Las Vegas and Its Casinos Don’t Stand a Chance Against “Ocean’s 11”

World War II veterans, members of the 82nd Airborne, are being rounded together for “a, uh... reunion” -- as Roger (Henry Silva) so succinctly puts it to electrician and recently released convict, Tony (Richard Conte). Soon, Danny Ocean (Frank Sinatra) has collected ten of his men, also including Sam (Dean Martin), Josh (Sammy Davis, Jr.), Jimmy (Peter Lawford), Mushy (Joey Bishop), Vince (Buddy Lester), Curly (Richard Benedict), Peter (Norman Fell) and Jackson (Clem Harvey). Ocean finally explains that the “project” is a rather ambitious heist -- to knock off five Vegas casinos on New Year’s Eve, and each man walking away with one million dollars to fill his pockets.

Lewis Milestone’s Ocean’s 11 (1960) features all five members of the so-called “Rat Pack” -- Sinatra, Martin, Davis, Jr., Lawford and Bishop. The film also stars Angie Dickinson as the estranged Mrs. Ocean, Cesar Romero as the shady fiancé of Jimmy’s mother (Ilka Chase), and Russian actor Akim Tamiroff as Spyros Acebos, who helps Danny organize the caper. There are also a few cameos: George Raft as a casino owner, Shirley Maclaine as a woman who’s had a few too many (and is easily distracted by Martin’s character), and a hysterical Red Skelton as himself, who makes a scene when the casino refuses to take his check (since he has clearly hit his limit).

Ocean’s 11 is not memorable solely for the cast. It also emphasizes lively characters and an exceptional plot. Ostensibly dropped in the midst of a story already begun, the audience is immediately presented with a multitude of individuals, generally discussing a scheme of some sort (referred to as an operation, a picnic, etc.). Some of the men are looking for others, almost like a chase, which is fitting for viewers who may feel as if they’re trying to keep up with the little details they’ve been provided. The film is nearly halfway complete when Danny reveals what the men will be doing.

Many of Ocean’s eleven are highlighted, individualizing certain characters so that the gang doesn’t blur together as interchangeable thieves. Tony has lost touch with his wife and young son since he served time. He needs the money so that he can settle and hopefully reconnect with his son in military school; at the same time, Tony sees a doctor and receives distressing news. Similarly, Vince wants to get his wife out of a burlesque club, and Jimmy wishes to be independent of his wealthy mother. Their trade may be larceny, but these men are not ruled by greed. They face the same troubles and concerns as many other people. Danny loves his wife, Beatrice, but must acknowledge that they can no longer be together. Josh was forced to give up his dreams of playing baseball due to an injury sustained during the war. Strong, likable characters make the team construct all the more sound, and because they fought together as a team in World War II, it’s easy to overlook the fact that, in the very basic sense, they’re stealing money.

The performances from the entire cast are delightful. As much fun as it is to watch the men being recruited, it’s even more gratifying to watch the caper go down. The inevitable obstacles heighten the suspense, with Danny’s ex-girlfriend, Adele (Patrice Wymore), and Jimmy’s stepfather-to-be creating waves. Actor Silva was more popularly known for playing villains (e.g., John Frankenheimer’s 1962 The Manchurian Candidate -- with his Ocean’s 11 co-star, Sinatra -- and Steven Seagal’s debut, 1988’s Above the Law), and he is surprisingly charming as Roger. Romero might be best remembered as The Joker in the 1960s Batman TV series. Fell was known to television audiences as Mr. Roper in the successful series, Three’s Company (for which he won a Golden Globe in 1979), as well as its spin-off, The Ropers. He was also nominated for an Emmy for the 1976 mini-series Rich Man, Poor Man.

Milestone had twice won an Academy Award for Best Director, for 1927’s Two Arabian Knights (the very first year for the Academy Awards, the only time that the Best Director category was split into “comedy” and “drama” -- Milestone’s was the latter) and All Quiet on the Western Front (1930). He was also nominated for The Front Page (1931), and his 1939 Of Mice and Men was nominated for Best Picture. Actor Tamiroff was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor and won a Golden Globe (at the Globes’ inaugural ceremony) for the 1943 film, For Whom the Bell Tolls. The same year as her cameo in this film, Maclaine starred in Billy Wilder’s The Apartment, for which the actress was nominated for an Academy Award and awarded a Golden Globe (and also won, for good measure, a BAFTA for Best Foreign Actress).

In 2001, Steven Soderbergh directed a stellar remake with a star-studded cast, including George Clooney as Danny Ocean, as well as Brad Pitt, Matt Damon, Julia Roberts, and Don Cheadle. Though not as dramatically engaging as the original, it was an amusing and highly enjoyable affair, performing well at the box office. Two stars of the original, Silva and Dickinson, appear in cameos. Two rather bland and lamely titled (although successful) sequels invariably followed, Ocean’s Twelve (2004) and Ocean’s Thirteen (2007).

Marking its 50 year anniversary, Ocean’s 11 makes its Blu-ray debut today. The features, although all carryovers from the previous DVD release, are a treat: an audio commentary with Frank Sinatra, Jr. and Angie Dickinson, “Las Vegas Then and Now” map casino vignettes (focusing on each of the targeted casinos -- the Desert Inn, the Flamingo, the Riviera, the Sahara and the Sands), an excerpt from The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson with Sinatra as guest host and Dickinson as star (and with a spoiler alert, as they discuss the film’s ending), and trailers. There’s also an Easter egg; just look for the extra pair of dice. The hi-def transfer is beautiful, with rich, bold colors and an immaculate soundtrack. For more information on this release, see the Warner Bros. Blu-ray site.

Warner Bros. provided a copy of this Blu-ray to Classic Film & TV Cafe. Photo stills courtesy of Warner Bros.

Zatoichi, the Blind Swordsman

Not as poetic as Akira Kurosawa's samurai films. Not as savagely stylistic as the Lone Wolf & Cub series. Those are the only reasons I can give for the lack of popularity of the Zatoichi films in the U.S. In Japan, though, these films about a blind samuari were an institution, with 25 of them appearing between 1962 and 1973 (a 26th installment was made in 1989). There was also a 1976 television series that ran for four seasons.

