“WANTED: ANGER MANAGEMENT IN BORDER TOWN”

By Raymond Benson

Sterling Hayden was often cast as the gangster, the hooligan, the nutsy general, the petty criminal with brawn but little brains… and yet here we have him as the hero of a sticky film noir from 1954 as the chief of police of an urban setting (southern California?) who loses his job because of allegations of police brutality. Hayden is perfectly cast, and this is said without sarcasm.

Naked Alibi was directed by Jerry Hopper, who made well over a dozen B-movies in the crime, adventure, western, and melodrama categories in the late 1940s to mid-50s, and then moved smoothly into television and helmed an abundance of television episodes for various long-running series into the 70s. Alibi does play like an extended episode of one of the late 50s TV crime dramas like Naked City, except with more violence, implied sex, and gritty adult themes.

Unfortunately, the picture doesn’t come off well, mainly due to the over-the-top and often histrionic performances of the main cast, and a needless aggression towards women. Poor Gloria Grahame gets slapped around numerous times, and yet she stoically barely flinches through most of the assaults. It’s not pretty.

Chief Joe Conroy (Hayden) has his eye set on pinning some robberies and ultimately a cop-murder on Al Willis (Gene Barry), a seemingly innocent, married-with-child baker who happens to get hot-headed and into fights when he drinks too much—an all too frequent habit. When no physical evidence supports Conroy’s pursuit, the now-ex-chief shadows Willis on his own, following him to “Border Town” in Mexico, where he discovers Willis is not so innocent (much of the movie was shot in Tijuana). Marianna (Grahame) is Willis’ mistress there, and he has fed her a load of bull about marrying her (and withholding the fact that he’s already married). Furthermore, Willis is associating with some criminal types there and has his own gang of cohorts. Conroy sets about wooing Marianna to his side, making several felonies stick to Willis, forcibly moving the hood back to the USA, and arresting him. Things become increasingly dangerous for Conroy and Marianna, and Willis grows progressively more psychotic.

This probably sounded decent on paper, but the execution is serviceable, at best. For one thing, Barry is miscast and spends most of the movie jumping from calmness to out of control at the drop of a hat, and it’s cause for some eye-rolling. Grahame, whom albeit looks hotter than the streets of the border town, seems bored and without energy through much of the picture. Again, the way she simply takes her beatings is another point of unbelievability. As for Hayden, he, too, could have used a stronger hand at direction, for he tends to chew the scenery at times when a little restraint would have been more effective.

Kino Lorber’s new high definition restoration is suitably and overly grainy if one likes one’s film noir in that condition. It comes with English subtitles for the hearing impaired, as well as an audio commentary by film historian Kat Ellinger. The theatrical trailer for this and other Kino Lorber titles complete the presentation.

Naked Alibi is recommended strictly for Sterling Hayden and/or Gloria Grahame fans, and for film noir completists.

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“CARD TRICKS”

By Raymond Benson

This British gem was considered a lost film until a print was somehow discovered a little over ten years ago and re-released in art houses and on home video. The Queen of Spades, from 1949, was one of only nine pictures helmed by Thorold Dickinson, a Norwegian director who worked mostly in the UK but also in Europe and Africa. He was perhaps most known for directing the original British version of Gaslight (1940), which George Cukor and MGM suppressed when they remade it as a Hollywood movie in 1944 (with Ingrid Bergman). There are some who believe Dickinson’s Gaslight is the better of the two.

Dickinson has been re-appraised in recent years by the likes of filmmakers such as Martin Scorsese and Wes Anderson, and by critics with a taste for genuine style and substance in their movies. The Queen of Spades was nominated for a BAFTA award for Best Picture in its year and is now deemed as one of the better atmospheric dramas of the supernatural, fitting nicely beside such psychological fare as The Haunting (1963).

Interestingly, Dickinson was hired as a replacement director mere days before shooting was set to commence. He replaced co-screenwriter Rodney Ackland (who wrote it with Arthur Boys), because apparently there were disagreements between Ackland and the star, Anton Walbrook, and the producer, Anatole de Grunwald (who was also a colorful character in British cinema). Dickinson did a few days of preparation and then showed up on the set on a Monday morning ready to work. The result is quite impressive.

The tale, based on an Alexander Pushkin short story, is set in St. Petersburg, Russia, in the early 1800s. This alone provides the filmmakers with a broad canvas for set design, art direction, and elaborate costumes, which are all gorgeous in glorious black and white (and it’s arguable that the movie would not have worked as well had it been in color).

