NFR Project: The Pride of the Yankees' (1942)

 

NFR Project: “The Pride of the Yankees”

Dir: Sam Wood

Scr: Jo Swerling, Herman J. Mankiewicz

Pho: Rudolph Mate

Ed: Daniel Mandell

Premiere: July 14, 1942

128 min.

This is the story of an American hero. In fact, it is a hagiography, the depiction of the life of a secular saint. It’s a tribute to baseball’s Lou Gehrig. (“It’s the great American story!” insists the movie’s poster.)

Gehrig (1903-1941) was an outstanding baseball player, one of history’s finest. He is best remembered as “The Iron Horse,” who played in 2,130 consecutive games (a record that stood until 1995). A tremendous hitter, he was part of the New York Yankees infamous “Murderer’s Row” during the ‘20s and ‘30s.

Unfortunately, at the height of his career he began to suffer from the degenerative neuromuscular disease, amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. On May 2, 1939, he took himself out of the lineup and never played ball again. Two and half years later, he passed away.

All this information was fresh in the minds of viewers when this film biography came out only a year after his death. Actor Gary Cooper was a natural pick to play Gehrig, as he was the go-to guy for the portrayal of heroes at this time in Hollywood. Cooper knew nothing about baseball, but was coached through the film to be as convincing as possible. He was also 41, and just at the edge of being too old for the role.

The screenplay is rather thin. This is due to, primarily, the fact that Gehrig was a quiet, humble man with an insane work ethic. There were no scandals in his life, and he never made with the bad attitude. This wholesome individual simply performed on the field as few did, and lived out his days in peace.

So the screenplay contains a lot of what might best be described as “bush-wah.’” Gehrig is shown shattering a neighboring shop window with a home-run ball as child, and a campus building’s window when a freshman at Columbia University, both apocryphal stories.

His prowess short-circuits his plan to go finish college and get a degree in engineering, to the consternation of his overbearing mother. (Gehrig lived with his parents, and didn’t marry until he was 30.)

His baseball career is stellar, but we spend only a little time on the field, mainly though swiftly moving montages. The focus on the film is his relationship with his wife, Eleanor (Teresa Wright). Their love is story is enheartening, and mostly made up. (They did not meet cute at a ball game; Eleanor’s struggles with Gehrig’s mother are downplayed here.) Gehrig’s pal reporter Sam Blake (the indispensable Walter Brennan) becomes convinced that Gehrig is cheating on his wife; in reality, Eleanor shows him that Gehrig is busy umpiring a sandlot baseball game with a lot of kids.

Some of Gehrig’s teammates appear in the film, mostly notably Babe Ruth. The Babe gets to act as his gregarious self in a few scenes, which is a bit of a lark. Gehrig and Ruth hit homers for a crippled kid in the hospital. Also, for some unknown reason, we are treated to an extended performance by Ray Noble and His Orchestra, who accompany dancers Veloz and Yolanda in a sequence that seems to have cavorted in from another universe.

The movie plays pretty much as a romantic comedy until the last half-hour, when Gehrig receives his diagnosis and he stands up to fact that his days are numbered. “All the arguing in the world can't change the decision of the umpire,” he says. (It is reported elsewhere that x-rays taken of Gehrig at the Mayo Clinic showed several fractured bones, breaks that did not prevent him from playing his record number of consecutive games.)

He gets to say his goodbyes. Finally, the Yankees host a special tribute to him, at which he says, famously, “People all say that I’ve had a bad break. But today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth.” Play ball! The End.

The movie has nothing bad to say about its subject, and why should it? Gehrig’s story is tragic and perhaps unfortunately made for telling via the movies. It’s a heartstring-tugger and a tearjerker. Like Gehrig, it is exactly what it seems to be, a gentle and romanticized tribute to a unique and courageous human being.

The NFR is one writer’s attempt to review all the films listed in the National Film Registry in chronological order. Next time: Bambi.

NFR Project: 'Sullivan's Travels' (1941)

 

NFR Project: “Sullivan’s Travels”

Dir: Preston Sturges

Scr: Preston Sturges

Pho: John Seitz

Ed: Stuart Gilmore

Premiere: Dec. 29, 1941

90 min.

Preston Sturges’ greatest film lays out his theory of comedy. According to the writer/director Sturges, mankind is ridiculous, dangerous, and stupid. And the only worthwhile response is to laugh at it.

This he does in this marvelous fable of an idealistic young movie director, John L. Sullivan (Joel McCrae), who’s tired of making fluffy comedies. He wants to make a “serious” movie, highlighting the sufferings of the poor and the injustice of the system. Unfortunately, Sullivan knows nothing about poverty, having a privileged background.

He decides to learn about the life of the poor by disguising himself as a hobo and traveling across the country. His studio rails against his idea, and tries to follow him with a luxuriously appointed bus. Sullivan soon shakes off his handlers, promising to meet them further down the road. He has a run-in with a horny widow, escapes, and hitches a ride in a truck – which promptly returns him to Hollywood.

Stuck without any money at a diner, he is treated to a meal by an aspiring actress (Veronica Lake) who’s giving up on stardom. He reveals himself, and she asks to go with him when he resumes his disguised travels. He reluctantly agrees.

The two experience poverty, as we are shown through a pathetic montage of hoboes, bums, and people down on their luck. The two decide they’ve had enough and return to Hollywood. There, Sullivan plans to go out one more time in bum gear, passing out five-dollar bills to the unfortunate. However, one bum hits him over the head, and steals his money and his shoes. He tosses Sullivan into a freight car. The bum is then run over by a train – and everyone thinks Sullivan is dead.

Sullivan, dazed from the blow to the head, gets into a fight with a railroad-yard watchman and gets sentenced to six years on the chain gang. He protests his innocence, but no one believes him. Really suffering now, he experiences the full weight of being on society’s bottom. His only relief is a movie night he and his fellow prisoners share with the congregation of a poor Black church. There he finds solace in laughing at a Mickey Mouse cartoon.

Finally, Sullivan hits upon an answer to his troubles – he confesses to his own murder! This gets his picture in the paper and he is soon released. When asked if he still wants to make his serious epic, he refuses. He chooses to go back to making comedies. "There's a lot to be said for making people laugh,” he says. “Did you know that's all some people have? It isn't much, but it's better than nothing in this cockeyed caravan."

Throughout, Sturges deflates the pretensions of the well-meaning, those who want to make an epic statement about suffering. All around Sullivan, characters again and again remind him that he knows nothing of what he is talking about. It takes real hardship for Sullivan to see that the best he can do for others is to help them forget their troubles for a time.

Sturges’ credo is clear. He mixes moments of slapstick with passages of actual, brutal life – showing us how the less fortunate are ground down. Sturges gets to display his awareness of the ugly facts of life while simultaneously mocking the fawning condescension of the privileged.

The NFR is one writer’s attempt to review all the films listed in the National Film Registry in chronological order. Next time: The Pride of the Yankees.