The Tale of Zatoichi established the simple premise: Ichi (Zato is a title) is a former masseur who, tired of being treated without respect, became a master swordsman. He describes himself as a "lowly gangster" and makes a living by gambling--and with his sword. His opponents often underestimate him, not accounting for his remarkable heightened senses.

The first film finds Ichi staying as a guest at the home of Sukegoro, a gangster who runs gambling houses. Sukegoro's hospitality is not an act of kindness. He anticipates an all-out war with his rival, a fellow gambling czar named Shigezo. After learning that Shigezo has hired a samurai, Sukegoro figured he needed a samuari on his side, too.

While fishing one day, Ichi meets Hirate, an introspective soul whom Ichi senses is seriously ill. The two men become friends almost immediately, even though it's soon clear that Hirate is the samurai working for Shigezo.

Hirate and Ichi meet while fishing.

As with Kurosawa's films, there are battle scenes and a climatic showdown--but this is a character-driven drama. Ichi recognizes instantly that Sukegoro's men are common riffraff. When he enters a room where they're gambling with dice, he notes aloud that it smells like filth and sweat. Later, he refuses to give a swordplay demonstration for Sukegoro's guests, explaining flatly: "My skill is not for entertainment." Clearly, Ichi has no respect for Sukegoro--even though he accepts money and free lodging from the gangster. (His skillful negotiation with Sukegoro is one of the film's best scenes, ending with: "My life does not come cheap.")

It's easy to see why the Ichi character appealed to audiences. Here was a man who became a master swordman to gain respect--but still lacks self-respect. Yet, he always acts with honor: rescuing a young woman, showing kindness to a man he admires, treating the elderly with respect, etc.


Ichi sheaths his sword after a slicing a
burning candle in mid-air.

 As Ichi, Shintaro Katsu gives a masterful portrayal, conveying the character's cunning and physical skills with a minimum of movement. In addition to portraying Ichi in all 26 of the original films (and directing the final one), Katsu produced the Lone Wolf & Cub movies which starred his brother Tomisaburo Wakayama. They are better films, but that's taking nothing away from the Zatoichi movies.

Although you may not have experienced a Zatoichi picture, you may have seen Blind Fury (1989) with Rutger Hauer. It was a remake of Zatoichi Challenged, the 17th film in the original series.

Trivia Time - Part 58

Who Am I? In the '50s I made two films with Frank Sinatra at MGM. In one movie I "got him", in the other I didn't. Who Am I?

Who Are We? We met by accident at the barbershop at Universal Studios. One of us had just been fired, while the career of the other was on the rise. One of us leaned over to the other and said, "Hey, would you be interested in doing a TV show for me?" Between the two of us, we changed the face of television, films and popular music. Who Are We?

Who Am I? I was primarily a stage actress for most of my life, although I had appeared in the occasional film. Then I appeared in a major role in a Bela Lugosi movie, which really made the public more aware of me. I became well known for playing mothers and/or grandmothers in many famous films made in the '30s and '40s. Who Am I?

1. Name the films in Who Am I? #1.

2. Name two future TV stars appearing in the movie from #1 in which Who Am I? #1 did NOT get Frank.

3. Name the TV show mentioned in Who Are We?.

4. What do these three films have in common: White Heat, Forever Amber, and Random Harvest?

5. Name the longest running show in the history of television (hint: it's still on the air).

6. Name a great star of stage and screen who had a recurring role as him/herself in this late '60s/early '70s TV series? Name the series, too.

7. In this TV series third season opener, it lampooned its major time slot opposition. Name the show and the opposition.

8. Name an Errol Flynn movie in which Flynn did NOT, for a change, kill Basil Rathbone's character?

9. Name the other co-stars of the film in #8.

10. What do the following have in common: the film Saboteur, the TV shows Alfred Hitchcock Presents and St Elsewhere?

Trivia Time - Part 57 - the Answers

Well, thanks to several last minute answers given by Rick, there are only two unanswered questions:

4. In the Blake Edwards film, Experiment in Terror, the climactic scene takes place in a ball park. Name the ballpark and the teams that were playing.

The Answer: The park that Vin Scully once referred to as the Disneyland of baseball: Candlestick Park; the San Francisco Giants and the LA Dodgers.

6. Name the two aliens in the first season of Rocky and Bullwinkle.

The Answer: Gidney and Cloyd

Jean Renoir's La Chienne

This controversial 1931 French drama was director Jean Renoir’s first sound film. Filmed primarily on location in Renoir’s hometown of Montmartre, this film finally brought Renoir the recognition he was denied as a silent film director. Stark and unrelenting (and, oh, so French), this film showcases both Renoir’s visual and spatial acuity, as well as his ability to avoid oversentimentality while unflinchingly staring at human baseness. This film was the beginning of the style that is most associated with Renoir: poetic realism.

Legendary French actor Michel Simon (in his first starring role) plays a henpecked bank clerk named Legrand who falls in love with Lulu (Janie Mareze) after rescuing her from a man beating her on the street. What Lulu neglects to tell Legrand is that she’s a prostitute and that the man who was beating her, Dede (Georges Flamant), is her boyfriend/pimp. Married to a complete harpy (Magdeleine Berubet) who controls their finances and won’t allow him to paint in the house, Legrand finds comfort in Lulu’s “innocence” and sweet nature. He sets her up in an apartment that he finances by stealing from both his wife and his work. When this money doesn’t suffice, Dede begins selling Legrand’s paintings under the name Clara Wood to finance his own café and gambling habits. Unaware that the sales of his artwork are financing Lulu’s pimp, Legrand is not angry when he learns that she’s selling his paintings. It is not until Legrand disentangles himself from his wife and shows up unexpectedly to tell Lulu that he’s going to be all hers that he discovers her deceit. In the end, Lulu meets with a tragic end and Dede gets his comeuppance at the hands of an executioner.

Based on a novel by Fouchardiere, this film was banned in the United States for forty years due to its sexual theme, crude language, and unpunished crime. After watching the scene where Lulu’s true nature is revealed to Legrand, I can see why some people were shocked by the film’s content. As Legrand is proclaiming his love for her and forgiving her indiscretions, Lulu sadistically belittles and laughs at him. This sets up the moment where you figure out why the film’s title is La Chienne. Having had enough of her deceit, he declares: “You’re no woman—you’re a bitch!” And, then some unpleasant things happen with a letter opener. It was 1931, so you have to admit that’s pretty daring. While this film wasn’t shown in the United States until 1975, American audiences did get to see a remake of it, Scarlet Street (1945). Directed by Fritz Lang and starring Edward G. Robinson and Joan Bennett, this film was a MUCH more toned down version.

