Susan Hayward and Her Hair Strike Back

Thanks to Turner Classic Movies, I got to see I'll Cry Tomorrow (1955) once again. The film is a great showcase for Susan's loveliness, charisma and unbelievable screen presence. She is simply mesmerizing every second she's on screen. I just couldn't take my eyes off her! She radiates power, sizzles with her wonderfully husky voice, and it's no wonder that she was so popular in the 1950s. There's a sequence towards the end of the movie where she's at an Alcholics Anonymous meeting where she (playing singer Lillian Roth) sings a medley of her hits (all sung for real by Hayward) to her beau and future husband, played by Eddie Albert. The two actors have a great rapport and I wonder how well they got along off screen. Susan is particularly effective when she makes the standard, "Happiness is a Thing Called Joe" her own. She owns that song. Just seeing Hayward again gets me excited about exploring her movies and life once more. She is a 1950s icon worthy of rediscovery by today's classic film lover. She worked with nearly every leading man of the 1940s and 50s, although not Burt Lancaster; that's a pairing I'd love to have seen.

Gary Cooper in High Noon (1952)

"If I'm a Man, I Must be Brave": Gary Cooper is Marshal Will Kane.

In the seven months that I've been scratching out this blog, I've somehow neglected to mention one of my all-time favorite stars--Gary Cooper. I never did do a 20 Favorite Actors list, but Cooper (1901-1961) would be a sure-fire member of that group. Once the most popular and highest-paid man in America, Cooper's legacy hasn't proven to last like many long-dead stars. He's not the object of some girl's pre-pubescent crush like 1950s icons Brando, Dean, or even Clift, and you won't find a silkscreen t-shirt of him at the mall like one would with John Wayne.

I got interested in Gary Cooper initially because he was a good friend of another highly-regarded icon of mine, writer Ernest Hemingway (1899-1961) ("Papa" to his devotees). When I was exploring Hemingway's work, Cooper figured in many of the author's movie endeavors. He was Frederick Henry in 1932's A Farewell to Arms and Robert Jordan in For Whom the Bell Tolls (1940). Hemingway often said that Cooper embodied the Hemingway hero to a fault and though Papa despised most every film adaptation of his work, he always praised Cooper for his portrayals, as well as his personal character, as the actor was a true outdoorsman, just like the rugged author. The two often hunted together in Sun Valley, Idaho or Billings, Montana and had a morbid, running joke about who would die first, or as they put it, who would "beat the other to the barn." The Hemingway association built Cooper's reputation in my eyes, so I was off to discover his movies.

In 1997, I saw High Noon for the second time. The first time I had been a kid and didn't have the background on Cooper then. After seeing the western classic a second time, it became an obsession. I watched the film dozens of times, finding all kinds of meaning in Coop's Oscar-winning performance as Marshal Will Kane. I had read that High Noon was a not-do-thinly veiled commentary on HUAC (House Un-American Activities Committee), but I loved the movie because it was a statement about the individual, which was obviously something Cooper saw, too.

For those who haven't seen it, High Noon concerns newlywed Hadleyville Marshal Will Kane and his young wife, Amy (Grace Kelly) who are to start their new life together, but on their wedding day, word comes that a killer Kane put away is out of jail and coming back to enact bloody revenge. The Marshal decides he must stay to defend the town he himself cleaned up. However, the townsfolk are spineless and complacent. They've forgetten the man who brought the town peace and don't want to be involved, each with their own tidy, gutless excuse. Kane alone who must take on the killer and his gang. The simple message of standing up and acting when danger is imminent resonated with me. I even went as far as to look for people in my day-to-day life acting like the spineless Hadleyville residents in their lack of courage in the most trivial things. I probably took my love for this movie too far, but that's what I do.

High Noon is a classic on many levels, not the least of which is Dimitri Tiomkin's haunting theme song Do Not Forsake Me, Oh My Darlin', one of the greatest songs ever written for a film. Coupled with the spare song, is the minamilist direction of the movie's opening sequence, which is equally brilliant. The song is told from Kane's point of view and the weight of its power factors into Cooper's wonderful portrayal. It should be noted that this western, that most American of genres, was directed by a German, Fred Zinneman, with music composed by a Russian, Dimitri Tiomkin. That's America to me!