NFR Project: 'Sergeant York' (1941)

 

NFR Project: “Sergeant York”

Dir: Howard Hawks

Scr: Harry Chandlee, Abem Finkel, John Huston, Howard E. Koch

Pho: Sol Polito

Ed: William Holmes

Premiere: July 2, 1941

134 min.

He was a modern Cincinnatus – a man who left his plow to go to war and then returned quietly to it. Alvin York was a real person, one awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor for bravery above and beyond the call of duty during the First World War. In a single engagement, he killed 20 German soldiers and captured 132 more. By himself.

Oddly, though, he was initially a pacifist, and this film adaptation (and embroiderment on) the diaries of York takes great pains to mark the journey of a man from conscientious objector to war hero.

The film is both an epic and a spiritual journey. Howard Hawks directed, and his ingenious approach to the material is textbook Hollywood: the expansion of an ordinary person’s life into that of a mythic character. None other than Gary Cooper played York. Cooper’s aw-shucks demeanor and good looks, combined with his superb underplaying (in every scene he’s in he draws the eye because he’s listening fully) made him into an American icon. He personified the way America liked to think of itself. Who better to play the ultimate American warrior?

The film starts in backwoods Tennessee, where York rides around as a young ruffian, drinking hard liquor and shooting his initials into tree trunks. Walter Brennan is his minister, Margaret Wycherly, his impossibly stoic mother. He is cheated on a land deal, and goes to deal death to his opponent when he is literally struck by lightning, as was the Apostle Paul, and gets religion.

York feels that the Bible teaches that killing is wrong. When war comes, he tries to register as a conscientious objector, but is refused. He then goes into the service, willingly. He is launched into a mixed bag of fellow soldiers, who are bemused by his back woods ignorance. He then, practiced from shooting turkey in the hills, proves a dead shot and gets advanced to teach his skills, provoking the spiritual crisis within him that that is resolved by his settling on serving his country.

We are swept into the defining battle that made York’s reputation. Hawks stages war brilliantly, and this rendition of the Meuse-Argonne offensive of October of 1918 plays like the real thing. William Holmes’ Oscar-winning editing makes the battle scenes riveting. Cooper as York seems to be in touched with a special type of Providence as he advances through the bullet-pocked terrain alone, picking off men without a thought.

York is of course lauded for his actions, receives a parade, and get commercial offers. He turns thejm all down and goes home to Tennessee to marry his sweetheart (Joan Leslie). And everybody chips in and buys him that farm he always wanted. The End.

It’s a propaganda film. While this film opened in July, 1941, the Germans invaded Russia. England had fought the Battle of Britain the year previous. It seemed more and more apparent that the U.S. was going to go to war. The film espouses a deep devotion to the concept of the defense of American democratic principles. “Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s,” intones Cooper on a rocky crag overlooking his beloved valley as he reads the history of America. And like flicking a switch, he’s in for participating, and he does so in the most skillful way. He’s inspired. He doesn’t suffer a scratch.

And he comes home, and he’s the same nice guy he was when he left.  Unimpressed by the bright lights and big city, he returns to his country roots. He, a farmer, achieves acts of valor and gets everything he wants just for being so brave. And he doesn’t get hurt. It’s a loaded statement, a mythic statement.

This all is largely true, but it’s been sculpted to fit the exigencies of the Hollywood biography. It’s bound to have some fibs in it. But in real life, York was a hero and a good man; he used the proceeds from his movie deal to fund a Bible school in his home town.

Cooper is straight-up doing the will of God in this movie. He is a secular saint, all the more for being a spiritually redeemed character. He proves that you can be a Christian and a warrior at the same time – a message American audiences of the time were ready to hear.  It was a hit. Cooper won the Oscar for Best Actor. It inspired men to enlist.

The NFR is one writer’s attempt to review all the films listed in the National Film Registry in chronological order. Next time: Sullivan’s Travels.

NFR Project: 'The Maltese Falcon' (1941)

 

NFR Project: “The Maltese Falcon”

Dir: John Huston

Scr: John Huston

Pho: Arthur Edeson

Ed: Thomas Richards

Premiere: Oct. 18, 1941

101 min.

The list of directors that have made perfect feature films on their first try is short. It is even rarer for these wunderkinds to continue to create engaging work. Well, writer/director John Huston did it with his first film, The Maltese Falcon, and kept making fascinating films, 36 more, over the next 46 years.

The story was adapted from Dashiell Hammett’s 1930 novel of the same name – two films prior to this tried to adapt it, with indifferent success. Huston was by this time a go-to screenwriter in Hollywood. He relished the opportunity to make the film he wrote as he saw it in his mind. He studiously planned out the entire film, creating storyboards for every scene. He worked carefully with his cast, shooting almost entirely in sequence. This kept the players on the same page, and added immensely to the suspense inherent in the screenplay.

This definitive film noir gives us a world in which everyone is suspect. “Everyone has something to conceal,” says the protagonist, private detective Sam Spade (Humphrey Bogart). Huston’s selection of Bogart was inspired – after years of knocking around as a supporting player, Bogie finally fell into the persona that would carry him through the rest of his career. The smart, cynical, world-weary professional, Sam Spade is the archetypical gumshoe – a man who has seen everything and has a low estimation of the integrity of his fellow human beings. He is rarely disappointed. He seems to subsist on cigarettes and whiskey. He is a dark knight who slickly navigates the slimy contours of the urban jungle. He discovers hidden truths and makes wrongs right. Thanks to this film, Bogie became a hard-bitten movie hero.

The story is as convoluted as you might expect a mystery film to be. Spade takes on the case of a woman, Miss Wonderly (Mary Astor) searching for her sister. Spade’s partner Archer (Jerome Cowan) goes out to help the lady, and gets murdered for his pains. Now Spade is determined to find out the truth from the lady, who turns out to be Brigid O’Shaughnessy. She is after a “black bird” – the fabled Maltese Falcon, a statuette encrusted with jewels, crafted in centuries past.

Her opponents include the Fat Man, Kasper Gutman (Sydney Greenstreet, marvelously malevolent in his first film) and Joel Cairo (Peter Lorre), an effeminate schemer. They are assisted by the psychotic young gunman Wilmer (Elisha Cook, Jr.). Together, this quartet bedevils Spade as they all seek to deceive each other and get ot the Falcon first.

The Falcon’s atmosphere is gloomy – everything is shot indoors or at night. Huston plays fair with the story – we rarely know more than Spade does at any given moment, and we are kept guessing as to the outcome until literally the final five minutes. Spade is tempted, time and again, to make a crooked choice, but each time he manages to walk a straight line without getting himself killed. Spade has a perverse integrity that means he lives by his own code, come what may. He is in society but not of it – his bleak take on humanity isolates him from his fellow man, making him an outlier. In this world, Spades are necessary and expendable at the same time. By film’s end, however, only Spade is standing. His caution and intelligence preclude him from being caught up in the greed and need for manipulation that infects the others onscreen.

Falcon boasts ingenious plotting, exquisite dialogue, and inspired performances. It has something more than this, however. There is something melancholy and affecting about the proceedings. Huston has captured a vibe that will resonate through countless succeeding examples of the film noir genre. This is simultaneously the starting point and most perfect example of the noir sensibility.