Captain Herman Suvorin (Walbrook, who had appeared in several Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger productions), is a haughty, ambitious man who desires the “secret” to winning a fortune at a popular card game called “Faro.” He learns from a creepy bookseller that the aging and wealthy Countess Ranevskaya (Dame Edith Evans, in her first film role at the age of sixty!) had “sold her soul to the devil” many years ago when she learned this secret. Herman sets out to get to the countess and extract the knowledge from the old woman by any means possible, the easiest being to seduce the countess’ innocent and beautiful ward, Lizavetta (Yvonne Mitchell), and infiltrating the spooky palace through her. Meanwhile, Lizavetta is being wooed by Herman’s friend, Andrei (Ronald Howard), who is buddies with the countess’ grandson, Fyodor (a young Anthony Dawson, whom cinema fans will recognize from Dial M for Murder and Dr. No). Conflict arises between Herman and Andrei, but things really get sinister and ghostly once the captain eventually confronts the countess.

Kino Lorber’s new Blu-ray restoration shows off Otto Heller’s dreamy cinematography, and the film comes with an audio commentary by film critic Nick Pinkerton, as well as English subtitles for the hearing impaired. Supplements include a short video introduction by Martin Scorsese; a rather dry video analysis by film critic/author Philip Horne; a 1951 audio interview with Dickinson at the British Federation of Film Societies; and a 1968 audio introduction to a screening of the film by Dickinson in front of an audience. The theatrical trailer for this and other Kino Lorber releases complete the package.

The Queen of Spaces is a fascinating and moody piece of work, certainly for fans of British cinema, period drama, and things that go bump in the night.

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“NEXT STOP… HIJACK!”

By Raymond Benson

There were many motion pictures made in the 1960s, 70s, and 80s that depict New York City as a less than desirable place to be. A hell on earth full of crime, grime, sin, debauchery, drugs, gangs, and corruption. You know the titles—The Out of Towners, Midnight Cowboy, Joe, Taxi Driver…

While the portrayal may very well have been true, to a certain extent, this reviewer lived in Manhattan over a decade during the relevant years and found it to be the most exciting, vibrant, culturally potent, and beautifully stimulating environment. Not only that, the #6 IRT train (the “Pelham 1:23,” hence the title) is one this reviewer rode almost daily, so the stops, the milieu, and the atmosphere were dead-on familiarities. As some of us like to say today in the age when 42nd Street and Times Square have been “Disney-ized,” we miss the old days when New York had “character,” and we’re not talking about Elmos and Iron Men hawking photos with tourists.

One must add to the above list of New York films the marvelous thriller, The Taking of Pelham One Two Three, from 1974. Director Joseph Sargent delivered a gritty and accurate nail-biter that displayed Manhattan in its visceral authenticity, especially regarding the underground subway system, where most of the movie takes place. New York’s Transit Authority (MTA) cooperated with the filmmakers, however there is a disclaimer that they didn’t advise or take part in the story details or provide information on how the trains worked. The one condition the MTA made to allow filming in the subway was that no graffiti could be seen in the movie. At the time, graffiti was everywhere, and subway trains and stations were primary targets for the artists. Throughout the 70s and 80s, the MTA was at war with graffiti artists—it was a never-ending battle to keep the cars clean. Thus, the unmarked subway cars seen in the film are the only thing about it that could be called unrealistic.

Pelham is terrific. One unexpected element that makes it so good is the humor exhibited in the dialogue and by the superb performances of the actors, especially those playing the Transit Police and the MTA employees. The likes of Walter Matthau, Dick O’Neill, Jerry Stiller, and Tom Pedi keep the proceedings lively and entertaining.

Four armed men (Robert Shaw, Martin Balsam, Hector Elizondo, and Earl Hindman) in similar disguises (hats, overcoats, mustaches) board the #6 Downtown train, each using the pseudonym of a color (Mr. Green, Mr. Blue, etc.—nearly twenty years before Reservoir Dogs, and it is acknowledged by Quentin Tarantino that Pelham was an influence). At around 28th Street, they hijack the train, separate the front car from the rest, and park it between stations in the dark of the tunnel. They hold seventeen passengers and a conductor hostage and demand $1 million in cash from the city within one hour. Lt. Garber (Matthau) of the transit police oversees the negotiations and getting things moving. A mayor downtrodden with the flu (Lee Wallace, who uncannily resembles future New York mayor Ed Koch, although Koch was not mayor at the time the picture was made) must approve the payout, the bank must gather the dough, and the police need to deliver the bundle to the hijackers on time before they start executing hostages.

It’s the perfect example of a “ticking clock” thriller, and director Sargent, screenwriter Peter Stone (adapting from John Godey’s novel), and the actors pull it off with finesse. Another major component to the film’s success is the funky, brassy score by David Shire.

Kino Lorber’s Blu-ray restoration looks and sounds great, and it comes with an audio commentary by actor/filmmaker Pat Healy and film programmer/historian Jim Healy. Supplements include a recent interview with actor Elizondo, who provides several amusing stories about the making of the film and the other actors involved; a recent interview with composer Shire; and one with editor Jerry Greenberg. A “Trailers from Hell” episode with Josh Olson, an animated montage of stills and posters, and the original theatrical trailer round out the package.

