“JUNGLE JEOPARDY”

By Raymond Benson

The 1964 action-adventure picture, The 7th Dawn, is a solid piece of work that features an exotic location (it was filmed in Malaysia), a couple of big stars (William Holden, Capucine), a fairly “new” one (Susannah York), and, for the year it was released and its budget limitations, moderately spectacular action sequences.

However, today, the movie might be memorable because of its links to James Bond films. It was directed by Lewis Gilbert (who helmed You Only Live Twice, The Spy Who Loved Me, and Moonraker), it co-stars Tetsurō Tamba (“Tiger Tanaka” in You Only Live Twice), is photographed by Freddie Young (credited here are Frederick Young, DP of You Only Live Twice), the main titles are by Maurice Binder (veteran of the 007 films for three decades), it was released by United Artists, and the movie is produced by Charles K. Feldman (responsible for the non-EON 1967 Casino Royale)!

The 7th Dawn is based on the 1960 novel, The Durian Tree by Michael Keon, and was adapted to film by Karl Tunberg. It’s the story of the path to Malayan independence from British rule after World War II, especially during the chaotic and violent years of the early 1950s.

Three close friends—American Ferris (William Holden), Malayan/French Dhana (French actress Capucine), and Malayan Ng (Japanese actor Tetsurō Tamba) fight with the Malayan army against the Japanese during World War II. Both men are sweet on Dhana, but at the end of the war, Ng graciously retreats and allows Ferris and Dhana to live together while he goes off to Russia to further his education. Cut to 1953, when Malayan guerrillas—led by Ng—are attacking both the British forces and Malayans in terrorist acts to force the British to leave. Ferris, who simply wants to live in peace on his rubber plantation, is persuaded by the British leader, Trumpey (Michael Goodliffe), to find Ng and convince the man that the British eventually do want to grant the Malayans independence. Dhana leaves Ferris to join Ng’s guerrillas, making room for Trumpey’s daughter, Candace (Susannah York), to set sights on the American. When Dhana is arrested, tried for terrorist acts, and sentenced to death, Candace is kidnapped by Ng’s forces. Ferris then has seven days to find Ng and Candace in the back country before Dhana is hanged.

It’s all fairly exciting stuff, and it’s a colorful display of mid-1960s Hollywood production values depicting warfare in a jungle setting. Holden is fine as the stalwart and stubborn former mercenary turned businessman. Capucine, although lacking Asian heritage, is convincing enough as being half Malayan (her skin color appears to have been artificially darkened), and Tamba exhibits why director Gilbert likely chose him to play Tiger Tanaka in You Only Live Twice. York is also a screen presence who, being the only blonde in sight, attracts audience attention. She had just come off her appearance in the award-winning Tom Jones, so her star was quickly rising.

The musical score by Riz Ortolani is of note with lush melodies and sweeping strings. The theme song, sung by The Lettermen, became a hit standard in the decade.

Kino Lorber’s high def transfer is acceptable; it certainly shows off that distinctive look of 1960s film stock, and Freddie Jones’ cinematography captures panoramic vistas of Malaysia and its jungles. There are no other supplements other than a theatrical trailer and optional English subtitles for the hearing impaired.

The 7th Dawn is fine fare for fans of any of the cast members, action-adventure in exotic landscapes, and 1960s Hollywood sensibility in widescreen Technicolor.

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“ARTHUR MILLER ANGST”

By Raymond Benson

The Academy Awards certainly overlooked this well made and superbly acted drama when it was released in 1948. All My Sons is tightly-adapted from the 1947 stage play by Arthur Miller, and it deserved some recognition, especially for some of the actors and perhaps the screenplay by Chester Erskine, who also produced the movie. It was directed by Irving Reis, who had earlier in the decade come into his own in Hollywood with the first few “Falcon” detective pictures starring George Sanders.

All My Sons was Arthur Miller’s first significant hit play, his second produced on Broadway (the first one flopped), and it won the playwright a Tony award. Erskine and Universal Pictures quickly secured the rights and got the movie into production, streamlining the three-act play into a roughly 90-minute movie. It works extremely well.

