This 1968 Rod Taylor action picture can count Martin Scorsese and Quentin Tarantino among its admirers. That's pretty good for what Variety described at the time as "a raw adventure yarn with some glib philosophizing."

Taylor plays Curry, a mercenary who has accepted $50,000 to rescue some people--and $50 million in diamonds--from a town in northern Congo that's under threat of an attack from the rebel Simbas. Curry and his Congo-born crony, Ruffo (Jim Brown), must complete their mission in three days. They recruit 40 Congolese soldiers, an alcoholic doctor (Kenneth More), and an ex-Nazi German officer named Heinlein (Peter Carsten).

Jim Brown as Ruffo.

Their journey, via an old steam train, is fraught with perils from the outset. The cavalcade is attacked by a United Nations peacekeeping plane. Curry and Heinlein, who dislike each other immensely, almost fight to the death. And Curry and Ruffo's "secret" mission seems to be common knowledge to everyone they meet. Worst of all, though, they arrive at their destination three hours early and have to wait until a safe's timelock opens so they can get the diamonds. Meanwhile, an army of ruthless Simbas are fast approaching the town.

Yvette Mimieux has a small role, reteaming
her with her Time Machine co-star.

This last plot point turns into an action-packed sequence in which Ruffo and Heinlein hold off the enemy as Curry boards the train at the last second with the diamonds. Unfortunately, their escape is short-lived when an explosion disconnects the caboose from the rest of the train, sending the train car --along with its screaming passengers and the precious stones--backwards into the hands of the enemy. In the film's most harrowing scene, Curry and Ruffo return to the captured town to retrieve the diamonds. Ruffo, posing as a Simba, carries Curry like a trophy on his back as they navigate through burning streets where innocent people are being tortured and killed.

This scene, plus a brutal fight at the climax, has earned Dark of the Sun a reputation as a grim, violent film. To be sure, the atrocities, which are implied more than they are shown, are not for squeamish viewers. There was no rating system when the film was released, but it was subsequently given a PG rating in 1973 (there was no PG-13 at the time). Director Jack Cardiff cut several gruesome scenes in order to secure the film's release.

Cardiff is best known as one of the greatest cinematographers in the history of cinema, having photographed Black Narcissus (1947), The Red Shoes (1948), and The African Queen (1951). He only directed 13 feature films, including two 1960s adventures with Rod Taylor: Dark of the Sun and the tongue-in-cheek The Liquidator (1965). Surprisingly, there's nothing visually striking about Dark of the Sun, although Cardiff makes one believe the film takes place in Africa (in reality, the locations were the Caribbeans and a British studio). He also handles the impressive action scenes with aplomb.

Curry and Ruffo discuss what makes them tick.

Still, it's that "glib philosophizing" that separates Dark of the Sun from other action films of the same period. In between the fight scenes, Curry and Ruffo debate their motives for what they do. At the outset, Curry makes it clear that he's a "paid man doing a dirty job" whereas Ruffo wants to maintain the freedoms his country has only recently earned. Driven by his friendship with Ruffo, Curry evolves as the film progresses--as evidenced by his decision to ultimately pay for his crimes. And yet, one can't help but think that Curry doesn't regret his violent actions...that he is still a mercenary at heart. Perhaps, it's his desire to reflect his friend's honor that drives his moral actions.

Dark of the Sun provides Jim Brown with one of his best roles as Ruffo. The former football great was typically typecast as macho men of action (e.g., Ice Station Zebra, Slaughter). But he brings sensitivity and intelligence to Ruffo, while still looking comfortable with an automatic weapon in his hand. He also gets to deliver the film's best-known line of dialogue, stating that he came from a tribe that believed: "If you eat the heart and brain of your enemy, his strength and wisdom will be added to your own."

Surprisingly, that sums up Dark of the Sun pretty well: It's a violent adventure film with more heart and a little more intelligence than you might expect.

This review is part of Rod Taylor Week at the Cafe, our week-long tribute to the Australian actor. Click here to read more reviews of his films.