The NFR is one writer’s attempt to review all the films listed in the National Film Registry in chronological order. Next time: Sergeant York.

NFR Project: 'The Lady Eve' (1941)

 

NFR Project: “The Lady Eve”

Dir: Preston Sturges

Scr: Preston Sturges

Pho: Victor Milner

Ed: Stuart Gilmore

Premiere: Feb. 25, 1941

94 min.

It’s tremendously filthy and tremendously heartfelt at the same time. Preston Sturges was at the height of his powers when he made this movie, an outrageous, improbable farce that plays with the ideas of real and ideal. It’s a perfect little movie.

Sturges’ screenplays are essays on morals and manners, universals that everyone could appreciate. He made highbrow comedies for middle-class audiences. And he still believed in love.

In this film, the putative Adam, destined to fall, in this case from ignorance and prejudice, for his Eve is Charles “Hopsie” Pike, scion of an ale fortune (“Pike’s Ale – The Ale That Won for Yale.”). He’s a quiet young chap who’s just spent a year up the Amazon studying snakes. Henry Fonda is oddly quiet as the seemingly impassive Hopsie, who’s hornswoggled at every turn.

His Eve is Jean Harrington (Barbara Stanwyck), a professional gambler, a card shark who’s working the cruise ship he finds himself on with her father, the “Colonel” (an affecting Charles Coburn) and their manservant/accomplice Gerald (Melville Cooper). Hopsie and Jean fall in love, but then his zealous and cynical aide de camp/bodyguard Muggsy (a hilarious William Demarest) tells him the truth about her. He turns on Jean, and spurns her.

She vows revenge. With her pal, scammer Sir Alfred (Eric Blore, perfect) she infiltrates high society as the Lady Eve Sidwich, and artfully seduces the awkward Hopsie. Despite Muggsy’s protests that “it’s the same dame,” the two get married. Then, as their train hurtles through the night of their honeymoon, “Eve” confesses a multitude of previous couplings, until Hopsie is forced out into the rain and the mud.

Sturges gives us a universe peopled with distinct characters. The Lady Eve sports dozens of characters, each of whom possesses a personality, many of whom worked for Sturges as a kind of stock company through many of his films.

Early in the film, someone holding a blurry, absurd object crosses Fonda on the boat deck. Fonda shoots him a look. Minutes later, Fonda is in the same position, and the same guy crosses again, holding something different. “Good morning,” he says. We never see him again. Sturges plants jokes everywhere, if you look sharp.

His sharp writing, combined with his expertly chosen casts and venturesome story-telling – we follow a running conversation that moves along the deck of the ship in an elegant tracing shot; the climax of Jean’s seduction of Hopsie comes in a ridiculously prolonged close-up of the two, entwined on her cabin floor.

The gap between the ideal and the real is apparent from the beginning. Hopise is leaving the Amazon, bearing a rare reptile; his servant Muggsy turns to a native girl and says, “So long, Lulu. I’ll send you a postcard.” Sturges deflates Freudian conceits throughout, emphasizing snakes and giving us a sexual confession in a train roaring through a tunnel. Young Pike is smug, entitled, isolated; as in all screwball comedies; he needs an active heroine who will step in and change his life, usually through the strategy of chaos. Jean, the knowing and intelligently manipulative leading lady, is impersonated perfectly by Stanwyck. Her frequently passionate musings are delectably delivered.

Jean/Eve refuses to consent to a divorce. Hopsie boards another cruise ship. Jean and company follow him. Overjoyed to see Jean again, he races with her to her cabin.

“And I have no right to be in your cabin. I’m married,” Hopsie says.

She replies, “But so am I, darling. So am I.”

The NFR is one writer’s attempt to review all the films listed in the National Film Registry in chronological order. Next time: The Maltese Falcon.

NFR Project: 'Kannapolis, N.C.' (1941)

 

NFR Project: ‘Kannapolis, N.C.”

Dir: H. Lee Waters

Premiere: 1941

137 min.

Between 1936 and 1942, the enterprising director H. Lee Waters made a series of films he called Movies of Local People. He went to at least 117 towns in North Carolina, South Carolina, and Virginia and filmed anyone he could get in front of a camera. Then he developed the results and displayed them at the local theater before the feature film, for a cut of the ticket sales.

It was a gimmick. Presumably, if you were captured for all time on film, you and your family would pay to see yourselves on the local silver screen. Curiosity was the motivator. It was a novelty that pretty much all the small-town, middle-class “representative” citizens could enjoy.

Waters was not a documentary filmmaker. The only examination of the underclass in the films was his documentation of some parts of African-American life in these little places, which are now known as “town portrait” or “town documentary” films. The genre existed from the mid-1910s through the early 1950s, when it is arguable that affordable home-movie equipment took over the market. It’s a weird subset of cinema that simply seeks to get as many people posed or captured on the run, shot with a home-movie level of technical competence.

In color and in black and white, silently, Waters films Kannapolis crowds on the streets, marching bands, schoolchildren, babies, soda jerks, cops, mill workers. “When the Daltons Rode” is on at the local movie theater. A man demonstrates a refrigerator. People smile, people wave, people duck out of the way. Some studiously ignore the goings-on. Hundreds are frozen in time for the brief moments in which they pass by the camera. The editor, impatient, keeps cutting, cutting, cutting, moving without let or hinder on from one face to another, desperately thirsty.

It’s inadvertently valuable for capturing the state of vernacular society at that time and in that place. It’s difficult to estimate how many of these director/entrepreneurs there were. Not much of their output survives. Here’s home movies for the masses, a snapshot of days gone by.

The NFR is one writer’s attempt to review all the films listed in the National Film Registry in chronological order. Next time: The Lady Eve.

 

NFR Project: 'How Green Was My Valley' (1941)

 

NFR Project: ‘How Green Was My Valley”

Dir: John Ford

Scr: Philip Dunne

Pho: Arthur C. Miller

Ed: James B. Clark

Premiere: Oct. 28, 1941

118 min.

Winner of Best Picture, Director, and Cinematography Oscars in 1941, How Green Was My Valley is a moving epic – one of John Ford’s most emotional films.

The film is adapted from the 1939 novel by Richard Llewellyn. It’s the story of the Morgan family, Welsh coal miners in the late 19^th century. In their small village, they live and go down to work in the galleries underground. (The entire village and mine were created on 80 acres in a California valley.)

They are a poor, exploited lot, and the story is unremittingly tragic. The narrator (voiced here by the great Irving Pichel) is leaving the valley, and reflects on his childhood there. He is Huw, played by Roddy McDowell in his first He  film, at just the age of 12. He has five older brothers, who all work at the mine, and a sister, Angharad (Maureen O’Hara) who keeps house with their mother (Sara Allgood). The father of the family (Donald Crisp in an Oscar-winning performance) is stern but loving, and rules benevolently over his family.

Tragedies abound. The men go on strike; the father opposes it and the brothers move out. The miners mutter against the father; the mother defiantly addresses a meeting in the winter and falls into a river with Huw; both are severely injured, Huw more seriously. It takes the intervention of the kind minister Mr. Gruffydd (Walter Pidgeon) to inspire Huw to walk again.