Joe Keller (Edward G. Robinson) runs a steel manufacturing business in a small town in the Midwest. His son, Chris (Burt Lancaster), is his right-hand man. Joe’s wife, Kate (Mady Christians), suffers from depression—she holds on to the hope that her other son, Larry, who disappeared three years earlier during World War II, is still alive. Kate also does not approve of Chris’s intention to marry Ann (Louisa Horton), who was originally Larry’s fiancée. Both Joe and Chris believe Larry to be dead. Ann, too, has moved on and has redirected her affections to Chris. The bigger elephant in the room, though, is that Keller and his company came under criminal scrutiny when some airplane fuselages they built proved to be faulty, causing the deaths of many soldiers overseas during the war. Keller’s business partner, Herb (Frank Conroy), took the fall and went to prison. Herb happens to be Ann’s father! Ann, Chris, Joe, and Kate have accepted the sad truth that Herb was responsible for the disaster, but Ann’s brother, George (Howard Duff), has not, and he wants to blow the lid off some well-kept secrets. Has Joe been lying all this time about his role in the manufacturing mishap? Is he not the father that Chris has placed on a pedestal for his entire life?

It’s very typical Arthur Miller angst, the kind of family drama that the playwright would explore often. And here, in All My Sons, the Miller angst is faithfully represented.

Edward G. Robinson delivers a powerful performance as Joe Keller. It is Oscar worthy, and the sad thing is that Robinson was never nominated for an Academy Award throughout his long career. He did receive an honorary Oscar in 1973, but he died two months before it was presented. This is one of those “shame on you” footnotes in the history of the Oscars, for Robinson always approached his roles with professionalism and skill. His Joe Keller in All My Sons is a pivotal piece of the film’s success.

Burt Lancaster, still fairly new to the industry, is also quite effective as the Good Son who is ready to leave his career at the factory for the girl he loves if his parents don’t accept the union. Louisa Horton is also very good, and All My Sons is her debut film performance. Horton didn’t make many movies, but she did a lot of television and was then married to filmmaker George Roy Hill for a couple of decades. Mady Christians, a longtime veteran of films since the silent days, holds her own, too. Unfortunately, Christians became a victim of HUAC—the House Un-American Activities Committee—shortly after the release of the movie and her career ended after four decades. HUAC certainly had its tentacles on several elements of the movie. Robinson had some unpleasant dealings with them, Elia Kazan (original director of the Broadway play and co-producer of the film) was a major figure in the investigations into “Communist infiltration” of Hollywood, and, most of all, Arthur Miller himself was an outspoken adversary of the committee.

Kino Lorber’s new Blu-ray release presents a high definition transfer that shows off Russell Metty’s black and white cinematography quite well. It comes with an informative audio commentary by film historian Kat Ellinger and author/film historian Lee Gambin. The only supplements are the theatrical trailer and other Kino Lorber trailers.

All My Sons is highly recommended for fans of Arthur Miller, Edward G. Robinson, Burt Lancaster, and for late 1940s Hollywood fare. Just be ready for the angst.

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“A MARITAL MISADVENTURE”

By Raymond Benson

Most film historians agree that the great Alfred Hitchcock became the Master of Suspense with his British production, The Man Who Knew Too Much. But Hitchcock had been directing movies since 1925—nine silent titles and seven sound features preceded that 1934 landmark. While a couple of these earlier titles are quite good, such as The Lodger (1927) and Blackmail (1929), the rest are mostly oddballs that don’t reflect the types of films for which Hitchcock would be known.

Rich and Strange, released in Britain at the end of 1931 and in America (retitled East of Shanghai) in early 1932, is one of these oddities. That is not to say it’s an unworthy entry in Hitchcock’s filmography. While it will never be considered one of his numerous masterworks, Rich and Strange is such a curiosity that it’s interesting and entertaining enough for the discerning Hitchcock fan or vintage film buff. Everyone else, though, will assuredly stop watching after thirty minutes.

Based on a 1930 novel by Dale Collins, the screenplay was written by Alma Reville (Mrs. Hitchcock) and Val Valentine. Hitchcock also worked on the script uncredited. Allegedly it is somewhat inspired by a round-the-world cruise the Hitchcocks had taken. Is it autobiographical? Some historians claim that some elements might be, but it’s more likely that Rich and Strange is the couple’s shared fantasy of a marital misadventure.

Billed and marketed as a comedy, the movie does contain humorous moments in the vein of Hitchcock’s sardonic wit and sometimes rather prurient sensibility. The first third is certainly more comic than the rest, the middle becomes tragically serious, and the final act is action-adventure on the high seas. Yes, it’s an oddball movie.