But it was Gary Cooper's career-defining performance that I loved over everything else. I saw his technique of letting the spaces between his dialogue say what words couldn't, and he communicated what he and the audience felt. It's every bit as important as how an actor says his lines. There's a Hemingway connection with Cooper's acting style, in that the author's "Iceberg Theory" lets the reader know what's going on with just a bit of dialogue, but what's unsaid is much more substantial, and it's so obvious when I watch High Noon. I loved it when Cooper is arguing with his oversexed deputy, Harvey Pell (Lloyd Bridges) and when Pell says that Kane should just leave town, Coop respons with "I want to, Harv; but I can't do it." As silly as it sounds, I used to rewind to the part Cooper said "I can't do it" several times because the way he said it spoke volumes. You knew that he thought long and hard about up and splitting that ungrateful town, but his conscience and character wouldn't allow that. He also says the line with the subtlest of anger and the greatest conviction. I think I'm the only film nut who harps about that bit of dialogue and its delivery, but it remains one of my favorite movie moments. Not bad for simple country boy Cooper, who could teach more to Lee Strasburg's students in High Noon than a lifetime of classwork could ever instill.

I haven't seen High Noon in quite some time, and don't even have the DVD, but the movie is burned (branded?) into my brain. I need to go and revisit that old icon, Cooper, whose simple, understated performance captivated me and more than lived up to the legend bestowed upon it. Funny that it took me so many words to discuss Cooper, a man of few words. Oh, the irony...

An Enduring Sex Appeal

In 1997, I was at a Borders book store looking to buy a copy of The Best Years of Our Lives (on VHS!) and as I was perusing the video section, there were two girls also browsing. They were no more than 14 years old. One of them was in the classic movie section when she saw the cover for A Streetcar Named Desire with Marlon Brando on the cover. The girl said to her friend, “Wow, he’s hot!” I was pleased that a nearly fifty-year-old picture of Brando could still elicit that reaction, even if the man himself was by 1997 the size of a streetcar. Anyway, I said to myself, “Now if only they’d give the movie a chance.”

Fast forward (keeping the VHS theme) ahead twelve years to last week at my job. A few colleagues and I were discussing movies—a conversation I instigated, naturally—and somehow Raquel Welch got mentioned. I boldly declared that if she were a young star today, that she would be the world’s biggest star. I expected silence or resistance to my claim, but instead I received universal agreement! Stories were told about how so and so’s father thought she was great back in ‘68 and that Raquel still looked amazing. Another victory! Unfortunately, I couldn’t think to myself “Now if they’d only watch One Million Years B.C.", as that would defeat my purpose in getting people into watching old movies!

It’s not surprising that young women today (or twelve years ago) would find someone like Brando attractive. He was the embodiment of youth, was “dangerous”, and was completely different than any movie star before him. Those girls didn’t know that, but the sex appeal was still in evidence and it got a favorable reaction. Maybe it’s because 1950s icons like James Dean, Marilyn Monroe, and Elvis Presley have been marketed and advertised so intensely that their look has become the norm for what defines sexy. After all, the youth culture took root in the 1950s and movie stars like Brando, Dean, and Monroe as well as rockers like Elvis left all that was popular before it in the trash heap, for better or worse. Raquel Welch was in her heyday during the sexual revolution of the 1960s and is remembered by a generation, especially Vietnam War veterans (this includes my own father) for her appearances with Bob Hope in those USO tours. Her cavewoman bikini outfit is iconic for its camp value but more so for its sex appeal. We as classic movie lovers should be thankful it isn’t all forgotten. The media believes that the general public can only handle a few things at once and so our collective memory is strictly short term. Yet the instances where old movie stars still resonate are causes for celebration because in a world where anything older gets forgotten so quickly, I have to be happy that at least a few things from a time I spend a lot of time immersed in can still have a powerful effect on a largely indifferent and unknowing general public.

Okay, sermon over-- I’ve got a date to watch Raquel in 100 Rifles.

37C-22 1/2-35 1/2: Raquel Welch in her 1960s prime.

Poll Results: Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday

The poll results are in! The majority of you say that your favorite 1950s Audrey Hepburn performance is her Oscar-winning role in Roman Holiday. The vote tally:

Roman Holiday- 19
Sabrina- 10
Funny Face- 3
Love in the Afternoon- 3
Nun's Story- 1

It's not surprising, because her turn as Princess Ann is the template that Hepburn (1929-1993) would use in some variation in virtually every role in her career: the sweet, lovely, awkward woman who is uncomfortable and often painfully unhappy with her lot in life, whether it be as a princess, the daughter of a chauffeur (Sabrina), the party girl (Breakfast at Tiffany's), or the unhappily married woman (Two for the Road). It is Hepburn's most frequent onscreen personality. Audrey Hepburn was a solid actress but was really a movie star--and one of the best of her era. She honed that persona in the aforementioned films, which are her most popular. She has an appeal to many women, particularly young women who can no doubt relate to her. She also benefits by being one of the fashion icons of the 20th century. But it is her magnetic charm, radiant beauty and vulnerability about to bubble over as first seen in films like Roman Holiday that earns her new fans some fifty years later.

All Aglow: 1953 Best Actress Audrey Hepburn with her prize.