Overall, the story is interesting to watch. Michel Simon does a nice job of playing an unhappy man who comes to life after falling for a much younger woman and then mentally cracks after he realizes it was all an illusion of happiness. Not my favorite Renoir film, but it serves as a good example of how his style developed and allowed him to go on to make masterpieces like Grand Illusion and The Rules of the Game (http://classic-film-tv.blogspot.com/2010/11/rules-of-game-everyone-has-their.html).

The Rules of the Game: Everyone Has Their Reasons

Entire books have been devoted to analyzing Jean Renoir's 1939 masterpiece, so it's impossible to do justice to this French classic in a single film review. However, I am constantly surprised by the number of film buffs who haven't seen it, so I feel compelled to promote it as part of the Cafe's Foreign Film Festival--well that, plus it's been a personal favorite since I watched it in college long ago.

Best described as a "comic tragedy," The Rules of the Game focuses on three themes: the relationship between and among the frivilous upper-class and their servants; the complex emotions between men and women; and the boundaries and expectations of society (the "rules of the game").

The film opens with the arrival of Andre Jurieux, a courageous aviator who has just completed a 23-hour solo flight across the Atlantic. As the public stands ready to hear about his heroic exploits, Andre uses the opportunity to whine that he did it all for a woman who didn't bother to be there and greet him. It doesn't matter to Andre that Christine, the woman in question, is married.

Octave explains the "rules" to Andre.

Andre's best friend, Octave (Renoir), has a long-standing friendship with Christine (Nora Gregor). He uses his influence to secure Andre an invitation to La Coliniere, a country estate owned by Christine and her husband Robert (Marcel Dalio). Robert is hesitant to agree at first, but Octave convinces him by agreeing to find a husband for Robert's mistress Geneviève (Mila Parely).

At the country gathering of friends, relationships change amidst an avalanche of mixed messages and misunderstandings. A confused Christine contemplates an affair with a stranger, then confesses her love for Andre before realizing that her friendship with Octave may be much more. Meanwhile, her maid Lisette ignores her husband, the gamekeeper, and flirts with both Octave and a poacher-turned-servant named Marceau. It's a classical French farce on the surface, but it's undercut by a condemnation of the bourgeois and concludes with an unexpected tragedy.

Geneviève participates in the hunt.

Clearly, Renoir wants to expose the emptiness and thoughtless cruelty of the upper classes, the latter conveyed in the film's most famous scene: a hunting party that slaughters dozens of rabbits and pheasants. As if this sequence (which is difficult to watch) needed more conviction, Renoir forsakes his typical long takes for cramming in 51 shots in less than four minutes. The violence is shocking and the analogy--that the bourgeois are indifferently destroying an unsuspecting society--is all the more potent.

It's no coincidence that the only likable members of Renoir's bourgeois are "outsiders." Several of Robert and Christine's "friends" feel sorry for Christine because she's Austrian. Later, we learn that Robert's father was a "Rosenthal from Frankfort"--meaning that he was Jewish. This allows us to feel empathy for them while still accepting that their vacuous life of luxury is no different from their guests.

Renoir's trademark use of deep focus--
Andre and Robert chat as Lisette watches
in the background.

In Renoir's world, both upper-class and servant classes understand the conventions of society, even though they break them. Octave stresses to Andre that "society has rules." And one of the house maids, upon learning Christine allowed Andre to sit next to her at dinner, expresses concern because "etiquette is etiquette."

It's ironic that the two most pathetic characters--Andre and Geneviève--are the ones who follow the rules at the risk of their own unhappiness. Andre may come across as a lovestruck fool, but he truly loves Christine and knows what he wants. Likewise, Geneviève understands that she doesn't want to lose Robert, although she confesses that "I don't know if it's love or force of habit." In contrast, Christine, Octave, and Robert struggle with trying to figure out what they really want. In the end, their actions seem foolish and perhaps even tragic, but as Octave explains to Robert at one point: "Everyone has their reasons."

Robert apologizes to his guests
after the tragedy.

The history of The Rules of the Game is almost as fascinating as the film itself. Two of Renoir's previous two films--La bête humaine and Grand Illusion--were big commercial and critical successes (Illusion even earned an Oscar nomintaion as Best Film...not Best Foreign-Language Film). So, it was a tremendous disappointment when Rules of the Games flopped miserably. Renoir even re-edited the film, trimming its running time from 96 minutes to 81. During World War II, the Nazis destroyed all known negatives. Then, in 1959, a restored 109-minute version of the film was released. Renoir approved this version, although it's important to note that he was not involved in the restoration.

Based on shooting scripts, film historians have compared the 81-minute and 109-minute versions. They contend that the shorter film was a harsher indictment of the upper classes, since it reduced or eliminated scenes that fleshed out the characters of Octave and Robert.

Since 1952, Sight and Sound magazine has done a poll of the 100 Greatest Films every decade. The Rules of the Game entered the 1952 poll as #10 and has been  #2 or #3 in every decade since then. The only film to rank above it: Citizen Kane.

Underrated Performer of the Month: Allison Hayes

Pulchritude with attitude. That's an appropriate description for B-movie actress Allison Hayes, who portrayed larger-than-life female characters on the silver screen...as in Attack of the 50-Foot Woman.

Born Mary Jane Hayes in 1930 in Charleston, West Virginia, she got her big career break when she represented Washington, DC in the 1949 Miss America Pageant. She took Allison Hayes as her professional name, worked in television, and eventually made her way to the West Coast in the early 1950s. She made her official film debut with a small part in 1954's Francis Joins the WACS. Further supporting player roles followed with costumers such as Sign of the Pagan (starring Jeff Chandler) and The Purple Mask (with Tony Curtis).