Fred and Emily Hill are a middle-class married couple who are happily married, and yet they don’t realize they’re happy. Fred (Henry Kendall) is bored with his job in London and dissatisfied with their living conditions. Em (Joan Barry) is a bit shrewish but only because of Fred’s malaise. Then, out of the blue, Fred receives a large early inheritance from an uncle. The couple ditches it all and goes on a round-the-world cruise. From the get-go, Fred discovers that he easily succumbs to seasickness aboard the ship, which puts a damper on the festivities. In Paris, they are shocked by the Folies Bergère. By the time they get to the Mediterranean, Em has become infatuated with handsome Commander Gordon (Percy Marmont). Fred, too, begins an affair with a sexy German “Princess” (Betty Amann). Thus, the Hills’ marriage is threatened by their attractions to other partners. It takes the sinking of a tramp steamer, where they end up after losing all their money, and being captured by Chinese pirates, to save it.

Rich and Strange could be called a warm-up to Hitchcock’s 1941 Hollywood comedy, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, which also revolved around a bickering couple played by Carole Lombard and Robert Montgomery. While even that picture is not held in high regard in Hitchcock’s filmography, it’s much better than Rich and Strange. True, there is a ten year difference in technical advancements and in Hitchcock’s development as a director. In fact, Rich and Strange seems to still have one foot in the silent era. Quite a bit of the movie has no dialogue and there is an abundance of unnecessary title cards. Obviously, when Hitchcock made Rich and Strange, he was still learning—and experimenting with—how to make sound pictures.

Kino Lorber’s Blu-ray is the 4K restoration recently done by the BFI and it looks the best this reviewer has ever seen it. In the USA, the title has mostly appeared on knock-off bootleg compilations on VHS and then DVD in poor quality. The movie comes with optional English subtitles, and an audio commentary by film historian Troy Howarth. The only supplements are an introduction (in French with subtitles) by Noël Simsolo, and an audio excerpt about the film from the famed Hitchcock/Truffaut interviews. The theatrical trailer and more Kino Hitchcock trailers complete the package.

Rich and Strange is for Alfred Hitchcock completists and fans of early British cinema.

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“AGE IS JUST A NUMBER”

By Raymond Benson

Harold and Maude, which was directed by Hal Ashby (his second feature film) and released in 1971, is one of those initially critically stomped box-office bombs… and yet years later became a cult hit in revival houses, on television broadcasts, and home video releases. It’s one of many examples that illustrate how critics don’t always know everything and how some motion pictures are ahead of their time. Harold and Maude now resides in the top 50 of the AFI’s list of 100 greatest comedy films.

Written by Colin Higgins, who simultaneously turned his original screenplay into a novel (also published in 1971), the movie was unquestionably a counter-culture, rebellious black comedy that from the get-go had the potential to offend some folks. The main character’s fake suicide pranks aside, the theme of a May-December romance—this time with the woman being the older one in the relationship—was sure to be off-putting to the moral majority. One often hears the justification for couples in which one person is much older than the other is that “age is just a number.” In the case of Harold and Maude, Maude’s number is 79, while Harold’s is 19. That’s a sixty year difference. Okay, then!

Most everyone by now knows the story. Harold (Bud Cort) is a cynical young man who lives with his wealthy, snobbish mother (Vivian Pickles). He is a misfit who is obsessed with death. He constantly stages gory suicides for shock effect, which of course upsets his mother as well as any blind dates that she sets up for her son. Harold also attends funerals for people he doesn’t know, and that’s where he meets Maude (Ruth Gordon). It turns out that Maude, a concentration camp survivor, also likes to go to strangers’ funerals, but her outlook on life is much different than Harold’s. She is wild, happy-go-lucky, and full of life. She’ll commit misdemeanors like stealing cars for the fun of it. The two develop a fast friendship, and together they have some misadventures, all set to the lively music of Cat Stevens. Romance blooms between the two, and Harold ultimately announces that he will marry Maude. The movie takes a poignant left turn at this point, and to say more would spoil it for those who have never seen the picture.

Director Ashby has always been something of an iconoclast in Hollywood. He started out as a successful editor who transitioned to directing. He found a niche in the swinging early 1970s as a helmsman of fringe anti-establishment titles like The Last Detail (1973) or Shampoo (1975). The failure—and then cult reputation—of Harold and Maude solidified Ashby’s place as a quirky, but talented, director. His work here is obviously eccentric, inventive, and perfect for the material.