Eleanor Parker

Actress Eleanor Parker (b. 1922) is largely forgotten nowadays, though she was a well-respected actress, especially during her 1950s prime. Often cast as the loyal but suffering wife (Detective Story; Above and Beyond), her most (in)famous role may be as a prisoner in 1950’s Caged, better known today for its camp value than for the Oscar nominations that Parker and co-star Hope Emerson received. I find it to be well photographed and with riveting performances by a well-known cast, which runs the gamut from Jane Darwell and Agnes Moorehead (ah-ha! That's why it's campy!!!) to Ellen Corby and Jan Sterling. Perhaps the female convict concept just lends itself to such sniggering and derision. Parker also received a Best Actress Oscar nod for 1951’s Detective Story, where she played Kirk Douglas’ loyal wife who nevertheless has a dark secret. 1955’s Interrupted Melody (a film I’ve yet to see) scored Parker her third and final Oscar nomination. Here she’s opera singer Marjorie Lawrence, who was stricken with polio at the prime of her career and fought gamely to return to the stage. 1955 would prove to be Parker's stellar year, as she appeared in The Man with the Golden Arm, Interrupted Melody, and a little gem called Many Rivers to Cross.

Parker is an actress I'm interested in because she wasn't the sex vamp or villainess, and not the "good girl" in the same vein as June Allyson or Doris Day. Her career is largely based on serving the thankless role of the loyal, supportive wife, a characterization that was emphasized in the 1950s. It hasn't aged well, as that type of woman doesn't exist anymore, and if it did, it would be frowned upon in this post-Feminist era. But I can imagine that time period more clearly because of Parker's place in it. Perhaps I find myself wishing that certain aspects of that era would make a comeback. Whatever the case may be, Eleanor Parker was always an entertaining, reliable and-- most of all-- sympathetic performer; and well worth discovering.

Selected Filmography:

Pride of the Marines (1945)
Of Human Bondage (1946)
Caged (1950)
Detective Story (1951)
Scaramouche (1952)
Above and Beyond (1952)
Valley of the Kings (1954)
Interrupted Melody (1955)
The Man with the Golden Arm (1955)
The Seventh Sin (1957)
Home from the Hill (1960)
The Sound of Music (1965)

Thanks to Millie at Classic Forever for inspiring this post…

By His Side: Eleanor Parker and John Garfield in 1945's "Pride of the Marines."

Random Raves: Burt Lancaster

But as long as I got a foot, I'll kick booze!

As long as I got a fist, I'll punch it!

And as long as I've got a tooth, I'll bite it!

And when I'm old and grey
and toothless and bootless,

I'll gum it, till I go to heaven,
and booze goes to hell!

~Burt Lancaster in Elmer Gantry


Burt Lancaster’s Oscar-winning performance as unholy con man Elmer Gantry (1960) is quite simply the most enjoyable performance I’ve ever had the pleasure to watch. From the moment he’s onscreen, Lancaster charms and amuses as he’s sliding across the floor on his knees, railing against sinners, or telling his rapt audience what they want to hear. Burt would appear to have sixty-four teeth instead of the traditional thirty-two, as his zillion megawatt star power shines brighter than any other performance ever. The fact that Lancaster doesn’t get swallowed up by the sometimes lumbering film is testament to his charisma. Witness his rousing singing of the spiritual I’m on My Way, the way he chows down on a simple plate of black-eyed peas and acts as though it were manna from heaven. Lancaster is always “on." Elmer Gantry was his crowning achievement as an actor and anyone who’s seen the movie will never forget his performance. He's commanding on the screen; preaching, shouting, and spellbinding. The movie is eminently quotable, with every confident line delivered in Lancaster’s singular voice (which I've been known to impersonate for unwilling friends, hated enemies, and complete strangers).

In 1997 I was fairly new to classic film (outside of westerns, war, and the Three Stooges) and Lancaster was among the first movie stars I took an interest in watching. He had made a lasting impression on me years before after I saw him in Gunfight at O.K. Corral, but it wasn’t until 1957’s Sweet Smell of Success that I became fascinated with the actor. I had originally sought out the movie because I wanted to soak up the film’s 1950s NYC atmosphere; the nightclubs, the dirty cops, sleazy performers, and down-and-out losers. A friend and I had a weekly ritual of watching two movies every Friday night. The first film of the evening varied, but the finale was always Sweet Smell of Success, which we watched for fifteen consecutive Fridays. The movie itself is brilliant, capturing the New York City in that time and place, and Burt Lancaster’s JJ Hunsecker mesmerized me with his reptilian chill and icy reserve. A character surrounded by expensive art yet asking the slimy Sidney Falco how many S’s there were in “Picasso.” Everything about the character was cold. Then along came 1960 and Elmer Gantry, and a completely hot-blooded character. With these two performances I saw Lancaster in two very different roles at the peak of his powers.