Hayes finally landed a promising role as a faded Southern belle opposite Van Heflin in the Western Count Three and Pray (1955). Unfortunately, critics focused on the film's other female star, a young Joanne Woodward. Instead of juicy parts in bigger budgeted films, Hayes got stuck in mid-grade fare like Mohawk and The Steel Jungle.

In 1956, Roger Corman provided her with a meaty role as the villain opposite gun-toting Beverly Garland in his fascinating feminist Western The Gunslinger. That same year, she played an alluring witch in another interesting Corman picture The Undead, which was filmed for $70,000 over ten days in a refurbished supermarket.

Hayes worked steadily in low-budget films and in television, often in thankless parts that capitalized on her looks. She was a promiscuous spouse who becomes a zombie in the camp classic Zombies of Mora Tau (1957).  In The Unearthly, she played alongside John Carradine as a mad scientist and Tor Johnson as his henchman (the film was later shown on MST3K).

But with her next sci fi film, Allison Hayes earned icon status as the title character in Attack of the 50-Foot Woman. She plays an alcoholic, mentally unstable wife with a crappy cheating husband. However, her life changes when she encounters an alien and begins to grow into a vengeful giant. The movie was understandably panned when originally released. But it acquired a cult reputation over the years, thanks to Ms. Hayes' no holds barred performance and the fantastic concept. My only problem with the film: Even with her emotional baggage, it's hard to fathom how any husband could cheat on Hayes' character. She is way hotter than Yvette Vickers as the "other woman."

In the 1960s, Hayes worked mostly in television. She appeared on Perry Mason five times with friend Raymond Burr (who co-starred in Count Three and Pray). Health problems, possibly related to lead poisoning, caused her to retire from acting by the late 1960s. She died of leukemia in 1977; she was only 46.

The Penultimate French Tearjerker: Les Parapluies De Cherbourg

Before her role in director Jacques Demy’s 1964 classic musical, Les Parapluies De Cherbourg, Catherine Deneuve was best known for giving birth to Roger Vadim’s illegitimate son. In a way, this was good preparation for her portrayal of an unmarried, 17-year-old who finds herself pregnant by a boyfriend serving in the Algerian War. Just twenty-years old when this film made her an international star, Deneuve’s melancholic performance was greatly enhanced by an unforgettable Michel Legrand musical score. Nominated for five Academy Awards, including Best Foreign Language Film, Best Screenplay, and Best Musical Score, this film won the Golden Palm and the OCIC.

Les Parapluies De Cherbourg is my all-time favorite film. I was in graduate school, studying French history, when a colleague asked what I thought of the French New Wave. This discussion naturally included the French’s love of jazz and films with unhappy endings. This, of course, was a perfect time for my colleague to mention that there was a film that encompassed both of these elements: Les Parapluies De Cherbourg. A lover of musicals since childhood, I jumped at the chance to watch this film once a copy could be procured. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw.

I suspect I was just as shocked as the audience at the 1964 Cannes Film Festival when I realized that the ENTIRE film is sung (in French, of course)—there is no “traditional” dialogue. Instead, it is a modern day (popular) opera, set primarily to a jazz score. This tends to create a problem for American audiences who overwhelmingly dislike reading subtitles at “normal” speed, let alone at song-lyric speed. About fifteen minutes into watching I turned the subtitles off. My French was passable at the time, so I could mostly keep up with what was being sung.

Legendary French songwriter Michel Legrand, with the aid of Demy and others, wrote a musical soundtrack/script that is at times playful, romantic, and haunting. The most famous song is the title song, “Les Parapluies De Cherbourg” (more commonly known in English as “I Will Wait for You”). The instrumental version, which closes the film in heart-wrenching fashion (you will never forget it once you experience it), is brilliant all by itself. Then, when you set effortless lyrics to the score, it is a phenomenal love song. The closing pass of the song (finished off with a rousing violin-drenched crescendo) is:

Ils se sont séparés sur le quai d'un gare

Ils se sont éloignés dans un dernier regard

Oh je t'aim' ne me quitte pas

Loosely translated, from French to English:

They separated on the platform of a station

They moved away in one last look

Oh I love you does not leave me

The best recorded version of this song is by the Greek diva-extraordinaire Nana Mouskouri. Often imitated but never surpassed by countless covers (by such artists as Tony Bennett and Carlo Berardinucci), it is a timeless song that even after 45+ years doesn’t sound dated. In addition to this gem there are other seamless songs that carry the film along to its eventual devastating conclusion.

Another startling element of the film is the way Demy uses color to carry the story. Cherbourg is an often rainy and dreary port city in Normandy, so the bright blues, oranges, pinks, reds, and yellows that Demy uses in the clothing and overall set design is far from a realistic portrait of the title city. Yet, the virtual Technicolor world that he creates, with bright swatches of color, serves as a co-conspirator in the film. For example, in the beginning of the film everything jumps with color, which corresponds to the happy state of young lovers Genevieve (Deneuve) and Guy (Nino Castelnuovo). In a way the bright pastels serve as blinders—the young, impetuous lovers are surrounded by bright, clear color, but they can’t truly see what lies ahead. However, by the end of the film, when the now irrevocably parted lovers meet by chance one snowy night, there is a notable absence of color. Agnes Varda, Demy’s wife (and a director in her own right) has said that Demy’s use of color was aimed at portraying the violence and the cruelty of the story.

For those who like to see happy endings, there is no crueler ending than what you are given in this film. I have often contemplated why the ending is so emotionally jarring. I think it has a lot to do with the youthful exuberance shown by Genevieve and Guy, who are so much in love at the start of the film. It is a pure and innocent love, which in any other film would have come off as sickeningly saccharin. Then, your heart absolutely breaks at the famous train scene where Guy goes off to Algeria with a teary-eyed Genevieve on the train platform. But that’s okay, because the movie is only half over and you know they are going to get married and have a child named Francoise as soon as he returns—right? After all, she did sing she would wait for him! Oh, but she finds out she’s pregnant and Guy doesn’t write and the next thing you know she’s marrying that wealthy jewel smuggler (Marc Michel) from Lola (another Demy musical, from 1961) who you felt so bad for when his romantic hopes were crushed by that slut Anouk Aimee! Yet, still somewhere in your mind is the thought that Guy will come home and save Genevieve from a loveless marriage and all will be right in Cherbourg. But, alas, that’s not what happens.

