Errol Flynn's Unfinished Film: "The Story of William Tell"

Errol Flynn as William Tell.

In his 1959 autobiography My Wicked, Wicked Ways, Errol Flynn wrote:

I went into an independent production to make William Tell. I wrote the outline of the script myself; I had a scenario drawn, and I went into business with a group of Italians--fifty-fifty. We budgeted for $860,000...I built one of the most beautiful sets right in William Tell country itself at Courmayer, in Northern Italy, where the Alps run up very high. I built an entire little village, with a stream running through it where we would shoot the famous highlight--knocking an apple off of a boy's head...I'd teach Jack Warner how to make pictures."

The year was 1953 and Flynn, having completed his Warner Bros. contract, wanted more creative control of his films. He had already written a screenplay (for his 1951 film Adventures of Captain Fabian) as well as two books: Showdown, a 1946 novel about a ship's captain set in New Guinea; and the earlier Beams End, an autobiographical tale of a voyage aboard his yacht, the Sirocco. With The Story of William Tell, Flynn envisioned a colorful tale along the lines of The Adventures of Robin Hood.

Flynn, in the middle, with Cardiff on right.

Flynn's previous two films, The Master of Ballantrae and Crossed Swords, were made in Europe. Both films were also photographed in color by Jack Cardiff, whose impressive credits included Powell and Pressberger's Black Narcissus and The Red Shoes. Flynn was impressed with Cardiff's work and the cinematographer yearned for an opportunity to direct a film. With Flynn and his friend Barry Mahon producing, Cardiff signed on to direct The Story of William Tell. The intent was to mount a first-rate production; it would have been the second film photographed in Cinemascope (following The Robe). Flynn and Bruce Cabot headed a cast that consisted mostly of Italian actors.

After several weeks of filming, Flynn learned that the film's Italian investors could not cover their share of the production budget. In The Films of Errol Flynn by Tony Thomas, Rudy Behlmer, and Clifford McCarthy, director Jack Cardiff said:

(We) carried on for about six more weeks--the crew working for nothing--until poverty forced us to quit the beautiful mountain location...I was two years waiting for the picture to start again while law suits--including my own--were bandied back and forth. But it all fizzled out. The Italian producer who let us down died bankrupt. I finally abandoned ship, being owed nine million lira.

According to some sources, the remaining footage of The Story of William Tell is stored in the archives of Boston University. Indeed, the 15-30 minutes of edited footage has become something of an urban legend. In one account, Roddy McDowall bought the William Tell footage from Flynn's widow Patrice Wymore and donated it to Boston University with the stipulation that it never be publicly shown!

After the collapse of The Story of William Tell, a financially-strapped Errol Flynn made two films for Herbert Wilcox and his actress wife Anna Neagle: the musical Let's Make Up (aka Lilacs in the Spring) and the historical romance King's Rhapsody. Meanwhile, Cardiff had to wait five more years before getting another chance to direct--the 1958 thriller Intent to Kill.

The Odd Odyssey of "Jack the Giant Killer"

The Cormoran.

Heard the one about the 1962 fantasy adventure that was re-edited into a musical in 1976? If so, then you're familiar with the plight of Jack the Giant Killer, an entertaining--albeit modest--variation on the Sinbad films made by Ray Harryhausen and Charles Schneer. Indeed, its similarities with The 7th Voyage of Sinbad is what led to its conversion into a musical. But, before we get to that, let's take a look at the original version of Jack the Giant Killer.

For her birthday, the beautiful Princess Elaine (Judi Meredith) receives a large music box from a myterious visiting dignitary--who is actually the evil wizard Pendragon (Torin Thatcher). When she opens the music box, a 12-inch jester emerges and dances until the music stops. The princess is delighted. That night, though, the little jester (who looks downright creepy) grows into a two-horned Cormoran (a Cornish giant) and abducts Princess Elaine.

Jack (Kerwin Matthews) gets knighted.

En route to a waiting ship, the Cormoran--still clutching the screaming princess--rumbles though a small farm owned by a young man called Jack (Kerwin Matthews). Determined to rescue Princess Elaine, the resourceful Jack uses a rope, a mill, and a scythe to kill the Cormoran. Once the princess safely returns to the castle, Jack is hailed as a hero and knighted by the king.

However, still concerned about his daughter's safety, the king asks Jack to escort Elaine to a convent in another kingdom. Love blossoms between Jack and Elaine during their shipboard voyage. However, their happiness is short-lived when Pendragon sends a bunch of ugly, fire-producing witches to kidnap Princess Elaine. It's up to Jack to rescue his love again.

Good princess; bad princess.

Loosely inspired by a Cornish fairy tale (which has nothing to do with a beanstalk), Jack the Giant Killer borrows liberally from The 7th Voyage of Sinbad and The Wizard of Oz. Like the 7th Voyage, it features: a quest to rescue a princess; battles with stop-motion animated creatures; an evil wizard; warriors that sprout from teeth; and a helpful magical companion (an imp in a bottle instead of the genie-boy from Sinbad). Jack the Giant Killer also recycles the director (Nathan Juran) and two stars (Matthews and Thatcher) from The 7th Voyage of Sinbad. As for The Wizard of Oz, its fans will notice that the evil wizard monitors our heroes with a crystal ball, employs witches that like to burn things ("How about a little fire, Scarecrow?"), and uses an hourglass.

Pendragon's castle.

Despite its derivative nature, Jack the Giant Killer is an appealing picture targeted at kids. It lacks the classy production values of the Sinbad movies and the special effects can't compare to the masterful work of Ray Harryhausen. The Cormorans (a second two-headed one appears near the climax) are impressive, but the other creature models look pretty juvenile, especially the Kraken that emerges from the sea. The actual stop-motion animation is pretty good, which is no surprise since some of it was done by Jim Danforth. Over his career as a special effects wizard, Danforth earned two Oscar nominations; his best work is probably When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth (1971).