Lancaster was my introduction to the Hollywood I’ve since come to love so much. He wasn’t strictly an action hero like John Wayne and he lacked the polish and sophistication of Cary Grant. But he was so much more adaptable to various roles. Lancaster was always one to choose interesting and challenging parts, ones that sometimes forced him into awkwardness onscreen, Come Back, Little Sheba is the first example of Lancaster “stretching out.” It did nothing for him awards wise, but it enhanced his reputation at a time when leading men stayed well within their limitations. Lancaster was too young for the role, but executes his part admirably. Watch Lancaster with fellow tough guys Robert Ryan and Lee Marvin in 1966's The Professionals. This was the film that made me realize that Burt could hang with the toughest of hombres and still come out on top. His character is by far the most engaging of the group. Lancaster must have learned from his experience with Gary Cooper in 1954’s Vera Cruz, when Lancaster mugs, chews scenery, and carries on while Cooper ends up looking all the better for it! Ten years later, Lancaster underplays Marvin’s tough S.O.B. persona because no one was nastier than Lee Marvin. No one. So Burt goes in another direction and remains the most memorable character in the movie. There’s also The Swimmer (1968), a film based on a haunting John Cheever story about a middle-aged man in crisis—aren’t they always—and having quite a time in dealing with it. I won’t reveal the plot, but I couldn’t imagine any other actor from Lancaster’s generation taking on such a role and being so vulnerable. Burt’s brilliant in it and The Swimmer is one of the great forgotten movies of the 1960s.

Good for the Ladies: Here are Lancaster's female co-stars who were nominated or won Oscars in their films with him: (*won)

Barbara Stanwyck- Sorry, Wrong Number (1948)

Shirley Booth*- Come Back, Little Sheba (1952)

Deborah Kerr- From Here to Eternity (1953)

Anna Magnani*- The Rose Tattoo (1955)

Katharine Hepburn- The Rainmaker (1956)

Shirley Jones*- Elmer Gantry (1960)

Susan Sarandon- Atlantic City (1981)

I admire actors whose performances improve as they age (Paul Newman, Gene Hackman, Clint Eastwood, John Wayne) and I’ll add Lancaster to that list, too. It would seem that Lancaster was the best possible actor for a novice film buff to follow because his career remained interesting for its entire run, whether it was in a late 1940s Noir (The Killers; I’ll Walk Alone; Criss Cross) the mega star period of the fifties (The Crimson Pirate; From Here to Eternity; Gunfight at the O.K. Corral), his career peak of the early 1960s (Elmer Gantry; The Birdman of Alcatraz), the studied character roles of the late sixties-early seventies (a trio of gritty westerns; Go Tell the Spartans) or his status as elder statesman in the 1980s (Atlantic City; Field of Dreams). Burt Lancaster was my introduction to “grown up” classic films and I couldn’t be happier, or more entertained.

A Man and a Woman: 1960 Best Actor Burt Lancaster with Best Actress winner Elizabeth Taylor. April 17, 1961.

In Memoriam: Ricardo Montalban

Most people from my generation remember the late, great Ricardo Montalban (1920-2009) as the villainous madman hell bent on vengeance in Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan (1982), (which this blogger can quote at will), and dozens of scene-stealing TV appearances in the 1960s and 1970s. Those with a longer memory can recall Montalban as a pioneering Latin leading man in some excellent crime dramas: Border Incident (1949) and 1950's Mystery Street. Montalban worked with Lana Turner in 1953's Latin Lovers; I loved the way he says her name--in fact, hearing him say anything was a privilege. One that we'll enjoy as long as his filmed legacy remains.

Turner Classic Movies is rescheduling its programming January 23 in tribute to Montalban:

7:30 AM Fiesta (1947)
9:30 AM Neptune’s Daughter (1949)
11:15 AM Latin Lovers (1953)
1:00 PM Border Incident (1949)
2:45 PM Battleground (1949)
4:45 PM Across the Wide Missouri (1951)
6:15 PM The Singing Nun (1966)

Gloria Grahame: An Appreciation

I'm not sure when this picture of Gloria Grahame (1923-1981) was taken, but it's probably 1954, when she appeared in two little-known crime dramas: Naked Alibi and Human Desire. She's clearly at the peak of her sex appeal, but the Noir vixen was also at a career peak in 1954.

I'll admit that Gloria Grahame's obvious, physical charms are what initially got me interested in her, but having seen nearly all of her 1950s work, I've come to realize that Grahame's 1950s screen credits compare favorably with many of her better-known contemporaries, including an absolutely stellar year in 1952. It's a shame she isn't better known outside of Film Noir circles, where she's revered. Grahame won me over with her onscreen vulnerability, her likability--even when she plays a truly awful character-- and with a voice like no other. She invariably enlivens any scene she's in and makes watching Noir all the more exciting.