Instead, you learn the bittersweet lessons that love does not always conquer all and that not everyone (especially you the viewer) gets a happy ending. Instead, people settle. Genevieve settles for wealth and security; Guy settles for companionship and loyalty. The one small detail that the viewer can take solace in is the unforgettable final scene, where by revealing the names of their respective children, both named Francoise, the couple are somehow still connected—even if they are living different lives they need only say the name of their child and some semblance of what once was pure love remains: “Oh I love you does not leave me.”

This movie made Deneuve a star. Her Genevieve was innocence personified. Called upon to display every emotion, from love to despair, she transforms a naïve, love-struck teenager into a resigned, world-weary woman who accepts that life isn’t always fair. Of course, Roman Polanski and Luis Bunuel couldn’t wait to tarnish that innocence, but that’s a story for another day.

Cafe Contributors Win CiMBA Awards!

The Classic Film & TV Cafe is thrilled to congratulate its regular contributors Paul2 and TheLadyEve for winning 2010 CiMBA awards for posts featured on the Cafe! The CiMBA is an award for excellence in classic film blogging presented by the Classic Movie Blog Association (CMBA).

Paul2 won the 2010 CiMBA for Best Classic Movie Blog Event for his weekly Trivia Time. Now in its 57th edition, Trivia Time may be the most challenging regular movie quiz on the web. Some installments have been viewed by over 400 readers and generated over 30 comments. Paul, your efforts in coming up with those mind-bending questions have not gone unnoticed. We tip our thinking caps to you!

The LadyEve won the 2010 CiMBA for Best Profile of a Classic Movie Performer or Filmmaker for her article About John Gilbert...An Interview with Leatrice Gilbert Fountain. Actually, it was one of two excellent interviews conducted by TheLadyEve in 2010 (the other being with Edna May Green, who starred in Shadow of a Doubt). Eve, we are delighted that your impeccable research and marvelous writing have been recognized by our classic movie blog peers!

Click here to check out the Classic Movie Blog Association's web site which lists all the 2010 CiMBA winners. The Cafe congratulates each winner and hopes everyone will take the time to peruse these excellent reviews and articles on classic films.

Trivia Time - Part 57

Hey, it's both Halloween AND the end of baseball season, so we're throwing you a few curve balls this time: the questions MAY have to do with "scary" movies or baseball movies (or scary baseball movies) or.....maybe not! We retain all rights to the contents of these questions.

So here is TT 57....we'll leave it to you to decide whether it is a trick or a treat, LOL!

Who Am I? I worked more on Broadway than in I did in films, although I made several movies during the 30s and 40s. I once nursed a very sick vaudevillian back to health 20 years before he and I appeared together in a film playing nephew and aunt. Who Am I?

1. Name the sick vaudevillian and the film in question in Who Am I?

2. In the film in #1, one scene shows the star sitting in a graveyard. Near him is a headstone with a name that has special significance. Give the name on the headstone and explain the significance.

3. In the same film in questions 1 and 2, there is a running gag about someone in the film resembling a famous actor. Name the famous actor AND the person who resembles him.

4. In the Blake Edwards film, Experiment in Terror, the climactic scene takes place in a ball park. Name the ballpark and the teams that were playing.

5. In a classic episode of Leave It to Beaver, Beaver calls a famous baseball player on the telephone. Name the player.

6. Name the two aliens in the first season of Rocky and Bullwinkle.

7. In one of his earliest films, this future star was a real "stiff". Name him, the film, the director and the stars.

8. In a movie made during her final decade, Bette Davis wanted to play both her part as well as that of the same woman 30 years earlier, to be shown in flashbacks. The makeup department did their best, but when cast and crew watched the dailies, it was clear that it wouldn't work. The director bravely took her aside and told her that she was not believable as a woman in her forties, even with makeup. Davis replied, "You're G**d***ed right!". Name the film.

9. The vaudevillian in Who Am I? once appeared in a Doris Day movie in which he took her to a baseball game. They both got to sit with the team in the dugout. Name the movie, the ball park, team, and the famous ball players who had speaking parts in that scene.

10. Name the famous baseball player who once had a speaking part on The Donna Reed Show.

Danny’s Not Here, Mrs. Torrance... He’s Watching Stanley Kubrick’s “The Shining”

Jack Torrance (Jack Nicholson) takes a job as caretaker of the Overlook Hotel for the winter. A struggling alcoholic who has been sober for five months, he plans to work on his latest “writing project,” while his wife, Wendy (Shelley Duvall), and son, Danny (Danny Lloyd), stay with him in the enormous hotel. Before the employees leave, a cook, Hallorann (Scatman Crothers), recognizes in Danny a shared extrasensory ability. Hallorann’s grandmother referred to ESP as “shining,” which the young boy handles by creating Tony, who lives in Danny’s mouth, talking to him and sometimes showing him pieces of future events. Danny can sense that the cook is afraid of Room 237, and Hallorann warns Danny to stay out of the room.

Jack had been informed by the hotel manager of the preceding caretaker, Charles Grady, who murdered his family with an axe before killing himself. Days pass, and Jack sleeps late, repeatedly tosses a ball against the wall, and nods off at the typewriter. As Jack’s behavior becomes progressively more antagonistic towards his wife and son, Danny has visions of mysterious sisters, bloody corridors, and the word “redrum” scrawled on a door. Soon, Jack is seeing people at the hotel, like the bartender, Lloyd, who serves him drinks, and it seems only a matter of time before the agitated writer picks up an axe.
Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining was not generally well received upon its 1980 release in theaters, but like several of Kubrick’s films, The Shining has, over time, garnered more fans and favorable reviews. Kubrick was well known for his rigorous shoots during production, a perfectionist for every shot of his films. His movie prior to The Shining, Barry Lyndon (1975), took an astounding 300 days to complete filming, whereas production for The Shining reportedly lasted over a year. Perhaps because of his lengthy shoots, Kubrick was never genuinely considered an “actor’s director,” as the actors sometimes were simply objects within a highly detailed construct (e.g., the privates standing at attention in 1987’s Full Metal Jacket or Alex and his droogs sitting at the milk bar in 1971’s A Clockwork Orange).