In short, The Taking of Pelham One Two Three is a seminal “New York Movie,” a quintessential “1970s picture,” and one of the better thrillers ever made. Note: It was remade in 1998 as a TV movie and in 2009 as a theatrical film, but neither of these comes close to the power and ingenuity of the original.

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“THE LIVES OF WOMEN”

By Raymond Benson

The Group, the 1966 film directed by Sidney Lumet, is based on Mary McCarthy’s 1963 best-selling novel that broke ground by presenting the extraordinary notion that young women graduating from college in the 1930s had liberating thoughts in their heads regarding politics, independence, sex, marriage, career, and motherhood (SARCASM). In all seriousness, the novel did push the envelope, given the time it was published. It challenged the notion of the All-American Girl’s only role in society was to get married, have children, and serve her husband.

The film, which was adapted for the screen and produced by Sidney Buchman, is a reasonably faithful rendition of the novel, and, seeing that it was released in that nebulous in-between period between the demise of the Hollywood Production Code and the institution of the Movie Rating System in America, it is frank and revealing—but perhaps not enough.

What is most fascinating about the picture today are the performances by the eight leading ladies, most of whom were just arriving on the scene and would go on to bigger and better things. For example, The Group is Candice Bergen’s first screen appearance.

The time is 1933 at a fictional women’s college in New England (in the novel it is explicitly Vassar). Eight women who are close friends refer to themselves as “the Group”—there is Lakey (Bergen), the most beautiful and popular one; Dottie (Joan Hackett), the seemingly sensible one who makes some rash choices; Priss (Elizabeth Hartman), politically liberal but too submissive when contested; Polly (Shirley Knight), perhaps the most independent of the bunch; Kay (Joanna Pettet), the most materialistic and the most victimized; Pokey (Mary-Robin Redd), who we don’t get to know as well as the others; Libby (Jessica Walter), who is the most ambitious and competitive; and Helena (Kathleen Widdoes), who is perhaps the smartest one. The story follows the eight women’s lives after graduation over the rest of the decade to the beginning of World War II, mostly in and around New York City, as they date, get jobs, fall in love (or not), marry, and have children (some successfully, others not so).

Aside from a couple of exceptions, the men in their lives are portrayed as selfish, abusive, and cruel. They are played by the likes of Larry Hagman, Richard Mulligan, Hal Holbrook, James Broderick, and James Congdon. We also slightly get to know some of the girls’ parents (one father, played by Robert Emhardt, deemed as having a mental illness, insists on moving in with his daughter) and other friends.

While there is some attempt to give each of the eight ladies their “story,” the movie focuses mostly on Kay (Pettit), whose emotional range is expertly displayed throughout as she works to support her caddy, cheating husband; and Polly (Knight), who approaches her love affairs with an arm’s length attitude and is too attached to her father. On the second tier of screen time are Libby (Walter), Dottie (Hackett), and Priss (Hartman), all of whom deliver fine performances along with Pettet and Knight. Bergen’s character disappears after the first ten minutes, goes to Europe, and doesn’t return until the last act of the movie.

Sidney Lumet’s direction is assured as he moves the complicated and many-faceted storylines along—and yet the picture is too long (at 2-1/2 hours). A lot is packed into it, though, and something like this might have worked better as a three-part television mini-series. (In a way, it is Sex and the City for eight women instead of three, and in quite a different decade from that HBO show.)

Most notable about the movie is its dealing with topics not normally discussed on screen in 1966, the year it was released—birth control, mental illness, adultery, free love, liberal politics (in the 1930s, Left was LEFT!), and even lesbianism.

Kino Lorber’s new Blu-ray restoration looks quite good and comes with English subtitles for the hearing impaired. Unfortunately, there are no supplements other than the theatrical trailers for this and other Kino Lorber releases.

The Group is an interesting time capsule of a specific time in cinema history that shines a light on a particular era in American history that, in turn, examines a distinctive social class of gender-exclusive characters.

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BY TODD GARBARINI

Natalie is a homely and painfully shy young girl with an overbite who hides under her bed when boys disparage her looks, going so far as to knocking their teeth out with a shovel when they, no pun intended, mouth off to her about her less-than-spectacular looks. She constantly needs assurance from others that her plain appearance will one day segue way to something attractive enough to command the attention of members of the opposite sex. The person she looks up to the most, Uncle Harold, is a sweet man who refers to her as “princess” and assures her that she will blossom into a butterfly from the cocoon she has wrapped herself up in. Her “knight in shining armor” fantasy of him is shattered one evening at dinner when Uncle Harold (Martin Balsam) brings his girlfriend, an attractive middle-aged stripper, to dinner and announces that they are engaged. Uncle Harold passes sometime later due to an undisclosed illness, and his fiancé confides to Natalie that life isn’t always as wonderful as it appears to be. This truth is later confirmed when her attractive best friend marries a “regular guy”.