Two of the brothers lose their jobs, and move to America. Angharad and Mr. Gruffydd fall in love, but he won’t ask for her hand as he’s too poor. She is soon courted by the mine owner’s son, and reluctantly marries him.

Another brother dies in a mining accident, after which his wife gives birth. Huw is picked on in school, and is taught boxing. He beats his tormentor, which leads his malicious schoolteacher to beat him. It takes the interest of a couple of ne’er-do-wells to stop the schoolmaster from running Huw’s life. Huw declines university and goes to work in the mine, supporting his dead brother’s sister-in-law and infant.

Meanwhile, Angharad returns to the valley alone. Gossips speak of the love between her and Mr. Gurffydd, and finally he is expelled from the post. That same evening, another mine disaster strikes, and Huw’s father is dead. The film ends with Huw clutching his father’s body, covered with soot and despair. (A brief glimpse of all the men in the family meeting in heaven tries to lift the film out of its gloom.)

Ford is unparalleled here in his reliance on close-ups, his camera lingers on the subtle reactions of all the performers. Ford loves to gaze into the souls of the actors, and we watch as the tragedies challenge them, or grind them down. The script masterfully tames the material, and Arthur C. Miller’s cinematographic is luminescent.

A convincing portrayal of a vanished world and life.

The NFR is one writer’s attempt to review all the films listed in the National Film Registry in chronological order. Next time: Kannapolis, N.C.

NFR Project: 'Citizen Kane' (1941)

 

NFR Project: ‘Citizen Kane’

Dir: Orson Welles

Scr: Herman J. Mankiewicz, Orson Welles

Pho: Gregg Toland

Ed: Robert Wise

Premiere: May 1, 1941

119 min.

Is Citizen Kane still the greatest American film?

It’s tough for us brought up in the auteur-loving critics’ era of the 1960s and early ‘70s to think otherwise. Kane to them was proof positive that, even entrenched in the studio system, a film could be the creation of one person’s vision, of a single artisan’s, the director’s, will. Orson Welles, the boy genius and later figure of fun, had whipped an imaginary world into shape.

Welles is inescapably at the center of things – he is the film’s director, producer, co-writer and star performer, impersonating a man from youth to death with perfect assurance. It was his first film. He was 26 years old. However, Kane qualifies otherwise as a masterfully coordinated group venture, the expression of many talents all at the top of their game.

Welles’ talent is undeniable. But Herman J. Mankiewicz’s script, assisted by Welles, is a perfect construction. Mankiewicz knew Welles through his writing of scripts for the Mercury Radio Theatre broadcasts (1938). (It is said Mankiewicz took some cues from The Power and the Glory [1933], a vehicle for Spencer Tracy and the first Hollywood script by Preston Sturges, who also and amazingly for the movie business got a percentage of the profits.)

Welles famously watched John Ford’s Stagecoach (1939) 40 times in the run-up to Citizen Kane. Something clicked when he saw Bert Glennon’s cinematography for that film. It told him what he wanted. Gregg Toland, an Oscar-winning Ford collaborator, volunteered himself to do Welles’ film, reportedly because he knew that Welles had no preconceptions on how to make a movie – giving him license to attempt – and succeed – at effects no one thought possible.

Toland’s work is incredible – amazing, layered deep compositions, frames within frames, just to start with. Low-angle setups that make the characters into titans, and long shots that make them look puny and alone. Ceilings, for the first time, in Hollywood movies. In only one instance does the camera record a scene conventionally – Kane and Susan’s first meeting.

The story is simple. American tycoon, notorious newspaper baron, Charles Foster Kane is dead. He is epitomized in a newsreel feature that summarizes his life, giving us a public view of a man – cycling us quickly through the elements of his curriculum vitae, giving us the end as the beginning. Reporters stick onto the last recorded word Kane said: “Rosebud.” The quest for Rosebud pulls us through the movie, propelling us from one character to another who remembers key moments of Kane’s life and who relive them via flashback.

Kane is controlling, imposing, spiteful. He’s the pampered son of a newly wealthy Colorado mother, who happens upon the deed to a rich gold mine. She sends him off to the East Coast, to be raised by . . . capitalists, basically. Inculcated with no virtues, he stumbles through colleges and finally achieves his majority at age 25, taking over a failing New York newspaper and building it into a publishing empire.

We see Kane mutate from idealistic youth to corrupt and impotent old man, losing everything and everyone he valued just as he accumulated tons of art objects on his palatial Florida estate, Xanadu. Throughout, his demand for love on his terms alone as the guiding principle of his life, rendering him a tragic figure. It’s a story that is an embodiment the New Testament adage, “For what profiteth a man to gain the whole world, and lose him own soul?” Kane is a victim; Kane is a monster.

The clever device of an intrepid (and faceless) reporter searching out the truth gives them film the forward thrust of the thriller. It tells us who Kane was, and resolutely refuses to answer what “Rosebud” was until the last moment, when it offers us a solution so facile that it confounds everything that went before it. Welles ends the film . . .and keeps the audience’s brains working.

Robert Wise’s editing is superb. He was at the beginning of a long and illustrious career in the movie trade, first as an editor and then, in 1944, becoming, a director (The Body Snatcher, Blood on the Moon, The Day the Earth Stood Still, West Side Story, The Sound of Music) His ability to maintain clarity while dealing with multiple narratives and shifts in time should not be underestimated.

His cast is full of unknowns. There are 10 actors whose debut on film this is, and they are all members of Welles’ Mercury Players, a theater company founded by Welles in 1937. In other words, he had a resident acting company on his hands, who were attuned to each other, who treated the script as though it was a richly appointed stage drama. Their understated, complex portrayals were miles ahead of their contemporaries in Hollywood.

And let us not forget Bernard Herrmann’s score, his first for a film. Herrmann had collaborated with Welles on several projects: listening to his scores for The Mercury Radio Theater (1938) gives you a glimpse of the solid technique he would bring to film scoring. Here, rather than a through-composed score (Welles tossed out half of it), the judicious application of instrumental support at key moments was another fruitful departure from the Hollywood way of doing things. Hermann is evocative, melodic: his parody of grand opera in a key part of the film is spot-on.

Everyone on the job was inspired and took the proceedings very seriously. Welles’ particular genius at this young age was not in his mellifluous voice; it was in his ability to engage people at the height of their professions and get them to collaborate fruitfully. It’s a gift that would stand him in great stead as his opportunities narrowed as the decades progressed.

Welles had the right of final cut. He had to fight for it ever after.

The NFR is one writer’s attempt to review all the films listed in the National Film Registry in chronological order. Next time: How Green Was My Valley.

NFR Project: 'The Blood of Jesus'

 

NFR Project: ‘The Blood of Jesus’

Dir: Spencer Williams

Scr: Spencer Williams

Pho: Jack Whitman

Ed: N/A

Premiere: April 26, 1941

56 min.