Jack the Giant Killer was produced by Edward Small, who had turned down The 7th Voyage of Sinbad three years earlier. That fact, plus the obvious similarities between the films, led to Columbia Pictures (which distributed Sinbad) to file a copyright infringement suit to prevent the release of Jack the Giant Killer. It was released anyway (some sources claim the suit was filed too late). However, legal concerns popped up again when the film was being considered for a video release in 1976. To avoid a lawsuit, Small retitled the film Jack the Giant Killer: The Musical and redubbed it with songs.

Fortunately, the original version of Jack the Giant Killer eventually found its way to release on VHS, Laserdisc, and DVD. Still, it's interesting to ponder other classic films that could be converted into musicals. Casablanca--The Musical, anyone?

What's the Movie? (We describe it...you name it!)

Last December, we posted our first quiz of this type (only it was longer). It turned out to be fun and generated a lot of positive feedback. We like reinforcement at the Cafe! We hope this edition turns out to be equally entertaining. The rules are easy: Name each film below based on our (rather) vague description. Be sure to include the question number with your response. Please don't answer all the questions so others can play, too. There is one film that is the single, best answer to each description.

1. You can glimpse Philip Marlowe in a mirror.

2. There's a lot of confusion about the location of a pill containing poison.

3. He hid it in the clock!

4. Dog howls when owner is mistakenly murdered.

5. Bond won't talk; villain wants him to die!

6. Bob Hope's kids look like Bing Crosby.

7. Father kills son with a cane; son is grateful.

8. Ex-convict governess cares for pyromaniac.

9. Accused firestarter woos woman at her father's request.

10. President is kidnapped during a game of golf.

11. John Kennedy thwarts Lincoln's assassination.

12. House guest gives kid diamonds in exchange for a few bucks.

13. It's a sled!

14. Man's scheme revealed because he can't spell "memento."

15. Man lives in doll house.

Fabulous Films of the 1940s Blogathon: Let Right Be Done in "The Winslow Boy"

Robert Donat as Sir Robert Morton.

When 12-year-old Ronnie Winslow is expelled from the Royal Naval Academy, his father has but one question: Did Ronnie steal the five-shilling postal order? When his son replies that he did not, Arthur Winslow, a retired upper middle-class bank accountant, sets out to prove his son's innocence.

It's a campaign that will reach the House of Commons and evolve into a passionate debate of fundamental citizen rights. Yet, it will also earn the Winslow family unwanted notoriety, put them on the brink of debt, and cause them to question one another's motives (even the normally restrained Grace Winslow accuses her husband of "pride and self-importance").

Cedric Hardwicke.

This 1948 adaptation of Terence Rattigan's hit 1946 stage play succeeds as enthralling drama and social commentary. In regard to the latter, the film's central issue is whether "a servant of the King" can sue the King. When Arthur Winslow's (Cedric Hardwicke) appeal to the Naval commandant fails, he seeks out famous solicitor Sir Robert Morton (Robert Donat). In one of the film's best scenes, Morton cross-examines Ronnie ruthlessly in the family's home. After getting the lad thoroughly flummoxed, Morton turns away to make an abrupt exit. The family assumes that hope is lost--before Sir Robert quips on his way out the door: "The boy is plainly innocent. I will take the brief."

In order to bring Ronnie's case to trial, Sir Robert must secure approval from the Attorney General through a Petition of Right. When approved, the petition is endorsed with the phrase: "Let right be done." Sir Robert's political maneuvering and inspiring speech in the House of Commons would make for an interesting film alone.

The poster stressed Donat's
billing, of course.

However, Rattigan also focuses on the impact to the family. As the legal bills mount, Arthur Winslow withdraws financial support for his older son at Oxford. Arthur's health deteriorates until his arthritis makes him wheelchair-bound. Catherine Winslow's fiance ends their engagement when his father--who finds the Winslow' notoriety socially unacceptable--threatens to stop his son's allowance. Arthur even considers firing the family maid after 24 years of loyal service.

Through all the stress, Arthur and his suffragette daughter Catherine remain the pillars of the family. Arthur's goal is simply to prove his son's innocence. Catherine, on the other hand, believes that the government has ignored a fundamental human right. Her beliefs align closely with Sir Robert's, whom she first perceives as an egotistical lawyer who views the case as an opportunity to press his own agenda. However, just like Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice, Catherine later learns she has misjudged Sir Robert...and, indeed, their sparring seems to indicate a spark between the two.

Margaret Leighton in a publicity still.

Although the entire cast is impeccable, special recognition must be paid to Hardwicke, Donat, and Margaret Leighton as Catherine. A supporting performer through much of his film career, Hardwicke brings determination and depth to his role as the single-minded father who begins to question what he had done. As for Donat, who doesn't appear until 41 minutes into the film, this may be my favorite of his performances--crisp, energetic, and utterly believable. He and Leighton, whose quiet conviction is the backbone of the story, are a delightful pair and their denouement ends the film on a perfect note.

Terence Rattigan based his play on a real-life incident involving George Archer-Shee, a Royal Navy cadet accused of stealing a postal order in 1910. Archer-Shee's case made headlines, just as in The Winslow Boy, and he was eventually acquitted. His family subsequently sued the Admiralty and finally received compensation in 1911.

Although the 1948 film remains the best-known adaptation, there are at least three other versions: a 1997 BBC "filmed play" with Eric Porter (The Forsyte Saga) as Arthur; a 1989 telefilm with Gordon Jackson (Upstairs Downstairs) as Arthur and Emma Thompson as Catherine; and David Mamet's very good 1991 adaptation starring Nigel Hawthorne (Arthur), Jeremy Northam (Sir Robert), and Rebecca Pidgeon (Catherine).

Click here to check out all the great reviews in the CMBA's Fabulous Films of the 1940s Blogathon.

"Lee Marvin: Point Blank" - Dwayne Epstein's New Biography of The Merchant of Menace

In Lee Marvin: Point Blank, author Dwayne Epstein puts together a convincing portrait of the enigmatic actor that New York Times film critic Vincent Canby once called "The Master of Menace." Epstein augments Marvin's insightful letters and colorful quotes with anecdotes from family, friends, and especially former wife Betty Ebeling Marvin. The result is a lively biography of a dedicated, hard-drinking actor whose detached, violent "heroes" came alive vividly in films such as The Dirty Dozen, The Killers (1964), and Point Blank.

