The High and the Mighty and Skyjacked

John Wayne as "Whistling" Dan Roman.

The High and the Mighty (1954). When a passenger airliner en route from Honolulu to Los Angeles experiences engine problems, the pilot faces a critical decision: Does he attempt a dangerous landing in the ocean and hope the Coast Guard can rescue the passengers? Or does he try to make it to the closest airport in San Francisco—even as the plane starts leaking fuel? Directed by former fighter pilot William A. Wellman, The High and the Mighty is considered the granddaddy of the modern disaster film. The now familiar formula augments the tense scenes with a menagerie of characters with background stories of varying interest. Their tales range from a newlywed couple facing the realities of married life to an armed husband who thinks his wife is cheating on him with another passenger. The airplane's crew has its challenges, too, with the lead pilot (Robert Stack) coping with aviation fatigue. There's even the proverbial child on the plane--though, unlike future young passengers--he seems pretty healthy! Bolstered by Dimitri Tiomkin's Oscar-winning score and John Wayne's steady, low-key performance, The High and the Mighty overcomes its weaker characters and subplots (e.g., a gun fired in-flight is quickly forgotten). The result is an engaging film that overstays its welcome at a bloated running time of almost two-and-a-half hours. Here's some interesting trivia: Tiomkin also earned an Oscar nomination for Best Song, though the lyrics are only heard briefly at the end. The tune, with different words, became a pop hit.

Yvette Mimieux and Charlton Heston.

Skyjacked (1972). The first theatrical film inspired by the 1970 blockbuster Airport was not, surprisingly, one of the three Airport sequels. Instead, it was Skyjacked, an satisfactory all-star disaster film based on a David Harper novel. The "all-stars" aren't of the same caliber as Airport, with Charlton Heston on-hand as the only big name star. Still, the best part of Skyjacked is its mix of familiar faces (Yvette Mimeux, Claude Akins, Mariette Hartley), TV stars (Susan Dey, James Brolin), and classic film icons (Walter Pidgeon, Jeanne Crain). The plot concerns a potential bomb aboard a commercial jet flying to Minneapolis. The hijacker, whose identity remains a mystery for the film's first half, wants the flight diverted to Alaska--and then on to the Soviet Union. The film might have been more fun if the hijacker's identity was a surprise, but it's obvious from the beginning. John Guillermin, who would go on to direct the disaster movie megahit The Towering Inferno (1975), keeps the pacing tight for much of the film. However, it lags toward the end, with a flashback romantic subplot involving Heston's pilot and Mimieux's flight attendant adding nothing to the story. Still, Skyjacked makes an interesting pairing with Airport 1975Airport 1975, in which Heston plays a pilot-turned-instructor that gets involved in the rescue of a jet damaged in flight.

The Mount Rushmore of Film Directors

Hitchcock on Mount Rushmore--from
the North By Northwest poster.

If there was a Mount Rushmore of great American directors, who would you put on it? I pondered this question recently and then posed it to three other classic movie bloggers whom I admire. I gave them two criteria: (1) They could only pick four directors...because it's Mount Rushmore; (2) Their decisions had to be based on the directors' American-made films (after all, we're talking about an American monument here). Thus, directors such as Alfred Hitchcock and Fritz Lang could be considered--but not international greats like Federico Fellini, Luis Bunuel, and Akira Kurosawa. (And, yes, when I say "American," I am referring to the   U.S.--not all of North and South America.)

The Master of Suspense.