Arthur Hailey's "Hotel"

I always think of Hotel as a follow-up to Arthur Hailey's Airport--when, in reality, the former film came out first. Made in 1967, it was based on Hailey's novel of the same title. Of course, the movie's structure--different stories set in a grand hotel--harkens back to...well...Grand Hotel (1932). Still, it's a serviceable plot device; the key is to wrap the framing story around interesting ones involving the guests. In that aspect, one could call Hotel a reasonable success.

The central story revolves arond the future of the St. Gregory, a posh but aging and debt-ridden hotel in New Orleans. Its elderly owner, Warren Trent (Melvyn Douglas), has a standing offer from developers who want the real estate, but not the hotel. The other option is to sell to hotel magnate Curtis O'Keefe (Kevin McCarthy), who wants to transform the St. Gregory from an upscale hotel into a very commercial one. Neither choice appeals to Trent, so his general manager Peter McDermott (Rod Taylor) tries to put together his own deal.

Merle Oberon as the Duchess.

Meanwhile, a visiting British dignitary (Michael Rennie) and his wife (Merle Oberon) find themselves in a quandry when he accidentally kills a child while driving drunk and flees the scene. While he struggles with his conscience, his wife tries to strike a bargain with the blackmailing house detective (Richard Conte). Other hotel guests fall prey to a clever thief (Karl Malden), who steals room keys and then robs the occupants while they sleep. Finally, Peter can't help but notice O'Keefe's lovely companion (Catherine Spaak) and she apparently has eyes for him.

Screenwriter Wendell Mayes (Anatomy of a Murder, Von Ryan's Express) simplifies and downsizes Hailey's novel. In the book, Peter has a checkered past and is interested in Trent's secretary (who's missing from the movie). Mayes jettisons a major subplot involving an attempted rape, adds the romance between Peter and O'Keefe's girlfriend, and alters the climax. Undoubtedly, major alterations were required to keep the running time at two hours. Still, too much time is spent on Malden's key thief, whose every appearance is accompanied by a playful jazz theme that becomes unbearable.

Rod Taylor as the hotel's manager.

Just as the unflappable, efficient McDermott keeps the St. Gregory operating smoothy, Rod Taylor keeps Hotel moving along from subplot to subplot. A reliable leading man, Taylor got pigeon-holed as a likable hero, which sadly limited his big screen appearances after the 1960s. Lame pictures like Trader Horn didn't help either. Still, he shifted his focus to television in the 1970s, where he thrived for the next two decades in series such as Bearcats! and Falcon Crest.

French actress Catherine Spaak.

While it's entertaining to see classic-era stars such as Ms. Oberon, Conte, and Douglas, they have relatively little screen time. In contrast, too much time is devoted to Kevin McCarthy's one-note "villain" and Catherine Spaak's tedious love interest for Taylor. To the latter's defense, the French beauty is saddled with the film's worst dialogue. When Taylor discovers her wearing only her slip in his apartment, she tells him seductively: "Take off your jacket. You interest me."

Coincidentally, Spaak and Karl Malden appeared in another movie together six years later: Dario Argento's suspense film Cat O'Nine Tails. As pointed out in other sources, there's another bit of trivia involving Malden. After his thief discovers a stolen wallet only contains a few dollars, he blames his bad luck on the growing popularity of credit cards. Years later, Malden would make a famous series of commercials for American Express, advising consumers not to leave home without their credit card.

Eighteen years after the release of Hotel, Aaron Spelling--already flourishing with the similar series The Love Boat and Fantasy Island--produced a TV series based on Hailey's novel. James Brolin played the manager of the St. Gregory, which was now located in San Francisco. Other series regulars during the show's five-year run included Connie Selleca, Shari Belafonte, and Anne Baxter.

James Garner Faces a Fake Future in "36 Hours"

James Garner as Major Pike.

On the eve of the Normandy invasion, American intelligence officer Major Jefferson Pike gets thunked on the head during a clandestine rendezvous with a spy. He awakes in an Allied military hospital five years later. When Pike (James Garner) reveals that he can't remember the last five years, his doctor (Rod Taylor) explains that Pike has suffered sporadic bouts of amnesia due to trauma. Trying to recapture his lost memories, Pike learns that the Allies won the war, Harry Wallace is president, and he's married to his nurse Anna (Eva Marie Saint).

Rod Taylor as Gerber.