Born in New York in 1924, Lee Marvin--like his brother Robert--was named after Robert E. Lee. Their mother, Courtenay, was an ancestor of the famous Confederate general. Author Epstein speculates that Lee Marvin suffered from Attention Deficit Disorder as a youth as well as dyslexia. The young Marvin displayed a rebellious nature at home--he and his mother never got along--and in school. Later in life, he boasted of being expelled from fifteen schools.

He eventually played authority figures
in war films like The Dirty Dozen.

For a young man who often defied authority, it's ironic that Marvin not only enlisted in the armed services in 1942, but chose the Marines. However, as Epstein points out, "it was a time of extreme patriotism" following Pearl Harbor; Marvin's brother and father, a World War I veteran,  also enlisted. Undoubtedly, his years as a Marine shaped the rest of Marvin's life. Excerpts from his early letters show a young man at conflict. He proudly discusses his test scores and marksmanship, but also writes "sometimes I wonder what I joined up for." Marvin participated in many bloody battles following his deployment to the Pacific in 1944. When a wound ended his military career in 1945, Marvin "could not shake off the intense feeling he was experiencing: anger, frustration and worst of all, survivor guilt as the war stubbornly wore on."

Following the end of the war, Marvin contemplated working as a forest ranger and car salesman before becoming a plumber's apprentice. However, Marvin's career took a different path when he became involved in a Red Cross benefit called "Ten Nights in a Barroom" in Woodstock, New York, in 1946. That eventually led to a summer stock gig with the Maverick Theater in 1947. Epstein notes that acting provided an "outlet to express his inner demons that had been frustrating him since the war." Marvin used his G.I. bill money to attend the American Theater Wing, which led to small parts. However, he later said that Broadway "was a damn bore...the New York stage is a hustle." When colleague James Doohan (Star Trek's Scotty) recommended Marvin move to the West Coast, Marvin took the advice.

As the no-nonsense hero of M Squad.

In Hollywood, Lee Marvin excelled in movies that featured a "much darker tone...creeping like an uninvited guest into American popular culture." He played villains and tough guys in films such as The Big Heat, Bad Day at Black Rock, A Life in the Balance, Violent Saturday, and The Rack. Despite steady work, stardom eluded him and, at the urging of his trusted agent Meyer Mishkin, Marvin took the lead role in the TV series M Squad. The 1957 documentary-style series featured Marvin as detective Lieutenant Frank Ballinger; it was a minor hit and proved that the actor could handle starring roles. In typical fashion, Marvin downplayed the series, telling the press: "Cops and robbers series sell. You don't make TV shows for fun--you make them for money."

As Epstein skilfully traces Marvin's rise to big-screen stardom in the 1960s, he paints a picture of a man struggling with personal relationships and alcoholism. Toward the end of his 16-year marriage to the former Betty Ebeling, Marvin started a relationship with actress Michelle Triola. Although they broke up in 1970, she sued Marvin in what became a landmark palimony case in the state of California. Marvin, meanwhile, married Pamela Feeley, a former girlfriend from his summer stock days. They remained together until his death in 1986.

With Lee Marvin: Point Blank, author Dwayne Epstein has written an engrossing, well-researched biography of an unlikely Hollywood star. He praises Marvin's best films (The Professionals, Point Blank), but also provides honest assessments of the bad ones (The Klansmen). I don't buy his contention that "the roots of physical aggression were genetically set in place long before (Marvin's) very existence." Indeed, Epstein does a fine job of explaining the events that shaped Marvin's persona on and off the screen--and that's no easy feat. The 303-page book features candid black and white photos, an index, footnotes, an in-depth bibliography, and a list of roles that Marvin turned down (e.g., Patton). It's a must for Lee Marvin fans and is also recommended for any film buffs interested in American cinema in the 1950s-70s.

Independent Publishers Group provided the Cafe with a review copy of this book.

A Good Day to Review the "Die Hard" Series

With A Good Day to Die Hard opening in theaters this week, the Cafe takes the opportunity to review what has become one of the most enduring American film series. Frankly, it's hard to believe that the original Die Hard will celebrate its 25th anniversary this July. Here's our take on the first four films:

"Yippee-ki-yay, (you know the rest)!"

1. Die Hard (1988). The first installment remains the best with Bruce Willis finally finding a role that fit his persona. Indeed, this was the film that probably saved his big-screen career after the lukewarm boxoffice returns of Blind Date and Sunset. The tidy plot thrusts NYC detective John McClane-- a resourceful, likable hero--into the middle of an apparent terrorist attack in a near empty L.A. high-rise on Christmas Eve. In film industry slang, this is a "high concept" movie, but also a very smart one. McClane's shaky marriage humanizes our hero, the confined setting is exploited to maximum effect, and Alan Rickman provides a marvelous villain. I love how McClane thinks out loud through much of the film, making the viewer his silent partner. But just to ensure that doesn't grown weary, police officer Al Powell (Reginald VelJohnson) becomes his unlikely "partner." After watching Die Hard again just recently, I was pleasantly surprised at how well this excellent action film holds up.

McClane gets ejected!

2. Die Hard 2 (1990). Although it was a huge boxoffice success, many moviegoers and critics carped that this first sequel was an unimaginative carbon copy of the original. That's true to some extent: the setting--an airport this time--plays an important role; McClane gets help from an unlikely ally (Marvin, the janitor); and the authorities ignore McClane, forcing him to take down the bad guys on his own. Yet, despite the air of familiarity, Die Hard 2 nimbly navigates from McClane's impromptu investigation to the criminals' scheme to an amusing subplot with McClane's wife Holly (Bonnie Bedelia) aboard a jet. The action scenes are exceedingly well-staged--the shot of McClane in the ejection seat is perhaps the most iconic one in the series. Personally, I love the airport setting (and often wonder why it's not used in more films). 

Jackson and Willis listen to a riddle.