The late Patty Duke, who tragically lived a life as a manic-depressive and even wrote a book about it, gives a performance as the titular heroine that wavers between pathos, tragic-comedy and self-pity. Ms. Duke is arguably best known for her work in The Miracle Worker (1962) in her portrayal of Helen Keller, and then again in the 1979 television adaptation, this time as Anne Sullivan, Helen Keller’s teacher. Natalie lives with her overbearing parents (character actor Philip Sterling as her father and Nancy Marchand best known for television’s Lou Grant and The Sopranos as her mother) who set her up with a doctor (Bob Balaban, who also played John Voight’s date in John Schlesinger’s Midnight Cowboy (1969), the interpreter in Steven Spielberg’s Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977), and Thora Birch’s father in 2001’s Ghost World) in the hopes of seeing her married. Eventually, she musters the courage to cut the umbilical cord and strike out on her own, leaving the confines of Brooklyn for a Greenwich Village flat when such a decision was affordable for a single person. She throws herself into her new life with zeal and gusto, repainting her drab new apartment with bright colors and decorative knick-knacks, and finds inventive ways of moving in through the dumb-waiter she shares with other tenants, one of whom is a painter, David Harris (James Farentino), whose apartment she mistakenly enters while he’s painting a nude model. Unlike Edouard Frenhofer, Jacques Rivette’s protagonist in La Belle Noiseuse (1991) who puts Emmanuelle Beart through the ringer to get to her quintessence, David is a painter second to being an architect, though he would like to paint full-time. Natalie initially regards him with disdain, interpreting his bohemian “profession” as a poorly chosen excuse for bedding unsuspecting and attractive muses. Her throwing rocks at the floor in moments of anger, sending plaster onto his head or waking him early in the morning, is a gag that wears out its welcome. David soon falls for Natalie, and once she achieves happiness with him her world comes crashing down once again when she discovers a truth about him that leads to a failed suicide attempt that is both tragic and comedic.

“A MATTER OF MISCOMMUNICATION”

By Raymond Benson

The late Carl Reiner received top billing in this magnificent comedy that was released in the middle of the 1960s, when relations between the United States and the Soviet Union were tentative at best. Détente was at play, but there wasn’t much trust between the two countries. Two years after Kubrick’s Cold War black comedy, Dr. Strangelove, Norman Jewison tried his hand at a picture with a similar theme, only it was one that was much lighter in tone.

Reiner shares the movie with Alan Arkin, who made his feature film debut with his portrayal of a Russian submarine political officer, along with a marvelous supporting cast of character actors who all have comedic turns. Penned by Oscar-nominated William Rose (who had written or co-written The Ladykillers and It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World, and would win the Oscar the following year for Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner), The Russians are Coming, the Russians are Coming focuses on the conflict between a group of misplaced Soviet submariners and the panicky townsfolk of a New England island off the coast of Massachusetts after the summer tourists have left. What it’s really about, though, is communication, or rather, the lack of it, and how a series of incidents that are lost in translation might lead to misunderstandings. Director Jewison delivers that message to the audience wrapped neatly in a barrel of laughs.

Reiner is Walt Whittaker, a playwright who has spent the summer on the island with his wife (Eva Marie Saint) and two children, and the family is ready to depart. His rented house on the coast happens to be near where the Russians’ submarine accidentally runs aground. The captain (Theodore Bikel) sends Lt. Rozanov (Arkin), officer Alexei Kolchin (John Phillip Law), and seven other men to go find a boat, commandeer it, and bring it back so they can tow the sub away from the island. Things begin promisingly, and then all hell breaks loose as one mishap after another foils the Russians’ scheme. Police Chief Mattocks (Brian Keith), his deputy Norman Jonas (Jonathan Winters), and, ultimately, war veteran and head of the citizens militia, Hawkins (Paul Ford), receive conflicting reports of the “invasion” and set about investigating it in their own misguided ways (although Mattocks is indeed the sensible one). Throw in a sudden romantic attraction between Alexei and the Whittaker’s babysitter, Alison (Andrea Dromm), the antics of phone operator Alice (the splendid Tessie O’Shea), and a drunk “Paul Revere” who spends the entire film trying to catch his horse (Ben Blue), and you’ve got a recipe for a comedy classic. The climax, however, is surprisingly suspenseful when the Russians and Americans finally reach a standoff at the harbor—until an unrelated crisis occurs that shakes everyone out of the mob mentality.

The straight man role was something Carl Reiner could do well; he always brought a heightened intensity to his parts that was simultaneously boisterous and believable, and yet amusing, too. Arkin, whose dialogue is 85% authentic Russian throughout the picture, immediately proved to the world what an amazing actor he is (he received an Oscar nomination for his performance and won a Golden Globe). Winters and Ford both provide much of the insane humor. O’Shea is hilarious, especially in the scene in which she and Reiner are gagged and tied together and attempt to escape. Law, a newcomer at the time, is a striking and likeable presence, and he masters the Russian language and the accented English with aplomb.