The Blood of Jesus is a “race” film, meaning it was made specifically for African American audiences. Its director and screenwriter was Spencer Williams, whose second film this is. It’s a celebration of holiness couched in the shape of a fable about faith and temptation.

It is crudely made, but convincing. The director’s deficiencies can be duly noted, but his knowledge of narrative and film grammar mark him as a prodigious filmmaker.

It’s a pedagogic film, a film that seeks to instruct, in this case morals. It was screened not only in theaters but in churches. It is certainly a film for the faithful.

In the rural South, a young woman named Martha gets baptized in the river. Others note her husband isn’t there. She returns home, and he lies about poaching some of his neighbors’ stoats. His shotgun slips and falls and wounds Martha grievously. In bed, she is prayed over and sung over.

An angel appears and takes her to the crossroads between heaven and hell. There, an emissary of mean old Satan incudes Martha to dress up and go to the club with him. There we see people dance, drink, and watch an acrobat and a singer. Tame stuff now, but the movie looks on it as abhorrent behavior.

The angel appears again, to warn her. Martha escapes, pursued by a mob. She falls at the sign delineating Zion and Hell. There Satan is driving a flatbed truck with a jazz band on it – others mill about, dancing, drinking, fighting. The signpost turns into the crucifix – Christ’s blood drips onto Martha’s face – and she is redeemed and restored to health. What’s more, her husband has gone straight.

The film is steeped in the Puritan hypocrisy. It wants to experience some sinning, but it wants to see it condemned as well. The club footage looks like it was shot one night in a real club; the film is part documentary. Only the framing is evangelical.

But this Pilgrim’s Progress, redemptive and devoted to right living and salvation, hasn’t got a hateful bone in its body. It looks down on sinners but gives hope of everlasting glory for the faithful. It is literally a come-to-Jesus movie.

The NFR is one writer’s attempt to review all the films listed in the National Film Registry in chronological order. Next time: Citizen Kane.

NFR Project: 'Ball of Fire' (1941)

 

NFR Project: ‘Ball of Fire’

Dir: Howard Hawks

Scr: Charles Brackett, Billy Wilder

Pho: Gregg Toland

Ed: Daniel Mandell

Premiere: Dec. 2, 1941

111 min.

What do you get when you produce the combined creative efforts of four individuals at the top of their game? You get a Ball of Fire.

Released days before Pearl Harbor, it marks the high water of screwball comedy in American film.

The eminently versatile director, Howard Hawks, had already proved his ability to make screwball comedy with Twentieth Century (1934), Bringing Up Baby (1938), and His Girl Friday (1940). Brackett and Wilder had been writing together since 1936, and would continue to do so, through 1950. They had already penned Ninotchka (1939), and had The Lost Weekend (1945) and Sunset Boulevard (1950) ahead of them. Cinematographer Gregg Toland had just won the Oscar for Wuthering Heights (1939) and was also working on a little film called Citizen Kane (1941).

Ball of Fire (aka, in some locations, as The Professor and the Burlesque Queen) is an archetypal screwball comedy – a dynamic dame seduces a strait-laced, oafish but handsome leading man and leads him to a finer appreciation of life. Here the dame is the beautiful and witty Barbara Stanwyck, a tough chick who sings in a joint and is named Sugarpuss O’Shea. She’s the reluctant girlfriend of the mobster Joe Lilac (Dana Andrews).

She’s encountered singing “Drum Boogie” (actually it’s the voice of Martha Tilton) with Gene Krupa and his orchestra. She’s being observed by the mild-mannered Professor Potts (Gary Cooper), who is compiling an encyclopedia entry on slang and has bivouacked in the real, vernacular world to learn all the new expressions.

He resides in an ornate brownstone in mid-town Manhattan with seven other shy and retiring bachelor professors, each played by a consummate character actor (Oskar Homolka! Henry Travers! S.Z. ‘Cuddles’ Sakall!). The supporting cast of academics is clearly patterned on the Seven Dwarves in Disney’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937). That makes Gary Cooper Snow White and Barbara Stanwyck the handsome prince.

Potts and his septet of colleagues are engaged in creating a reference work in accordance with the dictates of the Daniel S. Totten Foundation. The Foundation has run out of money, and the professors are urged to wrap things up. Potts realizes he is deficient in hipster lingo, and goes out into the big wide world to write it all down.

He is slumming in a nightclub when Sugarpuss O’Shea appears. He asks her to come to the Foundation for research purposes – and she figures it’s a good place to hide out to avoid being forced to testify against Joe Lilac. Lilac wants to marry her so she can’t testify against him.

So, she delivers herself to the professors’ door and makes herself at home. Now SHE is playing Snow White, and she enchants the shy, retiring old men who surround her. She and Potts, or Pottsie, fall in love.

And there’s the rub. Far be it from me to reveal the interesting twists and convergences that flow, symphony-like, straight through the heart of the film. It is all of a piece, directed not obtrusively but in a definitive, convincing manner that sells the absurd premise perfectly. All the actors are skirting around overplaying it, just a bit. Hawks had a way of winding up an actor to make them more vivid.

This is easily the most sentimental of the Brackett and Wilder scripts. It’s simply crisp, wry, a well-made play. (Supposedly, Hawks let Wilder shadow him as he was making the movie, to learn the directing trade. Wilder had impeccable taste.) Sugarpuss and Pottsie’s ill-starred romance is whole-hearted, sincere, and very sweet. You get to watch two people fall in love.

To top it all off, there’s Toland’s cinematography, which ranges from the practical to the dreamy. With precious few setups, he conveys the shimmering loveliness of Stanwyck, the befuddled comedy of Cooper . . . even the goombah toughness of Duke Pastrami, the hood played in what is essentially a gifted cameo by Dan Duryea.

A farce anchored in real feeling, Ball of Fire makes the most of every occasion for humor, wending its way to its improbable but crowd-pleasing finale. It’s a fairy tale with a fairly sexy happy ending for the time. True love, and good  grammar, prevails.

The NFR is one writer’s attempt to review all the films listed in the National Film Registry in chronological order. Next time: The Blood of Jesus.

NFR Project: 'Dumbo' (1941)

 

NFR Project: ‘Dumbo’

Dir: Ben Sharpsteen, Norman Ferguson, Wilfred Jackson, Bill Roberts, Jack Kinney, Samuel Armstrong

Scr: Joe Grant, Dick Huemer

Premiere: Oct 23, 1941

64 min.

Dumbo derives from a “Roll-a-Book” tale told in 1939 by Helen Aberson-Mayer and Harold Pearl, with illustrations by Helen Durney. It’s a heart-warming tale of a little circus elephant with oversized ears, who is at first rejected but then accepted when it turns out that he can fly.

Disney sought to counter the financial losses incurred by Pinocchio (1940) and Fantasia (1940). He deliberately made this a low-budget film, content even have it clock in at a mere 64 minutes. The film profited wonderfully, getting Disney out of debt.

My aversion to Disney fare continues unabated, but not so strongly with Dumbo. Fear not, for it is politically incorrect, traumatizingly surreal, and emotionally manipulative. Beyond, that, it’s a fine entertainment.