3. Die Hard With a Vengeance (1995). While the desire to shake up the series is understandable, the third installment is a significant departure--and also my least favorite in the series. One problem is that the script was originally not a Die Hard movie at all. Jonathan Hensleigh wrote a "spec script" called Simon Says that was once considered for the fourth Lethal Weapon movie. Instead, it was revamped into Die Hard With a Vengeance with Willis and Samuel Jackson as an unlikely team forced to take on a riddle-making villain who uses terrorist attacks to mask his real crime. There's a dandy subway station sequence, but this is just another "buddy film" at heart and, as much as I admire Jeremy Irons, his villain is flat and uninteresting. Without his family, McClane comes across as just another independent-minded, big city cop.

An older McClane returns to form.

4. Live Free or Die Hard (2007). After a 12-year gap, McClane returns with a new "partner"--a young computer geek--and a spunky daughter who has issues with her old man. Interestingly, it borrows some elements from Die Hard With a Vengeance, specifically the "buddy film" structure and the villains' use of one crime to facilitate a greater one. Willis and Justin Long work well together (as did Willis and Jackson), but the chief upgrade over the third installment is Timothy Olyphant as the second-best Die Hard baddie. He plays a former government security expert who wants wealth--and to make his former bosses look like idiots. It's also nice to see McClane trying to connect with his daughter again (although putting her in peril at the climax seems unnecessary).

Evaluating each film on its own merits, my ranking from best to worst is: Die Hard; Die Hard 2; Live Free or Die Hard, and Die Hard With a Vengeance. Overall, the Die Hard films hold up well and comprise an entertaining action film series.

The Five Best Courtroom Films

I love a good courtroom drama. There’s so much natural tension in a trial…they just seem tailor-made for the cinema. The list below focuses on the best classic films with courtroom centerpieces, so My Cousin Vinny and A Few Good Men (which would probably have made the honorable mention list) are not included.

Stewart as attorney Paul Biegler.

1. Anatomy of a Murder. Otto Preminger’s enthralling courtroom drama requires multiple viewings to be fully appreciated. When I first saw it, I focused on the riveting story, which treats the viewer much like the jury. We listen to testimonies, watch the lawyers try to manipulate our emotions, and struggle to make sense of the evidence. When I saw it a second time, I knew the case’s outcome and was able to concentrate on the splendid performances. James Stewart, Arthur O’Connell, and George C. Scott earned Oscar nominations, but the rest of the cast is also exceptionally strong. In subsequent viewings, I've come to appreciate the film’s well-preserved details, from the small town upper-Michigan atmosphere to Preminger’s brilliant direction (e.g., in one shot, as Scott cross-examines a witness in close-up, Stewart—the defending lawyer—is framed between them in the background).

2. Inherit the Wind. The “Scopes Monkey Trial”—in which a Tennessee teacher was tried for teaching evolution—gets first-class treatment in Stanley Kramer’s gripping adaptation of the stage play. Spencer Tracy and Fredric March are magnificent as fictionalized versions of Clarence Darrow and William Jennings Bryan. But equally good is the behind-the-scenes look at the trial: the tribulations of family members, the media coverage, and the impact on the town itself.

Henry Fonda, in center, and the other 11.

3. 12 Angry Men. Well, it doesn't take place in a courtroom, but has any film done a better job of getting into the minds of the most important members of a trial? The ensemble cast is nearly flawless, but the film’s premise relies heavily on the dialogue, the believablity of the characters, and the direction. So cheers to screenwriter Reginald Rose and director Sidney Lumet! I chuckle when I read the frequent film critic's complaint that a director didn't “open up” an adaptation of a stage play. 12 Angry Men virtually takes place on one set, but it never fails to excite and entertain.

4. Witness for the Prosecution. For all its cleverness, the most entertaining aspect of Billy Wilder’s adaptation of the Agatha Christie play is its unexpected humor. Much of it is derived from the relationship between the cantankerous Sir Wilfrid (Charles Laughton) and his fastidious nurse, Miss Plimsoll (Elsa Lanchester). One of their best scenes contains no dialogue and takes places during the heat of the trial. Miss Plimsoll sits in the gallery and watches closely over Sir Wilfrid, looking for any signs of his failing health. Turning to face her, Sir Wilfrid smiles as he takes a sip of “lukewarm cocoa” from a thermos filled by Miss Plimsoll…only the devious barrister has swapped thermoses so that he’s actually drinking brandy.

Gregory Peck as Atticus Finch.

5. To Kill a Mockingbird. I know…this isn't a courtroom drama… but Tom Robinson’s case forms the centerpiece of the film and reveals much about Atticus Finch, his children, and the town where they live. Like many other fans of this film, my favorite scene is when Atticus leaves the courtroom to a standing ovation from the gallery. (Its ranking here is solely in the context of courtroom dramas.)

Honorable Mentions: Conduct Unbecoming, Adam’s Rib, Judgment at Nuremberg, Breaker Morante, The Caine Mutiny, Fury, and Judge Horton and the Scottsboro Boys.

A Review of "Darkness Visible: Hitchcock's Greatest Film"

With Darkness Visible: Hitchcock's Greatest Film, author Brian Hannan attempts the daunting task of selecting and justifying Alfred Hitchcock's greatest motion picture.The inherent challenges in this endeavor are obvious: Hitchcock made more than 50 films over six decades, to include many of American cinema's most acclaimed works. How can one anoint a single film above all the others? The second challenge is coming up with a standard definition of "greatest." Most influential? Most enduring? Most representative of his recurring themes?

Author Hannan tackles the first challenge by reducing the number of films in the running for the "greatest" title.  He explains his methodology:

"In arriving at a shortlist, I have had to be ruthless and so I have first of all removed from the equation the early silents because of their technical limitations and also the later films, from Marnie onwards because, although many of the films have fine moments and certain Hitchcock touches, they do not hang so well together. With some regret, I have also omitted the 1940s Hollywood films like Rebecca and Spellbound because of the influence of producer David Selznick on the finished article (it is his name above the title not Hitchcock’s) and also his British films of the 1930s because they lack the moral dimension that was a hallmark of his later films."