It’s all great stuff, punctuated by Johnny Mandel’s score of American patriotic music mixed with Russian folk songs. Along with Arkin’s nomination, The Russians are Coming… was also nominated for Best Picture, Best Adapted Screenplay (Rose), and Best Editing (Hal Ashby was co-editor).

Kino Lorber’s high definition restoration looks good enough, despite some washing out of color in some places, as well as blemishes and artifacts that can be seen in some of the images. The only supplements are an informative and entertaining “making of” featurette with an interview with Jewison, and the theatrical trailer.

In short, The Russians are Coming, The Russians are Coming is grand fun, and it’s a fitting showcase for the late, great Carl Reiner.

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“A GORGEOUS NICE MESS”

By Raymond Benson and Doug Gerbino

Nobody wants the legacy of Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy to disappear. Young people may have heard of the comic duo, but few have seen them these days. This is understandably disturbing to cinephiles or those of us of an older generation who have admired since childhood the genius on display when the pair performed in front of the camera. While RHI Entertainment issued a fabulous DVD set in 2011 (10 disks in the U.S.) that contained most of Laurel and Hardy’s output for Hal Roach after sound kicked in, a new Blu-ray treasure chest has just been released by MVDvisual that contains stunning restorations in high definition of a respectable number of titles.

Laurel and Hardy—The Definitive Restorations could be a holy grail for members of Sons of the Desert, the International Laurel and Hardy Society that is devoted to keeping the lives and works of Stan and Ollie before the public “and have a good time doing it.” It is also a must for anyone who has even a passing interest in the history of film comedy or film in general.

The four-disk set contains two of the duo’s most revered feature films—Sons of the Desert (1933) and Way Out West (1937) along with seventeen classic shorts released between 1927 and 1933. Two of the shorts, Berth Marks (1929) and Brats (1930) are presented twice, each with two different soundtracks—one with the original Vitaphone track and the other with the re-issued 1936 version.

Sons of the Desert might be the definitive Laurel and Hardy movie. In it, both boys must deceive their suspicious wives about attending the Shriners-like “Sons of the Desert” convention in Chicago. Of course, one lie turns into a hundred and they keep digging their holes deeper. Way Out West is a western, naturally, with the boys attempting to deliver a gold mine deed to the rightful owner, only to be hoodwinked by the villains. The picture contains the celebrated dance routine Stan and Ollie performs while the Avalon Boys sing “At the Ball, That’s All.”

All of the shorts are marvelous. The Oscar-winning The Music Box (1932) is there, plus favorites such as the two with different soundtracks, and Hog Wild (1930), Come Clean (1931), County Hospital (1932), and Busy Bodies (1933). But the shining star of the set is the long “lost” but recently found silent gem, The Battle of the Century (1927), which contains the pie fight to end all pie fights. This is a seminal work in the Laurel and Hardy canon, and it had seemed that since 1957 only three minutes of footage of the approximately twenty-minute film was thought to exist. In 1980, Leonard Maltin found the bulk of reel one in the archive of the Museum of Modern Art (what, they didn’t know they had it?). In 2015, film historian John Mirsalis discovered the complete reel two. There are still two to three minutes missing—the new set makes up for it by including stills and intertitles—but with The Definitive Restorations we now have an almost complete version on home video. The film comes with a new music track by Donald Sosin. Look for a young Lou Costello as an extra in the crowd ringside during the early boxing match sequence! In short, the inclusion of The Battle of the Century is worth the price of admission.

The restorations by Jeff Joseph/SabuCat in conjunction with the UCLA Film and Television Archive and Library of Congress are simply beautiful. The contributions by film historians, archivists, and Laurel and Hardy scholars Randy Skretvedt and Richard W. Bann can’t be understated. Bann commented to the reviewers, “I saved the nitrate film from being disposed of and gave it to UCLA. We did our own commercial restoration and preservation for the Eastern hemisphere (though 35mm fine grains were provided at cost to the Western Hemisphere copyright proprietor, which generated what you see on TCM and in the Essential Laurel and Hardy DVD box set). Once I steered the nitrate to UCLA, Jeff Joseph donated money and oversaw the institutional restoration and preservation, as well as the digital upgrade, something we did not do for Munich originally, owing to time and cost considerations, as well as because the technology was less advanced during the 1985-2002 period. I supplied the still photos for the extras, except for those which came from Oliver Hardy’s collection. I consulted on the matter of rights clearances. I loaned studio documents, pressbooks, etc., to be scanned for inclusion with the extras, and I loaned the Kodachrome print of The Tree in a Test Tube.”