What Pike doesn't know--that the audience does--is that it's still 1944 and he's the victim of an elaborate German scheme to get him to reveal the Allies' invasion plans. German psychiatrist Major Gerber, the mastermind behind the deception, seems to have thought of every detail. His team has added gray to Pike's hair, rehearsed the "performers" who will interact with the American, and even created a fake 1949 newspaper. Yet, for all his cleverness, Gerber has his own problems: If he fails to learn of the plans from Pike in 36 hours, the SS will take over, resort to torture to gain the information, and likely execute Gerber. As an SS agent confides to Gerber: "You have staked more than your reputation on it. Much more."

Though inspired by a Roald Dahl short story called Beware of the Dog, the plot to 36 Hours (1965) no doubt sounds familiar to fans of Bruce Geller's Mission: Impossible TV series (I've often wondered if it served as Geller's inspiration). And, as with that TV show, part of the fun is waiting for Pike to discover a flaw in the deception--if indeed there is one. The ticking clock, another device often used in Mission: Impossible, adds a further element of suspense.

Yet, as with the best suspense films (think Hitchcock), it's the well-developed characters that cause the audience to fully invest in the proceedings. Gerber, who was raised in America, is a psychiatrist interested in the results of his "experiment" only in a scientific way. He doesn't care about the intelligence information; he simply wants to test his research on his most complex human subject to date. His ultimate goal is a surprisingly admirable one: To use his "therapy" to help soldiers recover from psychological trauma.

Eva Marie Saint and Garner.

Likewise, Otto Schack (an excellent Werner Peters), the SS agent, sees Gerber's experiment as a means to an end. He wants to harvest the invasion information from Pike's mind, but his principal interest is furthering his career. He scoffs at Gerber's methods initially. However, when they begin to show results, he quickly takes credit for their success--even as he reminds Gerber that any blame for failure will still reside with the psychiatrist.

Finally, there's Anna Hedler, who poses as Pike's nurse and wife even though she hates herself for participating in the deception. Her motive is simple: survival. After years of abuse in concentration camps, she admits that she's willing to do anything to escape the horrors of her existence. Yet, unlike Gerber and Schack, she has a moral compass and sees Pike as a fellow victim.

The misleading poster has a 007 look.

An excellent cast brings all these characters to life and James Garner holds his own as the disoriented Pike who senses that something isn't right. The standout, though, is Eva Marie Saint, who gives one of her best performances as Anna. In one scene, she sways the audience from accepting Anna an accomplice to viewing her as a victim. When a frustrated Pike demands: "Can't you cry?", she responds flatly: "I've used up all my tears."

Yet, if it's the strong performances that make 36 Hours an exceptional suspense film, it's the ingenious plot that makes it memorable. I'm surprised it's not a better known film, though an uptick in recent television viewings may raise its profile among classic movie fans. Interestingly, William Castle's 1968 science fiction flick Project X borrowed the premise of using a recreated environment to gain access to repressed memories. I'm sure it's nowhere nearly as good as 36 Hours, but having not seen it for 50 years, I'd love to watch it again.

This review is part of the MGM Blogathon hosted by Silver Scenes. Click here to view all the great blogathon entries.

Bad Movie Theatre: I Should Have Heeded the Title of This Doris Day Film

I had been warned. Last May, fellow classic movie blogger Java Bean Rush reviewed Do Not Disturb and called it "difficult to watch." Apparently, I was looking for a challenge because I watched this 1965 clunker last night. The real reason, of course, is Doris Day--whose 1961 comedy Lover Come Back ranks among my favorite films.

With Rock Hudson in Lover Come Back.

Looking back over Doris's films of that decade, the sudden drop in quality is astonishing. In the first half of the 1960s, she made the aforementioned classic, That Touch of Mink, The Thrill of It All, Move Over Darling, and Send Me No Flowers. All five films are entertaining comedies that pair Doris with charming leading men (e.g., Cary Grant, James Garner, and Rock Hudson) capable of generating their own laughs. 