While I can't argue with Hannan's six remaining "finalists," his explanation contains some pot holes. Hitchcock's 1930s films are ripe with moral dilemmas: the hero's involvement in the murder of an innocent man in Secret Agent; the heroine shielding an accused murderer in Young and Innocent; and Hitchcock's own decision to explode the bomb in the bus in Sabotage. Likewise, it's hard to dismiss Hitch's 1940s filmography because of Selznick's involvement. Thematically and in terms of overall impact, any discussion of Hitchcock's greatest films must include Shadow of a Doubt and Notorious.

After narrowing the finalists, Hannan devotes a chapter each to: Strangers on a Train; Rear Window; North By Northwest; Vertigo; Psycho; and The Birds. To his credit, the author avoids plot summary and focuses on providing an analysis of each film. There are some interesting insights (i.e., in Rear Window, "a full seventeen minutes, spread over several scenes, are silent apart from incidental music playing from different apartments"). However, there has been so much written and discussed about these films that it'd be hard to come up with anything new. 

Hannan waits until his three-page conclusion to state his case for which of the six finalists is Hitch's greatest film. Then, he dismisses Rear Window, Strangers on a Train, and North By Northwest in a single paragraph because "despite lingering undertones, they are not dark enough." When did "darkness" because a criterion for "greatness"? And how can Strangers on a Train not be considered "dark" when it features one of the most disturbing characters in the Hitchcock canon?

I won't reveal Hannan's pick for Hitchcock's greatest film, but admit that it intrigued me--I just wanted more in-depth justification for his selection. While scholars may scoff at the premise of Darkness Visible: Hitchcock's Greatest Film, I have no issue with it. I'm always game for a good discussion, even it requires a great deal of subjectivity--that's part of the fun of being a film buff. However, at a little over 50 pages, Darkness Visible: Hitchcock's Greatest Film kicks off the discussion, but cannot sustain it en route to a fully-supported conclusion.

The Cafe received a review copy of this e-book published by Endeavour Press.

A Tribute to ABC's Chord-rippin', Hip-Shakin', Rock 'n' Roll Prime Time Variety Show

 

Groovy letters and an exclamation point!

While many American prime time variety shows occasionally catered to youths, Shindig! was perhaps the first one to focus solely on that audience. ABC introduced the series in September 1964 at the height of the British Invasion. Shindig! lasted less than two seasons, but its influence was both immediate (NBC launched a rival series, Hullabaloo, four months later) and long-lasting (its descendants include late-night variety shows The Midnight Special and In Concert).

Naturally, the roots of American rock 'n'roll variety shows can be traced to Dick Clark's long-running American Bandstand. In fact, a prime-time edition of Bandstand was broadcast briefly in 1957. However, Clark's series wasn't a traditional variety show with performances by multiple acts. Shindig! borrowed its format from variety series like The Ed Sullivan Show, which featured a host that introduced each act.

Host Jimmy O'Neill.

The host of Shindig! was Jimmy O'Neill, a Los Angeles disc jockey who died in January 2013. O'Neill and his then-wife, songwriter Sharon Sheeley, were instrumental to the show's success. (Trivia note: O'Neill was later married to Troy Donahue's sister from 1969-83.) However, the show's look and sound can be attributed to British producer Jack Good. After launching several rock'n'roll TV shows in Great Britain, Good traveled to the U.S. in 1962 to sell the pilot of what eventually became Shindig! 

Aretha Franklin on Shindig!

Largely due to Good's and O'Neill's industry connections, Shindig! featured many of the top artists of the era, to include: The Beach Boys, Sonny and Cher, James Brown, Diana Ross & The Supremes, Jerry Lee Lewis, Donovan, Little Richard, and Aretha Franklin. The first episode featured a star-studded line-up of The Rolling Stones, The Kinks, The Everly Brothers, and The Byrds. The Who made their U.S. television debut on Shindig! and, yes, even The Beatles appeared--though their segment was shot in Great Britain. Amazingly, most of the performances were broadcast live (in contrast to Bandstand, where singers lip-synced their hits).

Shindig! regular Donna Loren.

Shindig! also boasted a house band called the Shin-diggers (later renamed the Shindogs), the Shindig Dancers, and semi-regulars Bobby Sherman, Donna Loren, and The Righteous Brothers.The dancers included Beach Party veterans Teri Garr and assistant choreographer Toni Basil (who later scored a monster hit with 1982's Mickey). A 1994 Entertainment Weekly article notes that Jack Good was concerned that American girls wouldn't identify with a bevy of beautiful dancers, so he had one wear fake braces and another horn-rimmed glasses.

Teen idol Bobby Sherman was
everywhere in the 1960s!

Despite it star power, Shindig! struggled to find an audience. Its format and time-schedule changes, dictated by ABC, didn't help. After debuting as a half-hour show, it was expanded to an hour, and then later reduced to half-hour shows that aired twice weekly. After producer Good left the show, ABC added older hosts (perhaps imitating the Beach Party films) like Boris Karloff and Hedy Lamarr.

The last episode of Shindig! was broadcast on January 8, 1966. In the early 1990s, Rhino Entertainment released a series of VHS tapes that featured selected musical numbers--but, sadly, not entire episodes. Surely, there's some entertainment company willing to pay proper homage to the groovliest rock'n'roll variety show of the 1960s!


This post is part of the Classic TV Variety Show Blogathon, hosted by the Classic TV Blog Association. Click here to view a schedule of all the great posts in this blogathon.

1960s Twin Bill: "The Rare Breed" and "Blackbeard's Ghost"

James Stewart.

The Rare Breed

With the exception of The Flight of the Phoenix, James Stewart didn't get a lot of worthy roles in the 1960s. He was in his mid-fifties when the decade began, so instead of his typical romantic leads and loner heroes, he played a lot of patriarchs in lukewarm fare like Dear Brigitte, Shenandoah, and Take Her, She's Mine (I admit having a soft spot for Mr. Hobbs Takes a Vacation). Stewart also continued to appear frequently in Westerns, where his now-graying hair only added to his tough exterior. One of his better horse operas of the period was The Rare Breed, a modest effort bolstered by a strong cast and an offbeat premise.