Bud Cort is winning in his role as Harold, but it is of course Ruth Gordon who is the heart of the movie. Without her screen presence, charisma, and enthusiasm in the role of Maude, the film would not have worked.

Another element that elevates the film is the soundtrack full of songs by Cat Stevens. Most of the tunes were taken from previously-released albums, but two numbers were composed and recorded specifically for the movie.

Harold and Maude has appeared several times in home media, including a now out of print Criterion Collection edition. A more affordable new release from Paramount Presents is the item on display here, and the remaster from film transfer looks quite good. It comes with an entertaining audio commentary by Larry Karaszewski and Cameron Crowe. The only supplements, though, is a short interview with Yusuf/Cat Stevens and a couple of theatrical trailers.

For fans of Hal Ashby, Ruth Gordon, Cat Stevens, and those free-wheeling early cult films of 1970s Hollywood, Harold and Maude is for you.

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RIP VAN MARLOWE

By Raymond Benson

(Note: Portions of this review appeared on Cinema Retro in 2014 for an earlier Kino Lorber edition.)

Robert Altman was a very quirky director, sometimes missing the mark, but oftentimes brilliant. His 1973 take on Raymond Chandler’s 1953 novel The Long Goodbye is a case in point. It might take a second viewing to appreciate what’s really going on in the film. Updating what is essentially a 1940s film noir character to the swinging 70s was a risky and challenging prospect—and Altman and his star, Elliott Gould as Philip Marlowe (!), pull it off.

It’s one of those pictures that critics hated when it was first released; and yet, by the end of the year, it was being named on several Top Ten lists. I admit that when I first saw it in 1973, I didn’t much care for it. I still wasn’t totally in tune with the kinds of movies Altman made—even after M*A*S*H, Brewster McCloud (an underrated gem), and McCabe & Mrs. Miller. But I saw it again a few years later on a college campus and totally dug it. Altman made oddball films, and either you went with the flow or you would be put off by the improvisational, sometimes sloppy mise-en-scène that the director used. And the sound—well, Altman is infamous for his overlapping dialogue (one critic called it “Altman Soup”). If you didn’t “get” what the director was doing with sound, then you would certainly have a hard time with his pictures.

Yes, Elliott Gould plays Philip Marlowe. A very different interpretation than Humphrey Bogart or Dick Powell, obviously. And yet, it works. Gould displays the right amount of bemused cynicism, as if he had been asleep for twenty years and suddenly woken up in the 1970s. And that’s exactly how Altman, screenwriter Leigh Brackett (who co-wrote the 1946 The Big Sleep), and Gould approached the material. Altman, in a documentary extra on the making of the film, called the character “Rip Van Marlowe.” He is an anachronism in a different time. For example, Marlowe can’t help but be bewildered by the quartet of exhibitionist hippie lesbians that live in his apartment complex. And he still drives a car from his original era. And therein lies the point of the picture—this is a comment on the 70s, not the 40s or 50s.

The plot concerns the possible murder of the wife of Marlowe’s good friend, Terry (played by baseball pro Jim Boutin), who is indeed a suspect, as well as a suitcase of missing money belonging to a vicious gangster (extrovertly portrayed by film director Mark Rydell), an Ernest Hemingway-like writer who has gone missing (eccentrically performed by Sterling Hayden), and the author’s hot blonde wife who may know more than she’s telling (honestly played by newcomer Nina van Pallandt). The story twists, turns, hits some bumps in the road, and finally circles back to the initial beginning mystery.

It may not be one of Altman’s best films, but it’s one of the better ones. It’s certainly one of the more interesting experiments he tried in his most prolific period of the 70s.

Kino Lorber already put out a Blu-ray release several years ago, but it didn’t really improve much on the original DVD release prior to that. The company has now re-issued the film in a brand new 4K master that is a vast step-up from the previous release. It looks great. The soft focus cinematography by Vilmos Zsigmond is no longer a hazy gaze but is instead a crystal transfer of that distinctive 1970s film stock imagery. The movie now comes with an informative audio commentary by film historian Tim Lucas.

Some of the extras are ported over from the previous Kino Lorber release, such as the aforementioned “making of” documentary, a short piece on Zsigmond, an animated reproduction of a vintage American Cinematographer article, the trailer, and a few radio spots. New to this edition are featurettes with film historian/critic David Thompson on Altman and the film, author Tom Williams on Raymond Chandler, and author/historian Maxim Jakubowski on hard-boiled fiction in general. There is also a “Trailers from Hell” segment with Josh Olson.