The 1950s proved to be an impressive decade for the actress, who began making her presence known in 1946 with her role as Violet in It's a Wonderful Life. She made a bigger impression playing a b-girl in 1947's Crossfire. The role earned the 24-year-old her first Oscar nomination. Grahame would begin the 1950s in Nicholas Ray's haunting In a Lonely Place, one of the director's best films and Grahame's rendering of the film's last lines is one of the most effective moments in all of Film Noir: "I lived a few weeks while you loved me." Ray and Grahame later married, but that union was destroyed when Grahame began an affair with Ray's 13 year-old son from a previous marriage.

"I was born when she kissed me. I died when she left me. I lived a few weeks while she loved me."

1952 would prove to be Gloria Grahame's finest year. She won the Best Supporting Actress Oscar for The Bad & the Beautiful, playing a flighty southern belle who cheats on her screenwriter husband. Grahame was Jack Palance's conniving girlfriend in Sudden Fear, co-starring Joan Crawford. Grahame further added to her credentials with her appearance in the year's Best Picture winner, The Greatest Show On Earth. Another iconic crime drama, 1953's The Big Heat, showcased Grahame as a spurned gangster's moll. In 1955, she would be absolutely charming as "Ado Annie" in the otherwise bloated film adaptation of Rodgers & Hammerstein's Oklahoma! Grahame ended the decade with an odd but memorable part in 1959's Odds Against Tomorrow, where, in a near-cameo role, she is aroused by the cruelty of Robert Ryan's nasty character.

"We're all sisters under the mink."

Gloria Grahame was impressive during the 1950s, starring in several Noir classics, winning an Oscar, appearing in a Best Picture winner, and even warbling in a musical. Despite those accomplishments, it's her work in crime dramas that have proven to be her enduring legacy. Given the cultish appeal of Film Noir, it is unlikely that Grahame will receive a widespread renaissance, but to those who've seen her work, she's a fondly-kept secret.

Two Kinds of Noir Heat

American posters for The Postman Always Rings Twice weren't as revealing as this French rendering, but if they were, the film may have set some box-office records just based on the artwork's sex appeal! Postman has some pretty hot stuff in it, with Lana Turner's white shorts and headwrap outfit doing a number on generations of men since the movie's release in 1946.

Pure as the Driven Snow: Lana Turner in "The Postman Always Rings Twice."

This Italian poster for 1953's The Big Heat burns for an entirely different reason. Evil incarnate Lee Marvin looks like he's rising from the fires of Hell. The pot of scalding coffee Marvin's character ended up wearing was just about as hot; ask Gloria Grahame...The movie's brutality stayed with me for days after I first saw it.

In Memoriam: Van Johnson

Whenever I think of Van Johnson, his performance in The Caine Mutiny comes to mind. It was his part as the lieutenant who leads the crew against Humphrey Bogart's neurotic Captain Queeg that caught my attention. Johnson came off as so heroic and embodied the "regular Joe" role he did so well. That performance alone convinced me that Johnson was a fine actor, and I routinely came to his defense among those who would dismiss him as a mere MGM studio fabrication. Offscreen, Johnson endured a near-fatal accident which would have ended his career, to say nothing of his life. It's fascinating, gripping, and worthy of a film of its own.

In 1942, Johnson was driving to a screening of the Tracy-Hepburn film, Keeper of the Flame when another driver came from the opposite direction toward him and forced his car off the road. Johnson's convertible rolled over several times before crashing into a ditch. Johnson was still conscious, but realized that the convertible's top had sliced the top of his skull. His head was nearly severed across the skull, and was kept only in place by skin and hair. The rollover also put dirt and debris into his head cavity, right on Johnson's exposed brain. A passing motorist hailed an ambulance and police, and when they arrived, they informed Johnson that they could not help him because his accident had come a few feet outside of their jurisdictional boundary! The medics actually asked him to crawl across the boundary so they could take him to the hospital. Johnson proceeded to drag himself across the street and he was finally taken to the hospital. The film Johnson had been working on, A Guy Named Joe, had its production delayed on Louis B. Mayer's order while Johnson recuperated. Of course, Van Johnson subsequently emerged as a popular leading man throughout the 1940s and 1950s, and lived a very long life, dying yesterday at age 92.

Selected Filmography:

The Human Comedy (1943)

A Guy Named Joe (1944)

Weekend at the Waldorf (1945)

Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo (1945)

Thrill of a Romance (1945)

Battleground (1949)

Invitation (1952)

Backstage Beauties: 1956?