In The Shining, there are seemingly endless shots of far-reaching hallways and characters framed in vast, nearly empty rooms. Something as simple as Wendy bringing Jack his breakfast becomes an arduous task of rolling a service cart for a prolonged distance. Many horror films enclose characters within confined spaces (such as George A. Romero’s 1968 ghoul opus, Night of the Living Dead), but The Shining takes an alternate approach. There is plenty of room to move in the colossal hotel, but, like with so many of the hotel’s elements, it’s pure deceit. The isolated hotel is covered in a severe snow storm, so Danny and his mother can run, and they can even hide, but there truly is no escape.
There have been numerous readings of The Shining, with some critical writings or essays viewing the film as an allegory. While a literal translation of the film’s plot is not likely feasible, it is possible to focus more on its base components. Jack Torrance is either conversing with and being manipulated by ghosts or his mind is disintegrating (not unlike Jack Clayton’s 1961 The Innocents or its source text, Henry James’ The Turn of the Screw). Theories can support either belief, but Kubrick’s infamous concluding shot, closing in on a simple photograph, adds a new element to any potential interpretation.

The Shining was based on the Stephen King novel of the same name, which was adapted by Kubrick and author Diane Johnson. King has been vocal over his dissatisfaction with Kubrick’s film version. The author was most critical of the casting of Nicholson, believing that audiences would immediately see Nicholson as the mentally unstable character, as opposed to watching a man slowly fall apart. In 1997, King adapted his novel and produced a three-part miniseries directed by Mick Garris and starring Steven Weber and Rebecca De Mornay. The television version was filmed in part at the Stanley Hotel in Estes Park, Colorado, the hotel which inspired King’s original novel. Kubrick filmed some of the exteriors for the 1980 film at the Timberline Lodge in Oregon in lieu of the Stanley Hotel, another source of contention for King. (The interiors were filmed at Elstree Studios in England.)
The film’s Steadicam operator, Garrett Brown, invented the Steadicam, which he initially called the “Brown stabilizer.” He first utilized the Steadicam in Bound for Glory (1976) and won great acclaim for Rocky the same year, following Sylvester Stallone up the steps of the Philadelphia Art Museum. His design originally covered the area from the operator’s waist to head, but he was able to employ shots in The Shining at knee height (accomplished by utilizing a wheelchair), as the camera travels behind Danny on a Big Wheel in the Overlook’s hallways. The tracking shots in Kubrick’s film are extraordinary. They are fluid and follow Danny so closely that it gives the impression of being pulled against one’s will, intensifying the dread of the boy turning a corner, as one can never tell what will be standing there.

Soon after its initial theatrical release, Kubrick pulled the film and cut the ending. The final shot was the same, but there was a preceding scene that did little to explain the events of the movie. If anything, it unnecessarily piled on further intricacies to a labyrinth of ideas. There are apparently production shots, but the filmed scene reportedly no longer exists.

Wendy Carlos and Rachel Elkind composed a score for the film (Carlos had also written the Moog synthesizer music for Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange). However, very little of their music was used, as Kubrick opted for already existing classical music to cover most of the film’s soundtrack. In 2005, Carlos released the original material written for The Shining, with Rediscovering Lost Scores, Vol. 1 and 2 (also featuring selections from A Clockwork Orange and 1982’s Tron).
Though they are often referred to as “twins,” the ghostly Grady sisters in The Shining are simply dressed alike, as the film explains that the two girls are different ages. The well known line -- “Here’s Johnny!” -- was an ad-lib by Nicholson. Clearly a play on Ed McMahon’s introduction of Johnny Carson on The Tonight Show, Stanley Kubrick, who had been living in England for a number of years, reportedly did not comprehend the reference. Carson would later incorporate the scene in an introduction to one of the show’s anniversary specials.

The Shining is one of my favorite horror films. I’m a Kubrick fan, and although he didn’t concentrate on the horror genre, the famed director was able to create scenes of sheer intensity and disturbing imagery that sears itself into the viewers’ minds. It’s a movie that, if nothing else, makes me glad that I cannot afford to stay at a gigantic posh hotel.

Trivia Time - Part 56 - the Answers

This is a short post because so many of you participated this week and did VERY well!

8. Name the stars of the ABC TV series, The Young Lawyers.

Answer: Zalman King, Judy Pace, and Lee J. Cobb

10. Between his work for the BBC and his feature films, Ken Russell made docudramas and films about six different composers. Name the composers.

Answer: This was difficult, and I didn't really expect anyone to get it. At the BBC: Elgar, Debussy, and Delius. Feature films: Tchaikovsky (The Music Lovers), Mahler (Mahler), and Liszt (Lisztomania). Late-breaking news: after we posted this question, I actually discovered another Russell film about a composer: a made-for-TV movie called The Strange Affliction of Anton Bruckner. Which makes seven.

The High Price of Knowing in George Sluizer’s “The Vanishing”

A Dutch man, Rex (Gene Bervoets), and his girlfriend, Saskia (Johanna ter Steege), are on holiday in France. They stop at a gas station for a rest and to refuel, and sitting in his car is a man (Bernard-Pierre Donnadieu) who affixes his arm with an artificial cast and sling. When Saskia enters the station for drinks before the couple hits the road again, she does not return. Rex searches the area and questions the gas station manager and employees, but there is no trace of the woman. Three years later, Rex is consumed by his search for Saskia. Though he has a girlfriend, Lieneke (Gwen Eckhaus), her companionship cannot outweigh his obsession. Rex has received postcards from someone claiming to know what has happened to Saskia, but when he waits at a specified meeting place, there is no one. When Rex finally makes an appearance on television to tell the story of Saskia’s disappearance, Raymond, the man from the gas station years ago, approaches him, saying that he can tell Rex of his girlfriend’s fate.