The nearly nine hours of supplements are just as spectacular as the films themselves. Skretvedt and Bann share the commentary duties (Bann is on The Battle of the Century and The Music Box, while Skretvedt does the rest). The combined knowledge of these two film aficionados about the history of Laurel and Hardy and Hal Roach Studios makes the set a must-have for devotees of the boys. In addition, there are 2,500 rare photos, posters, and studio files; film and audio interviews with many of the duo’s co-workers and Sons of the Desert society attendants of the 60s; a 50s-era interview with Hardy aboard the ship sailing from England during the period depicted in the recent biopic, Stan and Ollie (and it’s amazing how much the aging Hardy resembles the made-up John C. Reilly!); a restoration from 16mm Kodachrome of the rare 1942 color short produced by the U.S. Department of Agriculture, The Tree in a Test Tube; and trailers. The interviews, mostly conducted by Skretvedt in the early 1980s, are of varying audio and visual quality. Unfortunately, when asked what the chances are of locating a print of the ultra-rare lost 1927 silent film, Hat’s Off, Bann answered, “In the words of Oliver Hardy, ‘Null and void!’ We will cover all bets for finding Hat’s Off giving 100 to 1 odds.”

This isn’t just “another nice mess” they’ve got you into, it’s a gorgeous nice mess. Laurel and Hardy—the Definitive Restorations is highly and most enthusiastically recommended.

For information about the Sons of the Desert, visit www.sonsofthedesertinfo.com. The society was founded in 1965 by John McCabe, who wrote the first true biography of Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy in 1961. McCabe wanted to start an organization dedicated to the love of the duo along the lines of The Baker Street Irregulars (honoring Sherlock Holmes). McCabe had Laurel’s blessing, as long as no one referred to the society as a “fan club.” “Fan” is short for “fanatic,” and he didn’t want that. The society has been going strong with worldwide chapters—called “tents”—ever since.

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“ANOTHER CLASSIC HOLLYWOOD PROBLEM FILM?”

By Raymond Benson

Recently there was hue and cry about the new streaming service HBO Max and their decision to remove the 1939 Oscar-winning classic Gone with the Wind from their lineup because of its no-question-about-it racial stereotypes. While the intention might be admirable, there is also the danger of destroying a part of cultural history that should be studied and learned from, rather than rendering it invisible. Besides, viewers have a choice to watch a movie, unlike, say, gazing at a statue on public display that is there for all to see no matter what.

Another Hollywood classic from the same era that certainly falls into identical “problem” areas is William Wyler’s Jezebel, which earned Bette Davis her second Oscar, awarded supporting actress Fay Bainter a trophy, and was nominated for Best Picture of 1938. It, too, is set in the antebellum south (New Orleans, to be exact) a few years prior to the Civil War.

What makes Jezebel a shockingly potent film for today is that a) its protagonist, Julie Marsden (Davis) is the type of white-privileged, spoiled, and arrogant young woman who would be called a “Karen” on today’s social media for causing a scene in public; b) the obvious racial inequalities, which are inevitable when dealing with stories of the time; and c) the pandemic of yellow fever—“Yellow Jack”—is a rampant plot point, and we see many characters wearing masks!

Jezebel was rushed into production by Warner Brothers due to the huge success of the publication of Gone with the Wind and the furor over MGM’s preparations of adapting it into a film. Bette Davis was offered the lead role in Jezebel after it was clear that she wasn’t going to be cast as Scarlett O’Hara in Wind. Thus, Jezebel capitalized on the interest in Wind and was released 21 months earlier!

The story in a nutshell: Julie is staying at the plantation of her Aunt Belle (Bainter) to escape the yellow fever epidemic that has hit where she lives. She has her eyes set on banker Preston Dillard (Henry Fonda), but she has no qualms with leading on the more rakish Buck Cantrell (George Brent). After Julie causes a scandal by wearing a red dress at a ball in which all virginal, unmarried women wear only white, Preston drops her and goes north on business. Upon his return, Julie is surprised that he’s brought with him a “Yankee” wife, Amy (Margaret Lindsay). Julie continues her bad behavior, egging on Buck to insult both Preston and Amy, which leads to tragic consequences. Meanwhile, the pandemic is getting worse and the disease is encroaching on New Orleans—drastic measures are being taken to contain the outbreak, and it’s not pretty.

The cast is quite good. Bette Davis is indeed spectacular in the role, and her Oscar win is justified. For a picture released in 1938, her performance contains unusual subtlety and nuances that were not typically a component of screen acting of the era. Fonda is his reliable self, a man of principle and honor, and he always does that well. Brent is suitably smarmy and yet likable. The production is well made—director William Wyler at the time was becoming one of Hollywood’s stalwart filmmakers; this early success assured his place on the road to greater heights.

The picture’s treatment of African-American characters is exactly what one would expect from a Hollywood movie about the south as seen through the prism of 1938. Eddie Anderson (“Rochester” on The Jack Benny Show) makes an appearance as one of servants working for the family. It’s not indicated that all the black people on the plantation are slaves, but that’s what they are. In stereotypical Hollywood fashion, they are all “happy slaves,” and in fact they gather one night for a ritual sing-a-long to Julie. Yes, the scene is cringe-worthy today, but one must critique movies within the context of when they were made.