This striking image taken backstage at the 28th Academy Awards says it all: Audrey Hepburn and Grace Kelly were, as the song goes: "lovely to look at." The two Oscar-winning beauties were presenters that evening: Grace for Best Actor (Ernest Borgnine won), and Audrey handed out the big prize, Best Picture for 1955, Marty. The two actresses are so charismatic that it took me awhile to realize that there were actually other people in the room with them. That's star power.

UPDATE: After doing some additional fact checking last night in Mason Wiley and Damien Bona's Inside Oscar, I have to conclude that the LIFE magazine photo archive got the photo's date wrong...possibly. Their archive dates this photo March 21, 1956 but it's most likely March 30, 1955 when both women were up for Best Actress. Audrey Hepburn for Sabrina and Grace Kelly for The Country Girl. It also makes sense that the two women would be backstage together, as both were presenters in 1955: Kelly presented the Documentary awards and Hepburn the Story & Screenplay award. Both were presenters the next year at the 1956 Oscars-- Kelly was on hand to give the Best Actor award--but Audrey Hepburn appeared only on film, reading off the Best Picture nominees from London, according to Inside Oscar. If any Audrey Hepburn experts out there can confirm her whereabouts during that period, please chime in, as Hollywood Dreamland prides itself on getting its facts straight!

Coming Soon: The Susan Hayward Craze of 2009

I’m rushing this entry out because I Want to Live! is on Turner Classic Movies this morning, but my Susan Hayward obsession has been building for quite some time. When Jonas Nordin's great post on Lillian Roth went up last month, I knew I had to get my own entry going. Whereas Dana Andrews, the subject of this blog's previous post, was praised for his acting subtlety, Hayward is his stylistic opposite, but oh-so appealing for her brassy, over-the-top performances. Anyone looking for subtlety in a Susan Hayward performance had better look elsewhere!

Susan Hayward (1917-1975) has now entered that rarified company of my other beloved redheads: Myrna Loy and Katharine Hepburn. Loy dazzled me in the 1930s with her Nora Charles sophistication, cool elegance, and unflappable demeanor. While Hepburn’s independence, determination, and keen mind enchanted me in the 1940s (and onward!), Susan Hayward is that 1950s woman that appeals to me because of her penchant for giving her all onscreen.

There was a time when I believed that the 1950s was a decade devoid of great actresses and that the Eisenhower era’s film stars could be neatly divided into the empty beauty and the dull, mousy homemaker. The era’s other notable stars, Audrey Hepburn and Elizabeth Taylor were fine actresses, but they didn’t “grab me” like my 1930s & 1940s favorites, and for years they were the exceptions to my “the 1950s were bad for women” phase. So let me officially declare my fascination for Susan Hayward. She’s obviously the right choice, as she possesses everything I like in my favorite 1930s & 1940s dames. Hayward embodied all the great attributes: tough yet vulnerable, a great beauty, at least I think so—I’m uncertain what the consensus is on her looks—her great, husky voice, and she gave her all in every movie she ever did. She toiled in Hollywood for ten years until her breakthrough year of 1947, when she received an Oscar nomination for Smash up: the Story of a Woman. Hayward was a favorite of her peers, receiving five Best Actress nominations from 1947-1958, finally winning for 1958’s I Want to Live! But it was not Hayward’s well-known movies that made me realize she was great. A little puff of fluff from 1957 called Top Secret Affair, co-starring another intensely-burning actor, Kirk Douglas. The two leads are fun to watch and seeing Hayward in a not-so intense mode opened me up to seeing her in her more familiar territory.

However, I wasn't truly sold on All Things Susan Hayward until I got the soundtrack to I’ll Cry Tomorrow. Originally, I bought the score for composer Alex North’s wonderful underscore and despite the presence of Hayward’s vocals. But what sealed the deal for me was hearing Hayward's beautiful, after-hours vocal (accompanied by Jazz quartet) on I’ll Cry Tomorrow’s title cut. (A review of the score is forthcoming). I knew then that Susan Hayward would figure prominently in my film-watching future. I've only watched a handful of her movies, so the upcoming year will find me dedicating a lot of time to her. I look forward to exploring this great actress’ filmography.

I Want to Smile: Hayward in a photo shoot for LIFE magazine, 1949.