Maureen O'Hara.

Maureen O'Hara stars as a (typically) spunky, yet refined, English woman who's intent on realizing her deceased husband's dream of cross-breeding longhorn steers with Herefords. When she sells a prized Hereford bull named Vindicator, Stewart's crusty ranch hand agrees to deliver the bull to its new owner. Along the way, O'Hara, Stewart, and Juliet Mills (as O'Hara's daughter) spar with a pair of crooks, who--along with Stewart's character--plan to steal the bull. The plot changes direction at the mid-point when the trio arrive at the ranch of a Scottish rancher (played by an almost unrecognizable Brian Keith), who takes a romantic interest in O'Hara.

Yes, that's Brian Keith!

The film's first half is a lazy hodgepodge that shifts back and forth from a lighthearted Western (with big barroom brawls) to a more serious film (where people are killed in cold blood). Still, The Rare Breed settles down in its second half, becoming more of a character study, with Stewart's loner--having lost O'Hara's trust and affections--finally finding meaning in his life.

The three veteran leads are solid, with Keith having a grand time with his Scottish brogue. Yet, Juliet Mills (Nanny and the Professor) comes off best as a young woman with true grit. (It's fun to see O'Hara, Keith, and Mills together, since the first two starred with Juliet's sister, Hayley, in The Parent Trap.)

From a production standpoint, the film's scenic landscapes are undermined by poor-looking rear screen shots and stunt doubles that barely resemble the stars.

Blackbeard's Ghost

Peter Ustinov and an atmospheric coastal setting make Blackbeard's Ghost one of Disney's better live action comedies of the late 1960s. Disney regular Dean Jones stars as Steve Walker, the new track coach for Godolphin College. Steve arrives in the quaint seaside town on the night of the Buccaneer Bazaar, a fund-raising effort for the elderly Daughters of the Buccaneers. The nice old ladies are in financial trouble, because a local gangster has bought their mortgage and wants full payment. His plan is to boot them out of their inn so he can replace it with a casino.

That night, Steve, who is staying at the inn, inadvertently calls forth Blackbeard's ghost when he recites a spell from a witch's book. Blackbeard (Ustinov) explains that he's been caught in "limbo," destined never to join his ghostly crew until--as Steve later discovers--the pirate performs a good deed. This will obviously be a challenge for the whiny, surprisingly sensitive, rum-drinking buccaneer.

Peter Ustinov and Dean Jones.

Though based on a children's novel by Ben Stahl, Blackbeard's Ghost recycles many familiar elements from earlier Disney films. In lieu of a wacky basketball game (The Absent-Minded Professor) or football game (Son of Flubber), we get a track meet where Blackbeard--who's invisible to everyone but Steve--helps Godolphin College's unimposing athletes earn an unlikely victory. Predictably, Steve's eventual love interest (played by the always likable Suzanne Pleshette) dates the gruff football coach who dislikes Steve. The gangsters are a thick-headed bunch except for their leader, the appropriately-named Silky Seymour (well played by Joby Baker, another Disney regular).

Suzanne Pleshette.

While it may all sound rather predictable, Blackbeard's Ghost gets a huge boost from Peter Ustinov, who transforms the bloody pirate into a reluctant and amusing hero. Ustinov even keeps in check his tendency to play some roles too broadly. Of course, a little blustering seems appropriate for a famous pirate. The end result is that, despite the film's derivative aspects, Ustinov makes Blackbeard's Ghost a diverting way to spend an evening.

The Five Best Rock Hudson Performances

Following a recent less-than-flattering review of Magnificent Obsession (1954), someone on Twitter asked why I didn't like Rock Hudson. Nothing could be further from the truth! Over the last decade, I have become a Rock Hudson fan, which prompted the following list of what I consider his five best performances:

Doris mistakes Rock, fresh from a
fishing trip, for a scientist.

1. Lover Come Back - After mostly dramatic roles in the 1950s, Rock Hudson developed into a gifted comedian with Pillow Talk (1959) and this delightfully delirious follow-up. Rock stars as Jerry Webster, an unethical Madison Avenue advertising executive who will do anything to beat his rival, Carol Templeton (Doris Day). When Carol mistakes the womanizing Jerry as a nerdish inventor, he plays along--even to the point of emphasizing he's "never been with a woman." This leads to Rock's best scene, as Jerry tries to encourage Carol to seduce him in her apartment--during which a convenient phone call enlightens her about his true identity. While Lover Come Back is sometimes described as a variation of Pillow Talk, it's actually a superior film, with clever jabs at the advertising industry and sparkling supporting performances (especially from Tony Randall and Edie Adams).

Rock as Brad playing "Rex Stetson."

2. Pillow Talk - That's not to say that Pillow Talk isn't a first-rate--and very funny--film about a swinging bachelor (Rock) and a conservative interior decorator (Doris) who share a party line...but have never met. Brad (Rock) exploits the situation by posing as Rex Stetson, a sincere Texas millionaire rancher, who takes an interest in Jan (Doris). This wacky scenario allows Brad to disparage Rex when talking on the phone with Jan--and then later have Rex act in exactly the same manner as Brad predicted. The brilliance of Rock's performances in both Pillow Talk and Lover Come Back is that he makes unlikable characters likable, long before the love of a good woman makes them better men. Simply put, without his innate charm and expert comic timing, neither of these comedy classics would work.

Yes, that's Rock...in Seconds.

3. Seconds - Rock Hudson's best dramatic performance can be found in this seldom-shown, disturbing 1966 film about a wealthy middle-aged man dissatisfied with his life. An organization called the "Company" approaches him and promises him a fresh start. It fakes his death, makes him look younger through plastic surgery, and gives him a new identity. But all is not what is seems and his "new" life is not what he expected. Directed by John Frankenheimer, Seconds is a downbeat film, which may account for its infrequent appearances on cable TV. Still, it's well-done and creepy and Hudson skillfully captures the conflict of an older man living in the body of a younger one.

With Liz Taylor in Giant.