Julie’s behavior in the story may be abominable by the standards of the society portrayed in the film, but isn’t she just asserting her independence and feminism? Perhaps. Still, she does some nasty things to the men around her. This may cause some audiences to have trouble buying her sudden turn toward redemption at the film’s end.

Warner Archive’s new Blu-ray edition looks marvelous. As a straight port-over in high definition from the original DVD release, the feature comes with an audio commentary by film historian Jeanine Basinger. Supplements include a featurette on the making of the movie, a vintage musical short with Jimmy Dorsey and his Orchestra, a vintage cartoon (“Daffy Duck in Hollywood,” one of the greatest!), a promotional featurette with Davis on the Warners lot, and the theatrical trailer.

If you’re a Bette Davis fan, or an aficionado of classic William Wyler and/or Hollywood fare, then Jezebel is for you. It does act as a time capsule for a certain era in Tinsel Town, and for that alone it is a fascinating relic.

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“THE ARCHERS VS. SELZNICK = 2 MOVIES IN 1”

By Raymond Benson

Here’s an interesting lesson in filmmaking. Students of the art might learn something by watching the two different cuts of this motion picture to see what happens when a movie is edited down—especially when the original was made by bona fide artists as opposed to a slick Hollywood producer who, albeit successful, might not know everything.

David O. Selznick was a powerhouse producer and head of his own personal studio (he had, after all, produced Gone with the Wind, Rebecca, Spellbound, and many other Hollywood classics). “The Archers” were a unique British directing/writing/producing team and production company that consisted of the brilliant Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, who, for a solid decade, delivered some of the most engaging and beautifully-rendered works of cinematic art in the 20th Century. It is true that Powell and Pressburger were perhaps not as appreciated during their time as they should have been, but their work has been re-evaluated and newly appraised (by the likes of filmmakers such as Martin Scorsese, among others). Nevertheless, today there is no debating that The Archers made a handful of masterpieces between 1941 and 1951, including The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp, A Matter of Life and Death, Black Narcissus, and The Red Shoes.

In 1950, Powell and Pressburger teamed up with American producer Selznick to make Gone to Earth, which was based on the 1917 novel by Mary Webb. The story takes place in the country-lands between England and Wales in the late 1800s, thereby automatically opening it up to scenic beauty and a cinematographer’s dream. Gone to Earth stars Selznick’s then-wife, Jennifer Jones, as Hazel, a free-spirited, unsophisticated and superstitious “nature girl” who has an affinity with all animals (except, significantly, dogs) and especially a wild young fox, “Foxy,” that she keeps as a pet.

Edward Marston (Cyril Cusack) is a Baptist minister new to the nearby village, and he immediately becomes smitten with Hazel. She reluctantly agrees to marry him, even though she has already met and is intrigued by the arrogant, handsome, and wealthy squire Jack Reddin (David Farrar), who lives in quite the palace-like manor, complete with a feisty servant (Hugh Griffith). Oddly, it’s implied that Edward does not consummate the marriage with Hazel. It isn’t long before she runs off to engage in (again, it’s implied) carnal passion with Jack. As expected, things don’t turn out well for Hazel.

The plot of Gone to Earth might remind viewers of David Lean’s Ryan’s Daughter, which was released twenty years later. What the earlier film has going for it is Jones, who is splendid—despite being slightly miscast, in this reviewer’s opinion—and the gorgeous Technicolor photography by Christopher Challis. This is a “mood picture,” in that it’s really all about the setting, the period, and the attitudes of the characters rather than the story.

Enter Selznick. He did to Gone to Earth what he did to Vittorio De Sica’s Terminal Station three years later. This Italian production, directed by the great Neo-Realist filmmaker and produced by Selznick, also starred Jennifer Jones (see the Cinema Retro review here). Selznick didn’t like the original film, but he had the right to recut it for the American release, which he did, turning the picture into Indiscretion of an American Wife against De Sica’s wishes.

With Gone to Earth, Selznick also infuriated the original filmmakers by deleting nearly a half hour from the 110-minute running time, adding “Overture” and “Exit Music” title cards and music, and even having shot a couple of new scenes (directed by uncredited Rouben Mamoulian). Selznick released the new version as The Wild Heart in the USA in 1952.

Neither version did very well financially or critically in their respective releases at the time, although Powell and Pressburger’s original Gone to Earth, like all The Archers’ movies, has received considerable reassessment and acclaim.

Kino Lorber’s new Blu-ray edition presents both pictures in glorious, colorful restorations, with The Wild Heart as its main feature, and Gone to Earth as a supplemental attraction. The former exhibits the better transfer, with clear, sharp imagery. The latter is almost as good, but it is obvious that it came from different source material. There are English subtitles for the hearing impaired. Each film sports an audio commentary—The Wild Heart by film historian Troy Howarth and Gone to Earth by film historian Samm Deighan. Other trailers featuring actress Jones round out the package.