Dana Andrews: An Appreciation

I was twenty when I first became aware of Dana Andrews . His performance in 1946's The Best Years of Our Lives was nothing short of amazing. If I had discovered his movies when I was, say, 10 or so, he no doubt would have joined the likes of Lee Marvin and Steve McQueen as the cinematic heroes my friends and I emulated at the playground. That is, minus all that drinkin' and carousin'; that aspect of cinema tough guys didn't register to this fifth grader. And given the number of war movies Andrews (1909-1992) starred in, he would have been wildly popular among my World War II-obsessed friends. I was mesmerized by Andrews’ screen presence and saw right away that his appeal wasn’t in the way he delivered his lines, but rather his reactions to events around him. Everything the viewer needed to know about a Dana Andrews character was registered on his face. When I started reading up on Best Years’ Oscar wins, I was disappointed, but not surprised, that Andrews didn’t get nominated for the film-- or anything else-- during the course of his career. I knew then that I had a new movie hero. I’m a sucker for an underdog.

Whenever I think of Dana Andrews, two images come to mind: The scene from The Best Years of Our Lives in the soon-to-be-scrapped bomber and how his character confronts his wartime trauma while reliving the sheer terror of that experience; and Where the Sidewalk Ends, when Andrews’ character, after accidentally killing a suspect, stays up the entire night at the police precinct ruminating about what to do. The worn out look on his face come morning is simply brilliant.

As I saw more of his films, I realized that Andrews was his own man; he wasn’t explosive or menacing like the tightly-wound Robert Ryan, and he lacked the smart-alecky disposition of another favorite, Glenn Ford. And even when Andrews is playing a man on the edge, he doesn’t erupt like Ryan might, but instead boils from within, so deep that it only faintly registers on his face, but it’s so well done that I shake my head with amazement at his ability to burn so subtly. Maybe that's reading more into Andrews’ performances than what's actually there, but whatever it is that he’s trying to convey comes across loud and clear and registers right away, even in my chickpea-sized brain. He has some moments in Fallen Angel (1945) where it’s blatantly obvious what is going on in his character’s head, especially when it involves luscious Linda Darnell’s character, Stella. Andrews came of age during a time when men were expected to keep their emotions under wraps, Andrews is able to show the viewer what his character is feeling and thinking without saying a word. I’m blown away by his style, which never-- despite the claims made by some movie buffs-- comes off as “wooden.”

Now, since I’m (ostensibly) an adult, I see Dana Andrews in a different light and with that a whole new wave of associations. I’ve read much about that WWII generation and with the death of my own relatives, it’s obvious to me that Andrews is representative of the “Greatest Generation.” His tightlipped, keep-a-lid-on-his-emotions persona reminds me of my grandfather. Every time I see a Dana Andrews movie, my Generation Envy kicks in and I can’t help but think of how I’d have behaved had I lived in Dana’s time and gone through the things that men like my grandfather went through during their service in World War II. For me, my fascination with that generation is also what makes Dana Andrews so appealing.

The man had his share of personal battles. He was an alcoholic, having overcome that addiction by the late-sixties. Andrews briefly gave up acting to become the president of the Screen Actors Guild (1963-65) and then upon his return, toiled in some truly dreadful horror and cult movies during the 1960s & 1970s, and appeared in numerous TV movies. Like another Twentieth Century Fox star, Henry Fonda, Andrews would spend that decade in films unworthy of his talent and stature. However, unlike Fonda, Andrews would not enjoy a comeback. There would be no career-capping Oscar win, nor any Lifetime Achievement Awards. Andrews would die in 1992, essentially forgotten. I was acutely affected by his death. Upon learning the news, I immediately thought of that Best Years bomber scene and how it held so much meaning for me and realizing that this actor-- completely unknown to many under the age of fifty-- was a treasure. I haven’t seen every one of his movies, but I have yet to be disappointed by anything he’s done. I know that there’s something more going on in a Dana Andrews performance than what the character says, and his brilliance is such that he doesn’t have to say anything at all.

Ralph Meeker Night On TCM

I just found out that Turner Classic Movies is dedicating tonight's prime time schedule to forgotten tough guy Ralph Meeker. Meeker (1920-1988) is best known for his definitive take on Mickey Spillane's iconic detective, Mike Hammer, in 1955's Kiss Me Deadly. If you haven't seen the film, do so... now! The DVD appears to be out of print in the U.S., so TCM's your best bet.

Ralph Meeker's Mike Hammer is one bad man. He wears a naturally menacing leer on his smug mug and doesn't hesitate to manhandle an elderly desk clerk, slap, punch, and shove a thug down a flight of steps, tell a nosy old woman to shut up, or snap a valuable Caruso record in half in front of its owner's eyes. And he's the hero of the film! Kiss Me Deadly is such a dark film with some genuinely disturbing imagery. Much has been written about the film's subtext and meaning, but I avoid delving too deeply into those things because I’m tired of having my favorite films drained of their vitality through turgid analysis. I can only say that the movie is an atmospheric masterpiece, with great performances from well-known character actors (Paul Stewart, Jack Elam, Albert Dekker) rising stars (Cloris Leachman in her film debut), and unknown players (Maxine Cooper and Gaby Rogers) who seemed to exist solely within the film.