If you’re an Altman fan and don’t already own the out of print DVD or previous Blu-ray, you may want to pick up the new, improved The Long Goodbye. It probably won’t be long before this, too, like Philip Marlowe himself, is a rare collector’s item.

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(Note: It has just been announced that "The Long Goodbye" has been named to America's National Film Registry of classic motion pictures.)

BY RAYMOND BENSON

One of the great Alfred Hitchcock’s normally derided pictures from his early British period that the Master of Suspense made prior to gaining that moniker is the 1932 comic thriller, Number Seventeen. It is a short work, running only 63 minutes, and its brevity is one of its few strengths.

For some reason, Hitchcock’s British films, made between 1925 and 1939, have all turned up on various home video labels in the USA over the years, mostly of dubious quality ranging from bad to terrible. They often show up on bootleg “bargain collections” and such. This is despite the fact that none of these movies are in the public domain, as is commonly thought. Thankfully, certain boutique DVD/Blu-ray producers have taken the reins to correct this horrid practice. StudioCanal or the BFI have restored most of the titles and they are slowly making appearances in America (the UK is way ahead in this regard).

Kino Lorber has recently released a few of these works, usually port-overs from the StudioCanal restorations. The new Blu-ray edition of Number Seventeen is a 4K restoration by the BFI. In this reviewer’s experience, viewing this title in the past has been an unpleasant endeavor because of poor video and sound quality on those previously-cited wretched home video releases. Not anymore. The Kino Lorber edition of Number Seventeen looks and sounds as if the film is almost brand new.

Alas, it ranks near the bottom of Hitchcock’s output. The problem—and Hitchcock himself admits it in an audio interview with François Truffaut—is that he wanted to make a comedy, or a parody, of a thriller. Unfortunately, it doesn’t quite work as a comedy or a thriller. The story is mind-bogglingly confusing, and in the end it’s much ado about nothing. Of particular interest to Hitchcock aficionados and film buffs, though, is the final twenty minutes, in which there is indeed an exciting chase involving a train and a bus. This sequence utilizes miniatures rather than real vehicles, the latter assuredly unaffordable to the studio and production team. To today’s audience’s eyes, there is no question that we’re watching many miniatures; it’s as if we’re eye level with a model train set. In 1932, however, this may very well have been a dazzling piece of cinematography and visual effects.

The story? Hmm. The “number seventeen” refers to a house that’s a creepy old place that appears haunted. A detective, who at first calls himself “Forsythe” (John Stuart) enters the house and discovers a squatter named Ben (Leon M. Lion). There is also a dead body, or at least they think it’s a corpse. It turns out, he’s the very much alive father of Rose Ackroyd (Ann Casson), who is somehow involved with thieves who are after a diamond necklace. These people arrive, and one of them is Nora (Anne Grey), supposedly a deaf mute. After much mistaken identity shenanigans, gun-pulling on each other, and other head-scratching (for the audience) action, the thieves get away to catch the train to Germany. The detective, who eventually reveals that he’s really the “Barton” whom everyone has spoken about throughout the movie, pursues with the aid of Ben, who is suddenly and surprisingly adept at derring-do.

Since the whole thing takes up just an hour of one’s time, Number Seventeen is worth a look to see early studio playfulness by Hitchcock. However, the acting is nothing to note—Leon M. Lion, especially, chews the scenery with an outrageous Cockney accent and mugging.

That said, the Kino Lorber 4K restoration does looks marvelous and is a revelation to anyone who has seen only inferior quality versions of the movie. The feature comes with an audio commentary by film historian and critic Peter Tonguette.

Supplements include an introduction—in French with subtitles—by Noël Simsolo, which isn’t very enlightening. Of more interest is the nearly-hour-long documentary—again in French with subtitles (it was made by StudioCanal in France)—about Hitchcock’s early years. There is also a short excerpt from the Hitchcock/Truffaut audio interview regarding Number Seventeen. The theatrical trailer, along with other Kino trailers, complete the package.

Number Seventeen is for fans of Alfred Hitchcock, early British cinema, and for anyone who has always wondered what the movie was really supposed to look and sound like after seeing it horribly bootlegged.

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