George Sluizer’s 1988 film The Vanishing (aka Spoorloos, the original Dutch title) is an elegantly complex feature, most notably for an early introduction to and subsequent spotlighting of the villain. Following Saskia’s vanishing, the film’s perspective switches to Raymond, a family man and school teacher, as his plan slowly materializes. He is meticulous, each of his acts another step towards his objective. What makes Raymond such an appalling character is the fact that he is thorough, mapping out every aspect and even practicing (at one point involving his daughter in a scenario, unbeknownst to her). Another frightening point is the origin of specific ideas, sometimes coming from someone else, such as his family. Raymond is, as he himself says, a sociopath, cold and detached, and his very nature is chilling. When his wife expresses concern that he may have a mistress, Raymond alleviates her worries not with charm but in a direct, businesslike manner.
Much of the film plays like curtains being drawn back, not for a shocking revelation, but rather to unveil the inevitable horror. Sluizer offers clues throughout the course of the film, not truly hiding anything. The ending may not be the preferred destination, but it is the only way. This gives deeper meaning to an early scene, when Rex and Saskia run out of gas in the middle of a dark tunnel. After retrieving gasoline, Rex drives the car out of the tunnel, visualized from his point of view. The meager light at the tunnel’s exit gradually increases, revealing to the audience what it can already see -- and standing in the light is Saskia, who is waiting at the end.

The Vanishing was based on the novella, The Golden Egg, by Tim Krabbé, who wrote the screenplay adaptation with Sluizer. The story’s title is referenced in the film by a description of Saskia’s dream, in which she is trapped inside a golden egg, a dream that Rex also experiences during his desperate search. Sluizer, who also produced, and producer Anne Lordon won a Golden Calf for Best Feature Film at the Netherlands Film Festival. The film was the Dutch submission for the Academy Awards’ Best Foreign Language Film category but was ineligible since a great deal of spoken dialogue was in French. Actress ter Steege, in her film debut, won an European Film Award for Best Supporting Actress (the very first year that the European Film Academy held a ceremony).
Actor Jeroen Krabbé is author Tim Krabbé’s brother. The actor has appeared in a number of films, perhaps most famously in The Living Daylights (1987) and The Fugitive (1993). He also co-starred with ter Steege in Immortal Beloved (1994).
Sluizer directed a Hollywood remake of The Vanishing in 1993, starring Keifer Sutherland, Jeff Bridges, and Nancy Travis. The narrative structure is only slightly altered, with a significant change being additional screen time for the U.S. version of Lieneke (played by Travis). The most drastic revision, however, was the ending, which was compromised to allow for a more upbeat conclusion. The movie was a commercial and critical failure.

Nuanced Terror - Jack Clayton's "The Innocents"

Light and shadow flicker across the screen. Sobbing is heard as a pair of praying hands, clasping and unclasping, come into view. The sobs continue.

A woman’s suffering face appears above the tortured hands. Birds twitter…her distraught voice whispers…

All I want to do is save the children not destroy them. More than anything I love children. More than anything they need affection, love, someone who will belong to them and to whom they will belong.

And then, as a man’s voice asks Do you have an imagination?, the screen focuses, suddenly revealing a well-appointed office, an elegant gentleman and the woman we have already seen…who now sits in a chair and speaks animatedly with the man who continues to ask questions and explain the situation he offers.

Director Jack Clayton

These first moments of Jack Clayton’s masterful 1961 film, The Innocents, set the stage for a chilling and absorbing tale of bewitchment.

Deborah Kerr stars as Miss Giddens, an anxious, fragile-seeming young woman who begins her first assignment as a governess for two orphaned children on a remote estate.

Michael Redgrave briefly portrays the gentleman, Miss Giddens’ employer, whose questions and revelations prime and subtly spook her, before she sets foot in the stately home where events will unfold.

The action intensifies when Miss Giddens arrives at Bly, a magnificent manor that far exceeds her expectations in its grandeur and beauty. She is “very excited, indeed” to be there and her two “angelic” and precocious charges easily charm her. An earthy housekeeper, Mrs. Grose (Megs Jenkins), serves to ground the excitable governess…whose journey proceeds from enchantment to confusion, to torment and disintegration.

Henry James

American novelist Henry James wrote The Turn of the Screw in 1898 while living in England in a large rambling mansion. James has recorded that the story was suggested to him by an anecdote he heard from the Archbishop of Canterbury. This scrap of a tale concerned young children haunted by the malevolent ghosts of a pair of servants who tried, again and again, to lure them to their deaths.

The James novella depicts a young governess on her first assignment, the care of two children living in a grand mansion on a vast estate. The plot deepens when the young woman, daughter of a vicar, begins to suspect the presence of the evil spirits of two deceased servants.

It was several years after James’ book was published before critics began to wrangle in earnest over the interpretation of the story. By the 1920s several had proposed that The Turn of the Screw was less a ghost story and more the tale of inexperienced and high-strung governess who succumbed to hallucinations and madness. A 1934 essay by prominent critic Edmund Wilson dramatically advanced this view.

Henry James himself was equivocal about his intentions, and statements he made on the subject have been cited to support both apparitionist and non-apparitionist views.

Fascination with The Turn of the Screw hasn't waned over the years and it has been adapted from the page to other mediums including opera, the stage, TV and film. In February 1950, Peter Cookson’s production of William Archibald’s stage adaption of the James novella debuted on Broadway as The Innocents; Beatrice Straight starred as the governess.

Eleven years later, the play was adapted to film by British director, Jack Clayton (Room at the Top). Though William Archibald was involved, it was Truman Capote who was primarily responsible for the polished screenplay.

Truman Capote

Capote endeavored to maintain the story’s ambiguity as he felt Henry James had originally conceived it – are the ghosts real or are they the fantasies of a governess gone mad?

Taking the modern view, it’s not difficult to interpret The Innocents as an intricately staged reflection of an unstable woman’s descent into madness: the film closely follows the increasingly erratic behavior and visible deterioration of the omnipresent governess; no one but the governess actually “sees” the ghosts she claims are present; by the film’s end, even the sensible and supportive housekeeper is at odds with the hysterical young woman…and there are many visual clues that the governess may be projecting her own imaginings onto her surroundings. It is no stretch these days to believe that a deranged governess would be capable of terrifying a frightened child to death.

But, viewed from another perspective, the tale can also be read as the story of an inexperienced but well-meaning young woman confronted with the supernatural in the form of malicious spirits. Her fervid determination to save the children from possession could explain her unorthodox behavior. And that is what most people believed when The Turn of the Screw was first published.

Enigmatic and haunting, The Innocents leaves the audience to its own conclusions.