That's a stark contrast to the rest of the 1960s, in which Doris followed Do Not Disturb with The Glass Bottom Boat (which has some decent laughs) and then subpar pictures like The Ballad of Josie, Caprice, Where Were You When the Lights Went Out?, and With Six You Get Eggroll. By the end of the decade, she had retired from the movies and moved on to television. (Several books blame Doris's then-husband and manager Martin Melcher for committing her to these less-than-stellar pictures.)

Janet (Doris Day) and Mike (Rod Taylor) get lost (note the unimpressive rear screen).

Janet with the handsome antiques
dealer (Sergio Fantoni)

But let's get back to Do Not Disturb, which stars Doris and Rod Taylor as Janet and Mike Harper, Americans who have moved to Great Britain so he can work for a wool clothing company. The Harpers are a dysfunctional couple: he wants to live in an apartment close to work, so she buys a house in the English countryside without his consent. He spends more time with his younger, attractive secretary than with his wife. She suspects him of having an affair with his secretary; he suspects her of having an affair with a French antiques dealer. There's a lot of mistrust in this marriage--but, after several lame misunderstandings, it all ends happily.

Janet mistakes a fox for a dog.

Along the way, Doris's character saves a fox from hunters, plays soccer in the Parisian streets with children, gets drunk on wine, and is mistaken for her husband's mistress at a "business convention." The only time she appears to be having fun is when she's frolicking in Paris--without her husband. And that is the fatal flaw with Do Not Disturb: this couple rarely seems happy together...when they are together. They're just not a likable pair and that's saying a lot when one of them is played by Doris Day.

The lack of production values boggles the mind. Poor rear-screen shots combine with stagy sets to create the Harpers' country estate and the streets of Paris. Even the instantly forgettable title song, warbled by Doris, sounds off-key.

My advice to you is not to make the same mistake I did. When a movie's title is Do Not Disturb, heed the advice and don't bother with it!

The Time Machine - Victorian Beauty and Futuristic Horror

All of us have certain movies that capture something that speaks to our dreams. Usually I suppose they are the great dramas, but I have found that isn’t always the case. The Time Machine, released by MGM in 1960, mesmerized me from the beginning, even before the credits. It begins with silence, then the tiny ticking of a clock that moves across the screen. Then more clocks pass by, each with their own cadence, becoming a little larger and a little louder until finally London’s Big Ben gives its thunderous toll and the music crashes in to begin the title and credits. The Time Machine pulls you along from the picturesque, quiet Victorian age of great beauty, to excitement and action, and on to horrific futuristic events as the time traveler takes his journey.

George Pal produced and directed The Time Machine, based on H.G. Wells’ novel of the same name. The screenplay takes many liberties with Wells’ original novel, but then when has that ever been a problem for Hollywood? Pal’s other well-known movies include The War of the Worlds (1953), Houdini (1953) and Conquest of Space (1955). Pal had been an animator for most of his career, and his best movies carry his stamp of thrilling, larger-than-life story telling, with dynamic music and vivid, eye-popping color. However, with The Time Machine, Pal created more than just an action sci-fi movie. An important contributing factor is the music. I have always believed that the musical score can make or break a movie, and part of the credit for the feel of this movie must include composer Russell Garcia, who set the stage for the Victorian age with lilting, Irish-sounding music of great sentimentality, and was also responsible for creating an electrifying, frightening score during the action sequences. Cinematographer Paul Vogel brought the screen to dazzling life, and the make-up artist William Tuttle, working on George Pal’s own design, helped to create one of the most famous monster tribes in sci-fi history, the dreaded Morlocks. The Time Machine was awarded one Oscar, for its special effects, considered groundbreaking for its time.

The story is that of H. George Wells (sound familiar?), played by one of my favorites, Rod Taylor. (Pal originally wanted Paul Scofield for the part of George, a role that doesn’t seem to be at all suitable for the great British stage actor. I believe that Rod Taylor, with his young and vigorous talent and singular mannerisms, better fit the bill.) George is an inventor, a dreamer, unhappy with the world he lives in. He is preoccupied with the concept of time, and his house is filled with the most beautiful clocks you’ll ever see. George has invited a group of his friends to dinner, mostly practical businessmen, one a doctor who has little sense of humor (played by Sebastian Cabot in a wonderful harrumphing, stolid British manner), none of whom are the dreamer type, and one who is always happily soused. Then there is one of my most beloved best friend characters, a Scot named David Filby, played sweetly by Alan Young. (Sad to say, Alan Young is best remembered for his role in the TV series Mr. Ed as the owner of a talking horse.) George has not arrived for his own dinner, and his faithful housekeeper, Mrs. Watchett (Doris Lloyd) announces that George left instructions to serve dinner if he was detained. The men settle comfortably at the dining room table, when suddenly George appears in the doorway, disheveled, wounded, exhausted. He sits down and asks for food and wine. His friend, the pleasant drunk, pours a large glass of wine with shaking hands and unintentionally drinks it himself. Then George begins to tell his story.