Dumbo is a little elephant with big ears. He is, in fact, deformed. This deformed individual is scorned by all and demoted to the bottom level of his society. But then he demonstrates that his deformation is socially utile, and quickly becomes the favorite of all. It’s depressing.

It’s much the same conceit as the plot of the later-penned Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

Dumbo’s main problem is the crows. These comic-relief “black” birds are voiced by Black actors, who speak in a real shuck-and-jive kind of Negro slang that’s pretty offensive. Not Song of the South (1946) offensive, but bad enough.

Then there’s “Pink Elephants on Parade.” This drunken hallucination of Dumbo’s is pretty much what I saw when I had my tonsils out at age 5. Pure nightmare fuel. For supposedly sane children, I am sure it’s a delightful romp.

Then there’s “Baby Mine.” Is there anything more heart-rending than Mrs. Jumbo reaching through the bars of her cage to rock little Dumbo for while? No, there is not. I was traumatized for life.

The NFR is one writer’s attempt to review all the films listed in the National Film Registry in chronological order. Next time: Ball of Fire.

NFR Project: 'Tarantella' (1940)

 

NFR Project: ‘Tarantella’

Made by Mary Ellen Bute

Premiere: 1940

4:41

 

Mary Ellen Bute (1906-1983) was a visual artist who became obsessed with sequential art. Naturally she turned with her great strength as an abstract artist to the problem of setting images to music. She’s a pioneer of experimental film. (Read Lauren Rabinovitz's excellent essay here.)

Between 1934 and 1967, she made 17 films, mostly her famous “motion paintings,” which coordinated shapes, squiggles, swathes of color, kinetic explosions of dots and lines, all writhing and intermingling with a recorded soundtrack.

In this case, her pictures, over 7,000 of them, are set to music by pianist and composer Edwin Gerschefski. Her kinetic abstractions throb and hustle, pounding along with the crashing chords. The film declares itself “a swift moving dance presented musically and in linear forms in color.” It needs to be seen to be believed.

The NFR is one writer’s attempt to review all the films listed in the National Film Registry in chronological order. Next time: Dumbo.

NFR Project: 'Tacoma Narrows Bridge Collapse' (Nov. 7, 1940)

 

NFR Project: ‘Tacoma Narrows Bridge Collapse’

Shot by Barney Elliott and Herbie Monroe, owners, The Camera Shop, Tacoma; Arthur Leach

Filmed November 7, 1940

Various minutes

These films fascinate engineers, physicists, mathematicians – and weirdos like me. This may be the earliest footage placed in the National Film Registry because it looked COOL.

You’ve all seen it – the undulating, mis-engineered bridge, twisting and warping as a sole abandoned car jiggers frantically back and forth at its middle, until finally it oscillates itself out of existence, fracturing and crashing apart, the central span plummeting into the river.

Leon Moisseiff's design was, in a clinical example you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy, faulty.

The Tacoma Narrows Bridge was opened on July 1, 1940. It crossed the Puget Sound in Washington State, and was the third-longest suspension bridge in the world by main span when it was completed. On Nov. 7, in a high wind of 40 miles per hour, its deck began to oscillate radically and in ever-increasing arcs from side to side, prompting several to flee on foot for their lives. (A three-legged cocker spaniel named Tubby died when the bridge collapsed. You can see three different attempts to go back and get him out of the car in which he was trapped. Read Sara Kay’s story in Grit City Magazine here.)

The mathematics and the physics of the bridge’s self-canceling strategy has fascinated the brainy ever since. Me, I know nothing about it but I am enlightened by the insanely extensive and detailed analysis of what happened on Wikipedia, which you canconsult here. Evidently, the bridge was already known as “Galloping Gertie” by all before the accident happened. We couldn’t see it coming.

Well, one guy did. David B. Steinman, noted bridge engineer. Again in Wikipedia it states that “At the 1938 meeting of the structural division of the American Society of Civil Engineers, during the construction of the bridge, with its designer in the audience, Steinman predicted its failure.”

Elliott, Monroe, and Leach were simply prepared, in the right place at the right time. Their records of the bridge’s aberrant behavior remain a classic and graphic commentary on the best-laid plans of men.

The NFR is one writer’s attempt to review all the films listed in the National Film Registry in chronological order. Next time: Tarantella.

NFR Project: 'Siege' (1940)

 

NFR Project: ‘Siege’

Dir: Julien Bryan

Scr: Julien Bryan

Pho: Julien Bryan

Ed: Frederick Ullman Jr., Frank Donovan

Premiere: 1940

10 min.

This essential viewing is bone-chilling. On September 7, 1939, Julien Hequembourg Bryan was the only neutral photographer to shoot film of the infamous Siege of Warsaw (Sept. 1 – Oct. 1, 1939) by the Nazi regime. This is a compassionate and sorrowful record of the tragedies of war.

He filmed and photographed in central Europe during the years 1935 to 1939. He had previously made the prescient short documentary Inside Nazi Germany, outlining the dangers of Hitler’s regime, in 1938. Bryan arrived in Warsaw on the 7^th, carrying a still camera, a film camera, and 6,000 feet of film. Until September 21 he lived in Warsaw, documenting the brutal facts about the attack of a fascist military machine against a largely defenseless civilian population. He shot 5,000 of it.

He smuggled the photos and pictures out, wrapping some of the film around his torso, on Sept. 12.

The resulting 10-minute grim masterpiece gives us all the consequences of a city’s defense against its attackers. Bryan himself narrates the footage, noting that conditions were far worse than those articulated in the major media at the time. He finds barricades, soldiers in the streets, wholesale destruction of property, breadlines . . . and the bodies of the dead, the faces of the suffering. He tracks refugees, records the incessant air raids. He films blocks of apartments in flame, by night, lighting up the city for another round of bombers.

Bryan’s compassionate gaze surveys the ruins of hospitals, then moves to the plight of women with newborns, and casts lingering looks on a ruined church. This is advocacy journalism, to be sure. It is clear where Bryan’s sentiments lie. He gives us a montage of the despairing faces of the besieged. Bryan concludes his narrative by stating, “May God have mercy on them.”

The film is candid. A viewer is faced with the unpalatable, improbable horrors of war and carnage; Bryan was getting the message out. The film was nominated for an Oscar in 1941. It stands as an indictment of armed aggression.

The NFR is one writer’s attempt to review all the films listed in the National Film Registry in chronological order. Next time: Tacoma Narrows Bridge Collapse.

NFR Project: 'The Shop Around the Corner' (1940)

 

NFR Project: ‘The Shop Around the Corner’

Dir: Ernst Lubitsch

Scr: Samson Raphaelson, Ben Hecht

Pho: William Daniels

Ed: Gege Ruggiero

Premiere: Jan. 12, 1940

99 min.

Director Ernst Lubitsch is known for his “Lubitsch touch,” a sure sense of sophisticated and understated comedy on film. He spent most of the early sound era creating frothy romantic comedies, usually set in imaginary kingdoms. His sharp observations of the vagaries of human behavior are tempered with affection, always leading to happy endings.

