"I Used to Work in Movies"

"Carole, I have a feeling that my work in the four movies we made together will be forgotten..."

A lot of movie stars went over to television after their big screen careers fizzled. I’m sure they were happy for the steady work and paycheck, but at Hollywood Dreamland, we prefer to remember them in their prime and without commercials… Going on three generations now, these performers are best known for their TV roles more than anything they accomplished while movie stars. But I came to the realization that my immersion in classic film is such that I now associate them with their earlier movie careers rather than their often tepid roles in TV sitcoms. Besides the fact that I detest 99% of all sitcoms, I think their work on TV pales considerably to their work in film.

Lucille Ball- Yes, she’s positively immortal to television viewers as the squawking Lucy Ricardo/Carmichael in those two perpetually rerun sitcoms, but whenever I see her in my favorite Golden Age movies--Stage Door (1937) and The Dark Corner (1945), I still wonder how stardom eluded her on the big screen. She was beautiful, too.

Fred MacMurray- To many he will be cardigan-wearing, pipe-smoking patriarch Steve Douglas in the My Three Sons sitcom, but to me he’ll always be Carole Lombard’s co-star in the four films they did together in the 1930s. And let’s not forget MacMurray’s great role as murderous insurance salesman Walter Neff in 1944’s Double Indemnity. He also turned in good performances as weasly heels in The Caine Mutiny (1954) and The Apartment (1960). MacMurray is the star who initially inspired this entry. I was surprised to see him as such an engaging character in the 30s and impressed with his playing spineless villains, too. Two of MacMurray's future My Three Sons co-stars, William Frawley and William Demarest worked with him in movies during the 1930s. By the way, MacMurray is the dashing fellow pictured in this blog's masthead.

Agnes Moorehead- One of the great character actresses. Take a look at her 1940s filmography for the excellent films she’s in. Moorehead was best when she played a malicious bitch. I love her in those movies, especially 1947's Dark Passage. But Agnes Moorehead week-in-and-week-out is just too much for me to take. As Bewitched star Elizabeth Montgomery’s meddlesome mother, Endora ( “Endura” at my house) she’s as irritating as Hell.

Donna Reed- Sweet, pretty, "Girl Next Door" Reed is a site to behold in her various film appearances, whether it's in Shadow of the Thin Man (1941), The Human Comedy (1944), It’s a Wonderful Life (1946) and especially her Oscar-winning role in From Here To Eternity (1953), Reed was wonderful. As TV’s Donna Stone in The Donna Reed Show, she’s just blah.

Loretta Young- She did some pre-Code films that stir my blood, and won an Oscar for 1947’s The Farmer’s Daughter, then she got real goody-goody and took that routine to TV in a wildly successful program.

Andy Griffith- Griffith radiated sleaze in Elia Kazan’s A Face in the Crowd (1957) and charm in No Time for Sergeants (1958). Then it was off to Mayberry, California---uh, North Carolina to mete out his brand of homespun justice to the likes of Gomer, Goober, and Howard Sprague. And Warren. Let's never forget Warren, so that he never happens again.

Raymond Burr- Burr was often cast as a brutal “heavy” in film, but went on to true fame as lawyer Perry Mason and wheelchair-bound police detective Robert Ironside in two long-running shows—with great themes, I might add. It is Burr’s hands clenched in hatred from 1947's Desperate that are seen in the intro montage to Turner Classic’s Film Noir program, Darkness at Dawn.

Robert Young- Another “boy next door” type in the 1930s, he’s best remembered today as Jim Anderson in Father Knows Best and Marcus Welby, M.D., in addition to a series of Sanka decaf coffee commercials.

So there you have it. Some of the movie stars that did some great work on the Silver Screen only to have it erased by weekly exposure and subsequent decades-long reruns to achieve pop culture immortality, but we at Hollywood Dreamland prefer to remember them as they were, larger than life on the big screen.

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.

Gail Patrick: Deco Dame, Part III

Let's begin December with the third installment of our continuing tribute to a Hollywood Dreamland favorite, character actress Gail Patrick.

Majestic Gail: Gail in an interesting dress from an undated glamour shot. If she’d worn that dress onscreen, I’m sure many women would have been declaring how much they liked it. Because when an article of clothing appears in a movie, it has to be beautiful, right?

Tearful Gail: Pic taken by the paparazzi during Gail’s divorce from her first husband, Robert Howard Cobb. He and Gail’s union lasted a mere four years, 1936-1940. Cobb was the owner of the legendary Brown Derby restaurant and inventor of the famous Cobb Salad. But since he's upset Gail so much, we know what Mr. Cobb can do with his stinkin' salad, right?

Smart Girl Gail: Here’s a publicity still from an obscure 1935 film, Smart Girl, proof again that Gail had the best eyebrows in Hollywood. Her co-star is Kent Taylor. I’d never heard of him, but he’s got 110 screen appearances and when I scan his filmography, there isn't a single film of his I've seen!