"I don't care who I pummel, just so I'm dishin' out some hurt!"

Meeker's brilliant portrayal of Mike Hammer is sacred to me. And because of his absolute mastery of this role, I have purposely avoided reading anything about his private life---wouldn't want to spoil the image (heck, Noir nasty men Dan Duryea and Richard Widmark were dedicated family men!) I have of him. So partly because of my own choosing, Ralph Meeker remains a mysterious figure to me. I never saw him in anything before I saw Kiss Me Deadly, but have seen his work in a few films, like the Barbara Stanwyck vehicle Jeopardy (1953) as well as his brief role in another gritty movie, the Frank Sinatra film, The Detective (1968). He also appears in a childhood favorite of mine, Kiss Me Deadly director Robert Aldrich's The Dirty Dozen (1967). I’ve also seen some of his many TV appearances from the 1970s, but Ralph Meeker will forever be etched in my memory as Mike Hammer.

TCM airs Kiss Me Deadly tonight at 11:30pm (est.) along with:

8:00 pm- Paths of Glory (1957)

10:00 pm- Big House U.S.A. (1955)

1:30 am- Glory Alley (1952)

3:00am- Desert Sands (1955)

I no longer get TCM and I haven't seen those last three movies, so you'll get the "Meeker Edge" on me if you see them.

North By Northwest: The Complete Score

For the last week I've been marvelling over the 2007 recording of the immortal music score for Alfred Hitchcock's North By Northwest (1959) composed by Bernard Herrmann. To film score buffs, Herrmann's North By Northwest is considered one of the greatest film scores ever and Herrmann himself (1911-1975)--the composer of Citizen Kane, Psycho and Taxi Driver; among others-- is revered as a deity in film score circles. Now available on the Varese Sarabande label, producer Robert Townson and conductor Joel McNeely have produced an outstanding, complete version of this seminal musical achievment. I'm going to forego a synopsis of the movie and assume anyone reading this is at least somewhat familiar with this movie. That said, I will explain why a re-record of a truly brilliant score has wooed and wowed me. But first, here's a brief rundown of North By Northwest's soundtrack history and a little about rerecorded film scores.

The original North By Northwest session tapes were either lost or damaged years ago. According to the new recording's liner notes, the majority of the MGM library's tapes were discarded and buried under what is now Interstate 405 in California(!). The surviving tracks (also called "cues") were released on an incomplete original soundtrack in 1995 and despite valiant efforts to remaster and perserve those original tracks, much of the score has less than amazing sound quality. In fact on the Overture (the Spanish-sounding main title/action theme often referred to as the "fandango"), some instruments are no longer heard in the recording mix due to the decomposition of the tracks. Unfortunately, many of the elements containing the title track were among those damaged, so if you wanted to hear the riveting title cut, it would have been without the entire orchestra. I should say that the original is still worth hearing if only because original soundtracks-- whatever their condition-- are worth hearing and are often considered another character in the film and is worthy of purchase. Another thing that an original recording has over its newer counterpart is its relationship with the film. Because of that association, rerecorded film scores often lose the "feel" of the original soundtrack and since movie fans have every aspect of their favorite movies memorized, a new recording doesn't sound like the score as recorded for the film. Many times the concert hall recording sounds like a classical music performance and a variety of factors affect its sound: Altered tempos, different instrumental voicings, the orchestra's volume, just about *anything* can be a detriment to a rerecording.

Quite simply, the Slovak National Symphony Orchestra has avoided the perils of rerecording a cherished film score. They nail the feel, the spirit, the mood, the ferocious energy, the romance, the light humor, the very essence of the Bernard Herrmann sound. The orchestra avoids being overly reverential, or getting bogged down in slow, murky tempos or blowing through the slower pieces. North By Northwest is an action/adventure movie and the score reflects that in tracks like "The Wild Ride" and "The Crash"; the tension-filled "The U.N." and "The Highway"; and the romantic "Conversation Piece" and "Interlude." This new edition includes expanded versions of cues not heard in the film and four that receive their world premiere. Not only is North By Northwest a great accompaniment to a wonderful movie, this new album also proves to be a fantastic listening experience. Tracks are often thirty seconds to a minute and a half long with some cuts going longer, but everything segues nicely and one has to keep the CD case handy to keep track of cue titles. The result is still a seamless and enjoyable 65 minutes of brilliant Herrmann underscore. And don't bother uploading individual tracks to your iPod, because the score is best heard all in one sitting. I found that listening on headphones was the best way to take in this masterpiece, so that one can appreciate the wonderful nuances, arrangements, and high energy of one of cinema's greatest film scores.


North By Northwest: The Complete Score is limited to 3000 copies and is available through the Varese Sarabande website.