George reminds the men of their dinner the week before, when he announced that he had built a machine that could move through time. The friends of course don’t believe it, and George brings out his miniature model. It is a small, exquisitely crafted little machine that looks somewhat like a sled with a sphere-shaped circle behind the traveler’s seat. George asks the doctor to give him a cigar to represent a time traveler, which he bends to fit in a seated position. He explains that if his experiment works, they will never see the machine again, as it will forever speed forward in time. He asks the doctor to use his own finger to throw the tiny switch. The little machine begins to hum, the sphere begins to twirl, and the chandelier above their heads tinkles and shakes. The humming grows louder, the sphere twirls until it blurs, then suddenly the machine is gone with a final whistling echo.

George is exhilarated with the success, but even after having seen with their own eyes, his friends refuse to believe it could have happened. They leave in a group, thanking George for an interesting evening. George, angry and dismayed at their reaction, strides to his desk to write a note. Then David peeks around at him from one of the large chairs in front of the fire. “I thought I should stay,” he says. He tells George he is worried about him and wants to help. He learns that George is not interested in going into the past, but into the future. “I don’t much like the time I was born in,” George says. He thanks David for his concern, but says he would rather be alone.

As soon as David leaves, George goes to his laboratory. The door opens, the music swells and there is the full-size time machine. What an exciting moment. The machine is absolutely stunning in every way. It is just like the miniature, incredibly crafted with brass engravings, velvet seat and gorgeous colors, a real thing of beauty. The camera follows George around the machine, accompanied with haunting music, so that the audience can see its exquisite nature. The machine was designed by MGM art director Bill Ferrari, with George Pal’s direction that since he had loved his sled as a child, he wanted it to be sled-like. George climbs onto the seat, pulls the handle and begins his voyage into the future

His journey is fascinating. He stops at different points in time, is able to see what becomes of his home and his friend, watches his city grow and sees its destruction and much more. The techniques used to show the passage of time, both slow and fast, are very clever.  One involved a lit candle that burns down, showing the passage of time.  Although it sounds like a simple scene, it took 5 days to shoot to get the right effect. One of the most memorable is a store mannequin that George can see from his lab window. As time passes, the lady mannequin’s clothes change, going from chaste Victorian to modern short skirts and bathing suits. George feels a kinship with the mannequin because, like himself inside the time machine, she never ages. Cataclysmic events begin to occur, and George finally has to speed his way through time at a blurring rate. He stops in the year 802701. There he finds a world that looks wonderfully evolved. Young beautiful people called the Eloi play and swim and somehow are fed without any work. (The word “eloi” means “My God” in Aramaic.) George notices that there are no old people, and also that the Eloi are strangely ignorant,  uninterested in what goes on around them, and careless of life itself. Yvette Mimieux, only age 17, plays Weena, a young girl who does find interest in this strange man who has appeared from nowhere. Soon, George is to learn the true nature of the Eloi and the meaning of the strange Sphinx in the middle of the forest when he is made aware of the horror in that seemingly lovely world, another group that lives underground, the Morlocks.

That is as much of the story as you need to whet your appetite. I did not describe many of the exciting events of George’s journey so as to avoid spoiling everything for those who have not seen it. I would love to tell the ending because it is one of my favorite movie endings, but I am restraining myself. Suffice it to say that The Time Machine does not disappoint. As an interesting note, George Pal kept the miniature time machine in his home until it was destroyed by a fire. The larger model was found years later in a thrift shop in California, covered with dust and in pieces. However, the lucky finder bought and restored it. What I wouldn’t give to have that beautiful thing – it would be the admittedly unusual centerpiece of my living room!