4. Giant - I am not a huge fan of this sprawling Texas family saga, but I still admire Rock's performance as Jordan "Bick" Benedict, a wealthy rancher who marries an East Coast socialite (Elizabeth Taylor), clashes with a former friend, and struggles to develop relationships with his children. He allows us to see both the good and the bad in his strong-willed character. That's the only reason it's listed here in lieu of All That Heaven Allows, an immensely likable film about the romance between a middle-aged widow (Jane Wyman) and a younger gardener (Rock).

5. Send Me No Flowers - In a great change-of-pace role, Rock plays a hypochondriac who becomes convinced he's going to die and sets out to find the ideal husband for his wife (Doris Day). It's a nice contrast to the suave bachelors portrayed in earlier comedies, though overall, the film is not on the same level as Lover Come Back and Pillow Talk.

Honorable Mentions:  a friend of mine is a huge fan of The Spiral Road (I'm gradually beginning to appreciate it); World War III (a now-obscure TV movie featuring Rock as a U.S. president trying to thwart a war with the Soviet Union); and Ice Station Zebra (one of his better action film outings).

If one of your favorites is missing (and I'm sure there are some Written on the Wind fans), please leave a comment!

How My First Fan Letter Yielded Childhood Treasures from "Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea"

It was inevitable that Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea would become my favorite TV series in 1964. It had two big things going for it: a futuristic submarine and a never-ending variety of monsters. I knew this was a fact because I'd seen the 1961 theatrical film Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea and it featured the submarine Seaview, a giant octopus, spies, and--for good measure--a "burning sky." (Cost-conscious producer Irwin Allen recycled all these plot elements into the TV series and even included stock footage of dinosaurs from his 1960 film The Lost World.)

I'm not sure where I heard about people writing fan letters to get autographed photographs, but the idea greatly appealed to me. Having not yet learned how wonderful reference librarians are, I sought guidance from my most reliable source of information outside of our Compton's Encyclopedias (which were of no help in this endeavor). I asked my Dad where I should send my letter.

My father worked for a large Western Electric plant, which had a small library and an enterprising librarian who probably used one of the business indexes to track down the address to 20th Century-Fox. I typed my letter on the family's old Underwood typewriter...and waited for what seemed like years.

Then one day, I discovered a large envelope in the mail containing a small black-and-white photograph of the Seaview and a rough blueprint of its interior. I was ecstatic! Those two items would be displayed in my bedroom for the next three decades (long after my departure); they would become an integral part of show-and-tell at school for the next four years. Today, I still keep them in my box of childhood treasures.

The actual size of my photo is 3" x 2-1/2".

In the TV series, it was the SSNR Seaview, the "SSNR"
standing for Submarine Seaview Nelson Research.

Having always responded well to positive reinforcement, I followed up with another fan letter. This time,  I requested an autographed photo from star Richard Basehart, who sent the picture below (note it was signed with a felt-tip pen vs. a "stamped" signature):

My "friends" at 20th Century-Fox subsequently enrolled me in the Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea Fan Club. I received a membership card (shown at the start of this post) that made me an Honorary Admiral (like thousands of other kids) and the color postcard below:

Left to right: Basehart, David Hedison, Allan Hunt,
Terry Becker, and Bob Dowdell.

As the years passed, my letter-writing interests went in other directions (e.g., trying to convince a local TV  station to keep airing Dark Shadows instead of a local kids show). I did write 20th Century-Fox a few more times and have some nice Batman photos to show for my efforts. 

However, nothing can compare to the joy of my first fan letter and my beloved photo of the Seaview. 

Bad Movie Theatre: Magnificent Obsession (1954)

I'm afraid I can't agree with the trailer.

Let me begin by stating that I hold big screen soaps in great affection (I'm always game to revisit A Summer Place). And while I favor director Delmer Daves over Douglas Sirk in this genre, I admire Sirk's classy Imitation of Life  (1959) and his quintessential sudser All That Heaven Allows (1955). So, it's with heavy heart that--after recently rewatching Magnificent Obsession--I must pronounce it a dreadful way to spend 108 minutes.

The film's promotional spots highlighted
Douglas's novel (and Jane's hand).

The plot owes more to the 1935 film version than to Lloyd C. Douglas' best-selling 1929 novel. Rock Hudson, in his first starring role in an "A" picture, portrays irresponsible, millionaire playboy Robert Merrick. Following a reckless boating accident, Merrick is revived with the hospital's only resuscitator. Without that critical piece of medical equipment, philanthropist Dr. Phillips dies from a heart attack. Merrick tries to purge his guilt by writing a $25,000 check to Phillips' widow, Helen (Jane Wyman)--but she refuses the money.

Merrick (Hudson) begins to get serious.

After a drunken Merrick crashes his car, he meets Edward Randolph (Otto Kruger), a close friend of Phillips, who shares a common "pay it forward" philosophy. Inspired by Randolph, Merrick tries to make amends with Helen, but inadvertently causes her to be struck by a car...and lose her sight.

One day, Merrick encounters Helen by the lake and the two begin talking. He calls himself Robinson (Robby for short) to avoid revealing his identity. As love begins to grow, Merrick starts pursuing his medical studies again and vows to do all that he can to restore Helen's sight.

Lana Turner in the superior
Imitation of Life.

It's easy to see why a Magnificent Obsession remake appealed to Douglas Sirk. The novel and the earlier film adaptation were character-driven dramas that focused on changing the course of one's life for the better. That's a theme that Sirk explores in later (better ) films. In Imitation of Life, Lora (Lana Turner) progresses from a low-income single parent to a Broadway star--with the help of African American best friend Annie (Juanita Moore). In All That Heaven Allows, affluent widow Cary (Jane Wyman) eventually realizes that true happiness lies with the simple life espoused by Ron, her young, handsome gardener (Rock Hudson). Incidentally, both these films also tackled the challenges of being a social outcast: Ron is rejected by Cary's friends and family; in Imitation of Life, Annie's daughter tries to pass herself off as white.