Gone to Earth was the second-to-last production by Powell and Pressburger working together. It’s not in the top tier of their pictures, to be sure, but it’s still a worthwhile and fascinating pastoral meditation on life in Britain in those days. The Wild Heart serves as another example of Hollywood meddling, but an interesting study piece for filmmakers and editors.

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“POULES, MECS, AND FLICS”

By Raymond Benson

Billy Wilder’s 1963 romantic comedy, Irma la Douce, is perhaps yet another property that would go on the politically correct list of Movies That Couldn’t Be Made Today. The times were certainly different in the early 60s regarding the relationships between the sexes. This was an era when the nudge-nudge, wink-wink attitudes toward sex were assuredly male-oriented. The brilliant Wilder had always drifted toward the risqué in his pictures (The Seven Year Itch, Some Like it Hot). Irma la Douce is no exception, and some of the sequences might raise the eyebrows of the cancel culture crowd.

The entertaining Shirley MacLaine stars as the titular character (which translates to “Irma the Sweet”), a streetwalker in modern day Paris (1963, that is), who stands on Rue de Casanova along with several other poules (the French slang for these ladies of the night). The women’s mecs, or pimps, are always nearby, usually hanging out in the Café Moustache, which is run by the witty and erudite barkeep known as, naturally, Moustache (Lou Jacobi, who comes near to stealing the movie). The flics, or street cops, are in on the racket, happily accepting bribes from the mecs to keep their poules in business. Irma is the hooker with the proverbial “heart of gold” and is hugely popular, despite having a little champagne-drinking dog as a constant companion. Her mec, Hippolyte (Bruce Yarnell), is mean, controlling, and treats Irma terribly, but that is apparently what all the pimps do.

Enter beat cop Nestor Patou (Jack Lemmon), who is 2/3 honest and enthusiastic, and 1/3 very naïve. On his first day on the job, he attempts to arrest all the women, which of course gets him fired. His chief, Inspector Lefevre (Herschel Bernardi), protects the prostitution racket because, well, it’s tradition. But Nestor has met Irma in the process, and the two of them fall in love. Nestor proceeds, then, to become her mec after coming to blows with Hippolyte. Things become more complicated when Nestor has the silly idea of borrowing a large amount of money from Moustache, disguising himself as a wealthy British man, “Lord X,” and paying Irma the money simply for “conversation and companionship.” Irma then hands over the money to Nestor, which makes him look good to all the other pimps, and then Nestor repays Moustache. The scheme works… until it doesn’t.

The whole thing is farcical and hopelessly improbable, and yet Lemmon and MacLaine (and Jacobi) are so winning that one can’t help but go along for the ride. There are plenty of laughs, much bawdy humor, and tons of witty dialogue. The problem with Irma la Douce is that it is simply too long. The picture runs 2 hours and 20 minutes, and very few comedies can sustain that kind of length. A half hour could easily have been trimmed out of the movie. It’s not a fatal flaw, but one that keeps Irma from residing among the top tier of Wilder classics.

Nevertheless, MacLaine was awarded with an Oscar nomination for Best Actress for her role. She is decidedly cute, bubbly, and sassy throughout, and for most of the film she’s dressed in skimpy clothing or lingerie or not dressed at all (but there is no nudity on display). André Previn won an Oscar for his delightful musical score. The script, by Wilder and his then current collaborator, I. A. L. Diamond, is quaintly sexist and ribald, providing Lemmon with many turns of his trademark exuberance.

Interestingly, the Irma role was supposed to have been played by Marilyn Monroe, but she died before production began. What would Irma la Douce have been like with a re-teaming of Lemmon and Monroe? One can only imagine. Instead, we got the genuinely satisfactory reunion between Lemmon and MacLaine, who had made The Apartment for Wilder three years earlier.

Watch for a young James Caan in a walk-on role as an American G.I. customer of one of the poules, and yes, that’s Louis Jourdan’s voice as the narrator in the beginning sequence.

Kino Lorber’s new high definition restoration beautifully shows off Joseph LaShelle’s Oscar-nominated cinematography—the colors are rich and vivid in their widescreen glory. There are English subtitles for the hearing impaired, along with two separate audio commentaries—one by film historian Joseph McBride, author of How Did Lubitsch Do It?, and another by film historian Kat Ellinger. The theatrical trailer and other Kino Lorber release trailers and reversible sleeve artwork round out the package.

Irma la Douce is for fans of Wilder, Lemmon, and MacLaine, and for movie aficionados who can appreciate a picture within the context of when it was released. Nudge-nudge, wink-wink.

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REVIEW: "WHO'S AFRAID OF VIRGINIA WOOLF?" (1966) STARRING ELIZABETH TAYLOR AND RICHARD BURTON; WARNER ARCHIVE BLU-RAY SPECIAL EDITION