The Shop Around the Corner is another romantic comedy, but this time it is set in the real world of commerce. In Budapest, the leather goods store of Matuschek is inhabited by a squad of employees under Mr. Matuschek himself (a wonderful Frank Morgan). Jimmy Stewart plays Alfred, Mr. Matuschek’s number-one man, and Margaret Sullavan plays Klara, a new employee who fails to hit it off with Alfred. They constantly argue.

However, unbeknownst to them both, they are secretly pen pals who love each other through epistolary channels. The contrast between the love they carry for their unmet correspondents and their fractious real-life relationship forms the core of the movie. We watch as, slowly, Alfred finally understands that Klara is the girl he loves. He begins to think about how to break it to her.

Meanwhile, Mr. Matuschek’s unseen wife is discovered to be having an affair – with another employee of Matuschek, Vadas (Joseph Schildkraut). When Matuschek finds out, he tries to kill himself. He is prevented from doing so by Pepi, the errand boy (William Tracy). Matuschek suffers a nervous breakdown, and Alfred takes over as manager of the shop. Soon the equilibrium of the situation is restored. Matuschek realizes that his employees are his true family, and treats them all to Christmas bonuses. Alfred reveals himself to Klara, and they clinch to close the film.

The film’s pace is steady. Lubitsch carefully gives each character just enough time in front of the camera (Felix Bressart, one of Lubitsch’s regulars, puts in a significant performance as the mild Pirovitch), and the subtleties are communicated with a minimum of fuss. The result is a delightful and warm-hearted look at regular folks in their daily lives.

The NFR is one writer’s attempt to review all the films listed in the National Film Registry in chronological order. Next time: Siege.

NFR Project: 'Pinocchio' (1940)

 

NFR Project: ‘Pinocchio’

Dir: Ben Sharpsteen, Hamilton Luske, Bill Roberts, Norman Ferguson, Jack Kinney, Wilfred Jackson, T. Hee

Scr: Ted Sears, Otto Englander, Webb Smith, William Cottrell, Joseph Sabo, Erdman Penner, Aurelius Battaglia

Pho: N/A                                                             

Ed: N/A

Premiere: Feb. 23, 1940

88 min.

I hate Disney.

I was traumatized for life by the emotional manipulations exercised by Disney in the course of their classic films such as Dumbo, Bambi, and . . . Pinocchio. All of these, for me as a child, were Technicolor nightmare fuel. All of them mixed syrupy, over-the-top cuteness and jokes with a certain doomful certainty that all innocents can DIE, that an extremely prejudiced and exploitative world awaited them, and that a happy ending, indeed their survival, was conditional upon extraordinary behavior.

Think about those classic scenes. Dumbo’s mother goes to jail. Bambi’s mother DIES. That Wicked Witch in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. “Pink Elephants on Parade” reads like a passage from a Burroughs novel. I can’t help it. I’m damaged.

So keep this in mind.

Pinocchio traumatized me too. We all have a sneaking suspicion our parents somehow manufactured us, and that we must be in some fundamental and irrevocable way defective. We can become “real” if we fulfill a list of specifications, but are instantly deflected out of the path of righteousness by smooth-talking sociopaths. The physical and psychological tortures of Pinocchio seem far out of proportion to the sin implied in his native state, that is, one of complete innocence. He is helpless in the face of the world. It's the Rotoscoped Blue Fairy who saves him, again and again.

Pinocchio is brought to life with a gaggle of infectious songs and sure-fire gags. His creator, Geppetto, wishes he would be a real boy. The Blue Fairy comes down and animates the puppet, promising him that he can become real if he show himself full of virtue.

Pinocchio is deflected from going to school by a crafty fox and cat, who inveigle him into joining Stromboli’s puppet theater (Stromboli is an Italian stereotype). Stromboli locks Pinocchio up, but the Blue Fairy frees him.

He then gets tempted to go to Pleasure Island, where all the bad lazy boys go to have fun. One small problem – the misbehaving lads are turned into little donkeys. TERRIFYING! To this day. Pinocchio is partially transformed, escapes, goes to the bottom to find his father in the belly of a whale. He masterminds their escape, is seemingly killed, but then is resurrected as “real.” The End! And Jiminy Cricket is along as his “conscience” for comic relief (Cliff “Ukulele Ike” Edwards voices Jiminy) and sings the hit, “When You Wish Upon a Star.”

This is not to say you won’t like it. It has the assured, precisely machined quality of all the Disney classics of the early years. Many hands make light work, and you can see by the credits that a large number of people worked hard to craft this out of the whole cloth (Collodi’s original is far more cynical). It’s a children’s tale, elegantly told. The animation demonstrates a huge step forward in technique.

But it’s scary. It gives me the willies. It’s not you, I’m sure it’s me.

The NFR is one writer’s attempt to review all the films listed in the National Film Registry in chronological order. Next time: The Shop Around the Corner.

NFR Project: 'The Philadelphia Story' (1940)

 

NFR Project: ‘The Philadelphia Story’

Dir: George Cukor

Scr: Donald Ogden Stewart

Pho: Joseph Ruttenberg

Ed: Frank Sullivan

Premiere: Dec. 26, 1940

112 min.

Katherine Hepburn’s career was in trouble. She was labeled “box office poison” due to the string of film flops she had starred in over the course of three years. No one was willing to cast her – in anything.

How did she solve her problem? First, she commissioned playwright Philip Barry to write a romantic comedy for her to star in. The play, The Philadelphia Story, ran for over a year. Her then-boyfriend, millionaire Howard Hughes, bought the film rights to the play and then gave them to her. She then turned around and sold the rights to MGM for $250,000, and insisted on creative control over the project as well.

She selected George Cukor as director. Cukor was by then well known for his comedic skills, as well as his ability to work with female stars. Cary Grant hopped aboard, as did Jimmy Stewart. Soon the film was off to the races – and it is now considered Golden Age Hollywood’s best romantic comedy.

It’s the story of Tracy Lord (Hepburn), a wealthy Philadelphia socialite who’s divorced her first husband, C.K. Dexter Haven (Grant). (Their breakup is summarized in a single, wordless scene that’s a comedy classic.) She’s now ready to wed self-made tycoon George Kittredge (John Howard). Her household is aflutter with preparations for the wedding. Ex-husband Dexter shows up to interfere with the proceedings. The most notable development he instigates is the forced (through blackmail) invitation of tabloid reporter Mike Connor (Jimmy Stewart) and his photographer and paramour Liz Imbrie (Ruth Hussey) to cover the event for their magazine.

Tracy finds herself torn – between affection for George, a sudden interest in the besotted Mike, and the rekindling of a torch for Dexter. The usual complications and mishaps ensue, leading to nothing but chaos and instability. This merry-go-round of possible relationships is dizzying and witty, played with extreme sang-froid by all involved.

The result is an entertaining spin through the relatively innocuous woes of America’s upper class. The film is too controlled to be truly regarded as a screwball comedy. Call it a comedy of manners. This style of narrative is as old as the ancient Greeks, and found its clearest expression in the plays of Moliere, highlighted as a genre in the English theater of the early 18^th century, and persisted to the present day through the work of authors such as Oscr Wilde and Noel Coward.