Alas, while Magnificent Obsession has good intentions, it never comes close to becoming a good film. The screenplay condenses Lloyd C. Douglas' philosophical underpinnings to a ten-minute conversation that sounds like a paid ad for a self-help book. The banal dialogue doesn't help, with my favorite line being Merrick's response to a comment about painting: "As far as I'm concerned, art is just a guy's name." But the script's biggest problem is that nothing much happens after Helen reveals she has known Robby's identity for a long time. There's no conflict in the film's final 40 minutes as it lumbers toward its obvious conclusion.

Hudson and Wyman share an embrace.

Jane Wyman (who was Oscar-nominated) does what she can with her character, but Rock Hudson struggles to get a handle on the playboy-turned-surgeon. I also think he was still honing his skills as an actor, especially given some of his wooden line readings. Magnificent Obsession catapulted Hudson to bigger and better parts (he made Giant two years later)--although I believe his success with this film had more to do with his good looks and earnestness than to his performance.

From a production standpoint, Magnificent Obsession is a blotch on Sirk's otherwise stellar career as a celluloid craftsman. While the color scheme is interesting, the use of painted backdrops and rear screens give the film a cheap look (that said, there are some stunning outdoor shots at the beginning of the film). However, the biggest distraction is the overly melodramatic score by Frank Skinner, which opts for sweeping violins and a chorus of "ah"'s at the tiniest whiff of emotion.

Magnificent Obsession has its share of admirers...and you may be one. (Heck, it was even released in a deluxe edition by Criterion). If you're among its fans, I encourage you to leave a dissenting comment. However, I was obsessed to write this review and state how magnificently lame I found it to be.

TV Westerns A to Z

Robert Horton, as Flint on Wagon
Train, and Ward Bond.

A - Amnesia. Robert Horton left Wagon Train at the peak of his popularity to pursue movie stardom--but eventually returned to television as an amnesiac trying to discover his identity in A Man Called Shenandoah.

B - The Barkley family in The Big Valley (hey, that should really count as two B's).

C - Cheyenne, which debuted in 1955 and became a huge hit for Warner Bros. television. Some sources claim it's the first hour-long, dramatic TV series to last longer than a season (although it was originally part of an umbrella series).

D - Death Valley Days, the long-running half-hour anthology hosted by (in order) Stanley Andrews, Ronald Reagan, Robert Taylor, and Dale Robertson. Sponsored by 20 Mule Team Borax!

Hoss says: "Don't call me Eric!"

E - Eric Cartwright...yep, that was Hoss's actual first name in Bonanza.

F - F Troop. The antics of Sergeant O'Rourke (Forrest Tucker) and Corporal Agarn (Larry Storch) made life interesting for the somewhat-clumsy Captain Parmenter, who commanded Fort Courage.

G - Gunsmoke, the granddaddy of them all. 'Nuff said!

H - The High Chapparal, the name of the ranch in the other Western family saga created by David Dortort (see "P"). Incidentally, the ranch was named after a bush--you probably knew that already, but I didn't until recently watching the pilot episode again.

I - The Iron Horse, the 1966-68 series with Dale Robertson as a railroad owner. Dale fared better in the earlier Tales of Wells Fargo.

J - Jesse James, who was turned into a good-looking nice guy in The Legend of Jesse James starring Christopher Jones.

K - The knight chess piece that appeared on the card of Paladin on Have Gun--Will Travel.

L - The Loner, an offbeat Western created by Rod Serling and starring Lloyd Bridges as a former Union officer trying to figure out the meaning of life.

M - Maverick, the lighthearted series about poker-playing brother Bret (James Garner) and Bart (Jack Kelly). After Garner's departure, cousin Beau (Roger Moore) and later brother Brent (Robert Colbert) joined the cast.

N - Nichols was James Garner's ill-fated return to the TV Western genre. Although the title character was similar to one he played in the hit film Support Your Local Sheriff, the TV show flopped. The producers tried to save the series by killing off Nichols and having Garner plays his more likable twin brother.

Hugh O'Brian as Marshal Earp.

O - Hugh O'Brian, who became one of the big TV Western stars when he headlined The Life and Legend of Wyatt Earp (1955-61).

P - Ponderosa, the name of the Cartwrights' ranch in Bonanza (which was also created by David Dortort).

Q - Quest. Several Westerns revolved around characters on a quest, such as Will Sonnett (Walter Brennan) and his grandson Jeff (Dack Rambo) searching for Jeff's father in The Guns of Will Sonnett. A more traditional choice for "Q" is Quint, the blacksmith on Gunsmoke played by Burt Reynolds.

R - The Rifleman, the popular series about a widowed father (Chuck Connors) and his young son (Johnny Crawford). Crawford was popular enough to score five Top Ten hit songs on the Billboard charts.

Silver...with his sidekick The
Lone Ranger.

S - Silver, the Lone Ranger's white stallion. Also, the Lone Ranger used silver bullets to always remind him that life is precious.

T - Trampas, the ranch hand played by Doug McClure in The Virginian. McClure and James Drury (see below) were the only actors to remain with the 90-minute series through its nine-year run.

U - Uncle Buck (Cameron Mitchell), Billy Blue's surrogate father on The High Chapparal; Blue's actual dad, Big John, showed only tough love for his son. (Really, if you can think of a better "U", please leave a comment).

V - The Virginian, as played by James Drury. Just as in Owen Wister's novel, we never learn the ranch foreman's name.

W - Johnny Western (great name, huh?), the singer who croons "The Ballad of Paladin" at the end of many Have Gun--Will Travel episodes. There are a lot of good "W" choices, to include Wagon Train, Wishbone from Rawhide, and James T. West.

Yancy and sidekick Pahoo (played by X. Brands).

Y - Yancy Derringer (played by Jock Mahoney), a dandy who owned a riverboat and sometimes worked as a sort of secret agent. I thought he was cool because of the four-barreled derringer up his sleeve. Another choice for "Y" might be Johnny Yuma (Nick Adams) from The Rebel.

X - I'm sure there were cattle in some Westerns that had "X" branded on their butts. Yes, that's lame, but I'm claiming it for this tough letter.

Z - Zorro, as played by Guy Williams. Annette Funicello had a crush on him, so for her birthday, Walt Disney cast her as a guest star opposite Guy in an episode of Zorro.