George Pal hoped to make a sequel to the movie, and Rod Taylor was interested as well, but MGM rejected the idea. Perhaps that is just as well. This movie is unique and its reputation would likely only be tainted by what might have been the usual  inadequate sequel. I remember seeing a showing of The Time Machine on TV around 1995 that was hosted by Rod Taylor. He was of course 35 years older than when he played George, and with a wistful grin he said “It’s very strange to see myself so young as I find myself becoming more aged.” He loved being part of The Time Machine, and with good reason. It’s a damn good movie. (Well, if Rhett Butler can say damn, I guess I can too!)

In Defense of Hitch's The Birds (and the birds)

My blog One Fan's List of the Best Hitchcock Films has generated a lot of comments both here and when originally posted in the CFU. I'd like to think it's because people like me (shades of Sally Field), but, alas, the blog's popularity is strictly due to Mr. Hitchcock's many fans. Reader comments often focus on the fact that I relegated Notorious to honorable mention, while ranking Marnie and The Birds among the top four spots. I've devoted a blog to Marnie...and now The Birds gets its time in the spotlight.

I first saw The Birds on NBC’s Saturday Night at the Movies with my sister in the late 1960s. I remember liking it well enough, though the film just seemed to end with no satisfactory resolution. Over the next two decades, I may have watched The Birds three or four times. But I never developed an affection for it until the early 1990s when, on a whim, I decided to view it again while my wife was out-of-town.

For the first time, I realized that the film functions on two levels for me. It is, of course, a well-done thriller about unexplained bird attacks in a small California seaside community. But it’s also a well-acted 1960s drama about three women and their relationships with the bland, but likable, Mitch Brenner (Rod Taylor). Mitch’s mother (wonderfully played by Jessica Tandy) fears losing her son to another woman—not because of jealousy, but because she can’t stand the thought of being abandoned. Young socialite Melanie Daniels (Hedren) views Mitch as a stable love interest, something she needs as she strives to live a more meaningful life. And Annie Hayworth (Pleshette) is the spinster schoolteacher, willing to waste her life to be near Mitch after failing to pry him from his mother.

In the midst of this soap-like plot, Hitchcock injects a series of escalating bird attacks, ranging from a gull that nips Melanie to a explosive strike at a gas station. His direction of these sequences is flawless, as evidenced by two textbook examples of creating suspense. Early in the film, there’s a cute scene in which Melanie (in a boat) races Mitch (in a car) to the other side of the bay. Hitchcock waits patiently until the viewer is involved in the race, then a gull suddenly swoops down to bite Melanie. This abrupt assault results in a sense of uneasiness that permeates the rest of the film.

Knowing that the viewer will now be prepared for more surprise attacks, Hitchcock shifts his strategy with a classic scene outside the schoolhouse. As Melanie waits for Annie and listens to the children singing, the viewer sees a flock of birds filling up the playground bars behind her. Melanie is oblivious to the impending danger until she catches sight of a single bird in flight and watches as it joins the others. It’s a brilliant example of the visual power of cinema.

Now, let's talk about the birds. Are they truly villains? I think not. Miss Bundy, the ornithologist, states in the restaurant after the attack on the children: "Birds are not aggressive creatures...it is mankind that insists in making it difficult for life to exist on this planet." I'm not suggesting that The Birds is an eco-horror film like John Frankenheimer's Prophecy (which I think is pretty entertaining, by the way). Rather, the scene with Miss Bundy is intended to soften our perception of the birds as terrifying creatures.

And why is that? Because Hitchcock doesn't want us to focus too much on the birds. The movie is about the Mitch-Melanie-Mitch's mother triangle. The birds are just catalysts. I still know people who hate the ending. If it frustrates you, think of the film as a drama in which all the conflicts between characters have been resolved. In that sense, The Birds ends when it should.

I realize that Notorious fans can argue the complexities of that Hitchcock classic just as well. But the purpose of this blog is not to explain why Notorious didn't make my top 10 (and, yes, I need to see it again). Rather, my goal is to point out that The Birds is more than just a suspense film and its ability to function effectively on two different levels (thriller and relationship drama) is why I love it.