As with all good comedies of the type, almost everyone gets what they want by the end.

The NFR is one writer’s attempt to review all the films listed in the National Film Registry in chronological order. Next time: Pinocchio.

NFR Project: 'Men and Dust' (1940)

 

NFR Project: ‘Men and Dust’

Dir: Lee Dick

Scr: Sheldon Dick

Pho: Sheldon Dick

Ed: Jules Bucher

Premiere: 1940

16 min.

Men and Dust is a short documentary made by the wife-and-husband team of Lee and Sheldon Dick. It focuses on the plight of zinc and lead miners in the tri-state region of Oklahoma, Missouri, and Kansas.

The documentary is left-leaning, advocating the fair and compassionate treatment of workers, their wives, and children, all who suffer from lung diseases such as silicosis and tuberculosis due to the accumulation of dust – in the mines themselves and the slag piles that dominate the landscape around the mines.

The documentary uses a quartet of narrative voices that outlines the problems the miners face, all while touting the ubiquity of the products that result from their labor. This somewhat sardonic approach sits side by side with frank pictures of ailing people, underlining the relationship between their suffering and the profit made from the mining companies’ products.

The film received viewings, not in theaters, but in town halls, union meetings, and private homes. As a tool of advocacy, it is far ahead of its time.

The NFR is one writer’s attempt to review all the films listed in the National Film Registry in chronological order. Next time: The Philadelphia Story.

NFR Project: 'Melody Ranch' (1940)

 

NFR Project: ‘Melody Ranch’

Dir: Joseph Santley

Scr: Jack Moffitt, F. Hugh Herbert, Bradford Ropes, Betty Burbridge

Pho: Joseph H. August

Ed: Lester Orlebeck

Premiere: Nov. 15, 1940

84 min.

Orvon Grover Autry was born in Texas in 1907. Taking on the moniker of Gene, he grew up on the family ranch. After high school, he got work as a telegrapher, and he used to sing and play guitar to while away the time on the job (and got fired for it). He received encouragement from many people who heard him play, most notably Will Rogers. 

He started off singing on the radio in Oklahoma in 1928. In 1929, he landed a recording deal with Columbia Records. He finally scored a hit with “That Silver-Haired Daddy of Mine,” which he co-wrote. Soon his popularity went through the roof, and he became known as “The Singing Cowboy.”

In 1935, he was cast as the star of The Phantom Empire, a 12-part movie serial that improbably mashed together music, Western drama, and science fiction. He soon was the leading man in low-budget Westerns in which he would sing, fight bad guys, and joke around with his sidekick, Smiley Burnette. He wound up making 96 films in the course of his career, and made an amazing 640 recordings. He was Public Cowboy #1, and inspired a host of imitators.

Autry had a melodious voice, and an easy-going, upbeat persona that appealed to just about everybody. On his horse Champion, he righted wrongs and crooned cowboy ballads. He eventually would branch off into radio and television as well. He is the only person to have five stars on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, for his work in film, radio, TV, recording, and live performance.

It is difficult to gauge now just how popular Autry was. Everyone played his songs, saw his movies, listened to him on the radio, read his comic books, played with toys licensed by his brand. He became a role model for the nation’s youth, and penned a 10-part Cowboy Code that outlined the attributes of an upstanding human being. Kids worshipped him.

Melody Ranch is a typical Autry vehicle. It mixes together a few songs, some rip-roaring Western action, and comedy bits executed by Jimmy Durante and Barbara Jo Allen, better known as her comedic persona Vera Vague. Autry’s love interest in the film is played by the 17-year-old singer and dancer Ann Miller (the film originally had Gene kissing her, but fans complained that this was too “sissy,” and it was edited out). Other notable participants included the venerable old coot George “Gabby” Hayes, bad buy Barton MacLane, and the musical outfit Bob Wills and his Texas Playboys.

Gene could sing wonderfully, ride well, act a little, and do a little fighting stunt work as well. He gets to do all this in Melody Ranch, which stands out from his usual films for its budget and its gorgeous visuals filmed by the great cinematographer Joseph H. August. Of course, Gene defeats the villains and gets the girl, ending the film on a warbling note. It’s a fun romp that doesn’t make you think too hard, a perfect escapist Western fantasy that millions loved to watch.

The NFR is one writer’s attempt to review all the films listed in the National Film Registry in chronological order. Next time: Men and Dust.

NFR Project: 'The Mark of Zorro' (1940)

 

NFR Project: ‘The Mark of Zorro’

Dir: Rouben Mamoulian

Scr: John Taintor Foote

Pho: Arthur C. Miller

Ed: Robert Bischoff

Premiere: Nov. 8, 1940

94 min.

How do you remake a classic? If you are director Rouben Mamoulian, you do it by following your own path.

The silent-era Mark of Zorro (1920) starred Douglas Fairbanks, Sr., and marked his transition from a comedic character actor to a swashbuckling hero in the movies. The original Zorro is almost all action, in keeping with the robust physicality Fairbanks made a cornerstone of his personal brand.

When 20^th Century Fox decided to remake the film, it emphasized dialogue over action. They selected the well-spoken and dashing Tyrone Power for the Zorro role, and surrounded him with the best supporting actors they could find. Joining Power were such old acting pros as Montagu Love, Eugene Pallette, Gale Sondergaard . . . and especially Basil Rathbone as a ruthless villain.

Mamoulian was known for his direction of opera and musicals – he famously directed the first staging of Gershwin’s Porgy and Bess. When he moved into film, he directed prestige projects such as Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Love Me Tonight, and Becky Sharp. Mamoulian gave the impression of speed and movement in this movie by editing the film in a unique way – cutting in the middle of motion onscreen instead of moving from static shot to static shot.

Here, Power is Don Diego Vega, son of a wealthy 19th-Century California landowner, who returns from Spain to discover that his father is no longer the alcalde, or ruling representative of Spain in California. Instead, the area is run by the corrupt Don Luis, who is really the catspaw of the sadistic and braggardly Captain Esteban (Rathbone). The peasants are being taxed to death, and those that resist are tortured.

Don Diego protectively assumes the attitude of an effeminate fop, lulling the villains into treating him with contempt. Meanwhile, Diego dresses in black outfit and mask as Zorro (Spanish for “fox”), and fights the oppressors, soon making the bad guys quiver in their boots. This he does while wooing the innocent niece of Don Luis, Lolita (Linda Darnell at the tender age of 17!).

The plot device of a hero in disguise who pretends to be a sissy in normal life was taken from Orczy’s 1905 novel The Scarlet Pimpernel. Zorro would perpetuate this device; in fact, it is said that Zorro influenced the creators of Batman, Superman, and other heroes in the same manner. By the time we arrive at the blood-pumping finale of a duel between Diego and Esteban, the audience is completely caught up in the story.

Zorro would later be revived as a Disney television series in the late 1950s. To date, all the incarnations of the bold masked vigilante onscreen have been memorable.

The NFR is one writer’s attempt to review all the films listed in the National Film Registry in chronological order. Next time: Melody Ranch.