A luminous turn by Deborah Kerr (in her own favorite film performance), Freddie Francis’ cinematography, the script of Archibald and Capote and Georges Auric’s original music all mesh under Jack Clayton’s accomplished direction to create the acknowledged masterpiece among the many adaptations of The Turn of the Screw.

Rich Man, Poor Man

I think most adults have had the experience of re-visiting one of their old homes or schools and most say the same thing – “It seems so much smaller than I remember.”  Sometimes seeing a movie or TV show from years ago can have the same effect. I was surprised to find that my reaction to the 1976 mini-series Rich Man, Poor Man was the same as visiting my old school – it just didn’t seem as impressive as it did the first time around.

A&E Home Video has released a boxed DVD set of both the original and sequel of this ground-breaking television event. Rich Man, Poor Man was the first of its kind, the mini-series that has since become a staple of television programming. When it debuted on February 1, 1976 on ABC, it caught the attention of the nation and kept it for the 8 weeks of its run (there are 12 episodes in total, 4 of which were shown as 2-hour specials). In those days before recording technology, Rich Man, Poor Man dominated its Monday night time slot.

Based on Irwin Shaw’s popular novel, Rich Man, Poor Man is the story of what we now refer to as a dysfunctional family. It portrays the life of the Jordache family during the period from the end of World War II to the late 1960’s. It is fascinating to watch for those who lived through those years as well as younger audiences who can experience a time before they were born. Axel Jordache (Ed Asner) is a harsh man, a German immigrant who runs a bakery with his discontented American-born wife Mary (Dorothy McGuire) and two sons, Rudy (Peter Strauss) and Tom (Nick Nolte). Rudy is the golden boy, and Tom the black sheep of the family, a dynamic that affects the feelings of the brothers toward each other and sets the stage for lifelong conflict. This is essentially the story of the two brothers whose lives disconnect as very young men. Rudy takes the path of higher education and successful business, while Tom is a wanderer trying to find his way in a hard world. The parallel, though very different, lives of the brothers eventually converge in later years with painful consequences.

34-year old Nick Nolte, who had already established an acting career, became an “overnight” star with his performance in Rich Man, Poor Man. His role as Tom was by far the meatiest and reflects more depth than Strauss’s Rudy. Tom breaks your heart, while Rudy’s rise to riches and power makes his character rather smarmy and hypocritical. Strauss, although handsome and charming, does not have the acting chops of Nolte, whose performance is tour-de-force. Strauss’s career continued in some good, some forgettable television roles, while Nolte went on to movie stardom. Susan Blakely, a young model turned actress, plays Julie Prescott, a beautiful young girl whose ambitions cause her to hurt others as well as herself. Blakely is lovely and was very popular at the time, but in my opinion not a good enough actress to carry the part. She continued acting in movies and television, notably as Frances Farmer in the TV movie Will There Really Be A Morning.

Rich Man, Poor Man was notable for its cameo roles by classic-era movie stars, including Dorothy McGuire, Van Johnson, Ray Milland, Gloria Grahame and Barry Sullivan. Even in 1976, television was considered by many movie actors as a step down, but Rich Man, Poor Man attracted them for its ground-breaking distinction and popularity of Shaw's novel. Dorothy McGuire's role in particular gave the opportunity for real acting. In a departure from her better-known movie roles, McGuire plays a frustrated, unstable woman as Mary Jordache, and her performance in this role was excellent. Others had fairly small roles that didn’t take much effort. I remember when The Towering Inferno hit movie theatres, William Holden said of his part “I could have phoned it in.” The same unfortunately applies to other famous stars who appeared in Rich Man, Poor Man, including one of my favorites, Ray Milland. It was great to see them, but some of them could have phoned in their parts too.  ( A note of interest:  The Towering Inferno was one of Susan Blakely's early movie roles, in which she played William Holden's daughter.)

The series was also a good vehicle for younger stars such as Talia Shire, Kim Darby and Kay Lenz. Television star Robert Reed gave a solid performance as Teddy Boylan, a man who affected the lives of all three principal characters. Bill Bixby, another popular television actor, was quite good in his role as Julie’s alcoholic husband. And of course, one of television’s best, most-hated villains was created in the series by William Smith as Falconetti. Smith’s forte is villains, and his character in Rich Man, Poor Man was by far his best work. The story of Falconetti and Tom in particular is so well-done that it is difficult to see unfold. Falconetti is indeed despicable, and Smith plays it to the hilt.

After the great success of Rich Man, Poor Man, a sequel was planned immediately after. Nolte refused to appear because he felt the story should not be altered to create a sequel. He had the right idea, because the sequel was a poor follow-up to the original story. Its popularity did not come anywhere near that of the original. It is fun, however, to watch it as part of the DVD set just to see where it takes the story. The DVD set also features commentary in Book One, Chapter One by star Peter Strauss and TV historian David Bianculli which is quite interesting.

There was of course no category for best mini-series yet in the Emmy awards, but Rich Man, Poor Man garnered 24 nominations, winning 4 awards: Best Director David Greene (there were actually several directors throughout the series, including Bill Bixby), Best Supporting Actress in a Limited Performance Fionnula Flanagan for her poignant performance as the servant girl Clothtilde, Best Actor in a Limited Performance Ed Asner as Axel Jordache and Best Music Score Alex North. Asner, who was tremendously popular as the crusty but loveable Mr. Grant in the Mary Tyler Moore show, still going strong when the mini-series was made, gave a marvelous performance as the cruel, enraged Axel Jordache, which probably surprised a lot of the comedy series’ fans. Why Nolte did not win an Emmy is beyond me – his performance as the ill-fated Tom was superb, not to mention that he was the glue that held the whole thing together. I have to say that I don’t quite understand why the score by Alex North was given an award. It must have been a thin year for TV music. North, who composed several truly great movie scores, including A Streetcar Named Desire, Spartacus, Shoes of the Fisherman and The Children’s Hour, turned out what I thought of as insipid and unmemorable music for Rich Man, Poor Man, a surprising turn for such a talented composer.

Although my experience in watching Rich Man, Poor Man again after 34 years was unexpectedly disappointing overall, that may be because in my memory it had grown to greater proportions than it was able to deliver now. It is not a bad show nor is it a great one. I guess it is just “smaller than I remember.”