Personally, I had little trouble in coming up with three of my four choices. I consider Alfred Hitchcock to be the greatest film director...period...based on his storytelling skills, the complexity of his film's themes, and the body of his work. I don't think another director will ever be able to replicate the astounding number of superb films he made between 1940 and 1964--a period that included Rebecca, Notorious, Shadow of a Doubt, Rear Window, Vertigo, North By Northwest, Psycho, and Marnie. My second choice is Billy Wilder, possibly the most versatile of all filmmakers. He made classic film noirs (Double Indemnity), sophisticated comedies (Some Like It Hot), screwball comedies (One, Two, Three), and courtroom dramas (Witness for the Prosecution). His best films integrated drama and comedy so expertly that they created something uniquely Wilder (e.g., The Apartment, Stalag 17). That brings me to my third choice, a director whose films gave rise to a now common adjective "Capraesque," which one online dictionary defined as "of or evocative of the movies of Frank Capra, often promoting the positive social effects of individual acts of courage." Capra's film's restored faith in human nature when America needed it most--during the Great Depression and after World War II. He also helped make stars out of Gary Cooper and James Stewart. That brings me to my final spot and I struggled mightily here. I considered Richard Brooks, Samuel Fuller, Michael Curtiz, Robert Wise, and Otto Preminger. In the end, though, I went with Anthony Mann. A versatile director like Wilder, Mann helped define film noir in the 1940s with tough, dark films like Raw Deal and T-Men. In the 1950s, he reinvigorated the Western genre with five superb films starring James Stewart. Mann's protagonists were cynical men with violent pasts who found redemption, often by becoming part of a forgiving community (The Far Country, Bend of the River). In many ways, Mann's protagonists paved the way for the flawed "heroes" that dominated American cinema in the 1960s and 1970s.

Ernst Lubitsch.

The Lady Eve, Lady Eve's Reel Life: If not Mount Rushmore, these four filmmakers at least deserve to have their faces carved in stone on the hillside under the Hollywood sign. Here’s why: Alfred Hitchcock was a master of the art of what he called “pure cinema”-- visual storytelling (consider the famed crane shot in Notorious that zooms in on the key in Ingrid Bergman’s hand). And no one has surpassed his ability to draw the viewer so completely into a film or, at times, to identify with the villain (Robert Walker retrieving his lighter in Strangers on a Train, Anthony Perkins sinking a car into a swamp in Psycho). Long touted “the master of suspense,” Hitchcock was, more than anything, a cinematic genius (see also Rear Window and Vertigo). The comedies of Ernst Lubitsch literally sparkle (even the screen itself seems luminous). Brimming with charm and sophistication, his films offer a knowing yet sympathetic glimpse into human yearnings and foibles. His best work (the likes of Ninotchka, The Shop Around the Corner and To Be or Not to Be) has rightly been likened to the soufflé, a deceptively lighter than air concoction that is also deliciously rich and deeply satisfying. "Screwball" comedy existed before Preston Sturges started writing and directing his own films, but he took the concept into another realm. Original and decidedly eccentric, his best films neatly weave sly commentary on social values into byzantine plots involving cockeyed characters who rattle off snappy/smart dialogue at a mile a minute. Unique barely describes The Great McGinty, The Lady Eve, Sullivan’s Travels, The Palm Beach Story, Unfaithfully Yours.... Billy Wilder, like Hitchcock, was a top filmmaker from the ‘40s to the ‘60s. But Wilder began his career as a journalist and so, naturally, his films are marked by strong screenwriting and fine-tuned dialogue. His cynical world view made him a natural for noir, and Double Indemnity stands as a pillar of the genre. But Wilder wasn’t one to be pigeon-holed, as his wild, satirical romp Some Like It Hot would prove. Noir, farce, drama or “dramedy,” Wilder had as much range as he had skill.

Frank Capra.

Annmarie Gatti, Classic Movie Hub Blog:  If I could put four American directors on Mount Rushmore, who would they be???  Well, that's a really tough question...and one that will probably have me second guessing myself for quite some time--but, that said, after much "agony" and deliberation, my picks would be Frank Capra, Billy Wilder, Alfred Hitchcock and John Ford. Here's why:  Frank Capra--for creating some of the most beloved 'feel-good' films of all time that champion the common man and the basic goodness of human nature. Billy Wilder -for his use of script to drive the story (vs elaborate cinematography) and his ability to push the boundaries of mainstream entertainment by expanding the range of acceptable subject matter. Alfred Hitchcock--for his belief in the superiority of suspense over surprise, and his cinematic approach to filmmaking that communicates via images and editing to maximize fear and anxiety. And, last but not least, John Ford--for his sweeping visuals and dramatic vistas, master storytelling, and iconic portrayals of heroes and anti-heroes of the American West. 

D.W. Griffith.

Cliff Aliperti, Immortal Ephemera:  My Mount Rushmore of American directors? Difficult. I approached my selections thinking not necessarily of my favorites, but of the four I'd consider most iconic in their representation of America and the American film industry, while being among my favorites. Faces I'd carve in stone and be happy to leave there forever. That has to start with D.W. Griffith. For all of the issues over the content of The Birth of a Nation (1915), at least the movie is strong enough to warrant our talking about it a hundred years later, fighting over the same issues that incensed a hundred years ago. Griffith's early features that follow Birth are reliably accessible, well-told stories that at least perfect technique if not actually innovating it. If there were no Griffith, silent film would have been a much tougher sell for me during my formative movie-watching years, so Griffith gets the first nod just for all that he’s responsible for exposing me to. It gets more difficult from there because I've seen so many more films in the decades that follow, but two directors whose work I think of as intrinsically American are King Vidor, whose stories are so wonderfully visual while being grounded by the American Dream, and Frank Capra, who relied more on situation and dialogue to show the everyman overcoming bigger challenges. If Vidor had only done his war, wheat, and steel trilogy—The Big Parade (1925), Our Daily Bread (1934), and An American Romance (1944)—he'd have done enough, but that doesn't even include his best film, The Crowd (1928). Capra kept telling the same story by the time of Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936), Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939), and Meet John Doe (1941), with his underdogs fighting for their place in so many of his other films as well. If Griffith led me to enjoy more silent films then it was Capra, even earlier in my film watching years with titles like Mr. Smith and It’s a Wonderful Life (1946), who allowed me to accept “old” black and white movies as if they were no different from last week’s release. A similar underdog spirit goes to the fourth face on my Rushmore, William Wellman, who could masterfully handle topics from any genre no matter the size of the movie and always seemed to have a great time doing it. A working-class director in that he reveled in the work, Wellman's characters could be as light as his subject matter was heavy. Out of his Great War experiences, he was dedicated to portraying male camaraderie, but I think he had an even keener insight into female characters, especially during the Depression years.

CMBA Classic Movies of 1939 Blogathon: The Light That Failed

A great actor who understood his limitations, Ronald Colman must have realized in 1939 that his days as a romantic lead were numbered. At age 48, he had just completed an incredible decade in which he drew critical and popular acclaim for classics such as A Tale of Two Cities (1935), Lost Horizon, and The Prisoner of Zenda (both 1937). He displayed his versatility by playing a swashbucker (Under Two Flags), a romantic poet (If I Were King), and a thinking man's hero (Sydney Carton in A Tale of Two Cities).

Although memorable roles still awaited--including a romance for the ages in Random Harvest and an Oscar for A Double Life--1939 marked a turning point in Colman's career. He made fewer films in the 1940s and appeared content to let other actors assume the mantle of romantic hero. What better way to make such a transition than as the melancholy artist hero of Rudyard Kipling's first novel The Light That Failed?

William Wellman's film version begins in England in 1865 with a sweet prologue in which childhood sweethearts Dick and Maisie decide to become artists when they grow up. When Dick learns of Maisie's pending departure, the two youngsters pledge to always love one another.

Years later, Dick (Colman) has become a war correspondent in the Sudan, drawing battle scenes for the newspapers back in England. He suffers a serious head injury when he saves the life of his friend, Torpenhow (Walter Huston). Months later, he learns from "Torp" that his drawings have garnered critical acclaim back home. Upon his return to England, Dick becomes a popular artist whose paintings of British soldiers in the Sudan fetch a handsome price.

While walking one Sunday afternoon, Dick encounters Maisie, who is struggling to achieve any kind of success as an artist. They gegin to meet weekly to discuss art and Dick quickly realizes he has never stopped loving her. However, when he expresses his feelings to Maisie, she decides to leave for Paris. Although she values their friendship (and his artistic advice), she is dedicated to her artistic career.

At the same time, Dick loses his zest for painting, sometimes altering his original artistic vision simply to make his work more commercially viable. He becomes interested in painting again when he meets Bessie, a barmaid romantically involved with Torp. With Bessie as his model, Dick begins to paint again, though his work still lacks passion. It's only when he learns of an impending tragedy that he is able to channel his loneliness--and grief over losing Maisie--into his artistic masterpiece.

Dick cradling Binky in his arms.

Though always interesting, The Light That Failed is a flawed film that works best as a portrait of an artist. Dick's ability to interpret and capture the emotions of others through his art contrasts sharply with his struggles to maintain his own relationships. Torp is his only close friend if one excludes the loyal Scottish Terrier, Mr. Binkles (aka Binky), that adopts him. Maisie values him as a friend and critic, but his love for her seems to be based on a memory of when they were young (he even mumbles her name while recovering from his head injury...long before meeting her again as an adult). As for Bessie, he calls her a "little piece of nothing" at one point, then tries to buy her help later when he needs it. The role is ideal for Colman, who doesn't hesitate to show Dick's cruel side, especially when he berates Bessie and destroys any chance of her having a long-term relationship (albiet slight) with Torp. But he also shows Dick's unselfishness, such as when he poignantly lets Maisie and Torp "off the hook" by sending them away when he needs them the most.

Ida Lupino as Bessie.

Walter Huston and Ida Lupino, as Bessie, deliver strong supporting roles in what is essentially a four-character play. Allegedly, Colman wanted Vivien Leigh to play Bessie, but it's hard to imagine anyone other than Lupino. She captures both the vulnerability and pettiness of the street-living Bessie. The one weak link, in terms of both performer and character, is Muriel Angelus as Maise. Her character's only endearing quality is her love for her art. She begs Dick for constructive criticism of her paintings, but then has trouble accepting it. When Dick needs her the most--and then offers her a way out--she takes it. There's no obvious selfishness to her actions; it's just that her total focus is on her work and that blinds her to the needs of others.

Director William Wellman once said: "The best director is the director whose handprints are not on the film." Indeed, Wellman always adapted his visual style to fit his films. In this case, The Light That Failed comes across as a rather stagy affair, with many scenes taking place in Dick's apartment/studio. That approach is certainly consistent with Dick's introspection, but leaves the viewer with the impression of having watched a stage play. Still, it works well in some scenes, such as when Dick receives bad news in a doctor's office, with a clock ticking loudly in the background, reminding Dick (and us) that time has already started running out.

Kipling's novel The Light That Failed was published in 1890 in installments in Lippincott's Monthly Magazine. It provides more backstory to Dick's character, tracing his upbringing as an orphan (which explains why making money on his paintings is important to him). The novel was filmed previously in 1916 and 1923.

The 1939 Colman version isn't a great film, but it's a very good one that provides an ideal opportunity to watch a wonderful actor in a juicy role. Yet, while The Light That Failed, as a whole, almost achieves classic status, it falls just short. Its flaws are encapsulated in the closing scene. On the surface, it's a moving display of gallantry and freedom. However, as one ponders the ending, it's also a depressing testament to one who has given up on life.


Click here to check out the the awesome reviews written by my fellow CMBA members as part of the Classic Movies of 1939 Blogathon!

Thunder Birds (1942)

Thunder Birds (1942) This film was made to boost civilian morale at the time when World War II was still much in doubt. Directed by William A. Wellman, who was himself a member of the U.S. Air Service and a World War one fighter pilot. Gene Tierney (Kay), who is absolutely beautiful, added playfulness and maturity to the role she played. This is a "war movie" that never sees a battlefield but centers on the training of enlisted men. British John Sutton is sent to America to be trained to fly for the RAF but he has to try and over come his acrophobia. His instructor Steve is supportive and proves to be a great friend when others want him out. Their friendship becomes shaky when Sutton falls for the local girl Kay that Steve has long been dating. The film love triangle is so effective that you do not notice the real message of the film. My favorite scene in the movie is when Steve buzzes an old elevated water tank in the desert in which Kay Saunders is swimming. His plane causes her robe to blow away. Showing off, Steve flies inverted over the tank and drops her his flying coveralls then lands on a nearby dirt road. She seems miffed at him for reasons in their romantic past as much as his fly by...but responds to his passionate kiss.

Cast: Gene Tierney, Preston Foster, John Sutton.