Archive for Dolores Hart

Final Curtain for Mr. Curtiz

Posted in FILM, literature, MUSIC, Mythology with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 3, 2018 by dcairns

This is a hilarious directorial credit: an unresurrected Christ lying just below the moniker of a man moments from death himself. Well, you’ve got to laugh, haven’t you?

The idea of making a study of late Curtiz would normally only occur to somebody actually writing a book on the Hungarian-born filmmaker, because the view has long been that Curtiz had a strong sense of visual style but no particular set of obsessions to make a traditional auteur of him. So why look at his later, not-so good movies?

Curtiz made every kind of film, it seems. (Those who claim to have made every kind of film tend to be lacking in the horror, sci-fi and musical departments, but Curtiz made those too.) He brought a strong visual sensibility, but apparently cared nothing for themes and not much for actors or story. His boss, Jack Warner, wrote: “I had a general conversation with Mike Curtiz in the usual Curtiz manner in the dining room at noon, and all he talked about were the sets and that he wants to build a fort somewhere else, and all a lot of hooey. I didn’t hear him say a word about the story. In other words, he’s still the same old Curtiz—as he always will be!”

B. Kite is very good on this here. (Scroll down past my nonsense.)

B. also once opined to me that Curtiz maybe only works in black & white, though perhaps it’s truer and fairer to say that a certain quality of Curtiz comes through strongest that way. I think his two-strip terrors MYSTERY OF THE WAX MUSEUM and DOCTOR X. are terrific, so maybe Curtiz is still Curtiz with two strips of colour, but loses out with three. There are definitely good colour films made by Curtiz: THE ADVENTURES OF ROBIN HOOD, WE’RE NO ANGELS, etc. But they don’t quite have the distinct visual splendour of his WB monochrome movies. B. sees him, I think, as a very pure channel for the WB house style.

Still, the first thing to be said about Curtiz’s last three features is that they’re visually lovely, at least in places. All three are widescreen, and he seems able to adapt his tight compositions to the 1:2.35 frame ratio more comfortably than I would imagine 1:1.88 might suit him. A degree of difficulty helps him, and widescreen and academy ratio are both hard to compose for (snakes and funerals on the one hand, bungalows and bulldogs on the other).

   

THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN (1960) is frequently absolutely gorgeous, which matters a lot because it doesn’t quite find the right tone: you feel like some very good humour is being reported to you by somebody who doesn’t quite get it. Eddie Hodges (Huck) and Archie Moore (Jim) are decent, but don’t seem to gel with each other or anybody else. The rest of the cast go for big and broad: Tony Randall makes the most and then some of a series of phony accents, partnered up with Mickey Shaugnessy to create a team similar to the bad guys in Disney’s PINOCCHIO; Buster Keaton forms another of his unlikely double acts with Andy Devine, and doesn’t get to MOVE; Finlay Currie is fine as always. The best completely straight perf is Neville Brand, authentically scary and nasty as Pap Finn.

Now, as far back as THE EGYPTIAN in 1954, Peter Ustinov had formed the impression that Curtiz was not all there. He had always laboured under a considerable linguistic handicap (his mangling of the language was legendary, and wonderfully poetic at times — “Bring on the empty horses!” was evocative enough for David Niven to use it as title for one of his memoirs), and this combined with age and his disengagement from his actors maybe made him not the ideal man to do Twain. But he had succeeded at many other unlikely subjects in the past.

The Cinemascope stiffness, coupled with Curtiz’s own, the big, forced performances, and a lot of overplaying whenever Huck has to invent a “stretcher,” combine to stifle most of the comic possibilities here, so what we get instead is some moderate suspense and a pageant of grotesque characters and attractive settings. Ted D. McCord does a great job shooting it and Jerome Moross provides a typically ebullient score. It’s not poor, but it’s not quite alive.

Never mind, FRANCIS OF ASSISI (1961) is a religious epic, so you wouldn’t ever expect it to be alive, and it sure doesn’t disappoint. Saint-to-be Francis is played by a series of beautiful matte paintings of Bradford Dillman, Stuart Whitman is his frenemy/rival, and Dolores Hart the girl he throws over for God. She’s the only one in the film who breathes any humanity into her role, struggling against stiff dialogue and stilted situations. There’s a surprising lack of miracles and the animal-taming bit is given very  little play, surprisingly. Finlay Currie is fine as always, promoted from riverboat captain to pope, a big step up for an Edinburgh man.

   

Lots of spectacle, some of it impressive. The landscapes and the groupings of people fill the frame inventively, but Curtiz’s signature camera moves are becoming ever less frequent. He’ll push in occasionally; follow people about a little; but the grand sweep of his glory days when he’d hurry on to a set at an acute angle to the action, letting foreground furniture flash past, that’s all gone.

Bradford Dillman is someone I quite like, but he’s hopelessly adrift here. I’m not sure who could animate the script’s plaster saint. Occasional lines referring to Francis as “little” make you imagine someone intended him to be mild-mannered and tiny: by chance, Mervyn Johns is to hand, and I thought to myself, “Get me a young Mervyn Johns.” It can only work as a character part, as it’s so sexless. (Dillman could have slid some sly sensuality in there if there’d been the faintest opportunity: isn’t that what he’s for? Those lips!)

Piero Portalupi shot it and Mario Nascimbene provides the choral uplift.The film Curtiz bowed out on, however, was THE COMANCHEROS, released the same year (Curtiz died, aged 75, the following year). It’s pretty fair, I guess. If I liked John Wayne a bit more, or Stuart Whitman at all, I might call it an impressive finish for him. I think Whitman is miscast as a New Orleans gent on the run for killing a man in a duel. A lot of this movie is supposed to be enjoyable because of the spectacle of the plebeian Duke shoving his highfalutin prisoner around, but Whitman isn’t enough of a toff. You need Peter Lawford, probably. Wow, I never thought I’d type those words.

John Wayne had quite a track record of late films, didn’t he? After all there’s this, RIO LOBO, which was Howard Hawks’ last; BIG JAKE, George Sherman’s last; JET PILOT, a late Sternberg; BLOOD ALLEY, a late Wellman; TRUE GRIT, a late Hathaway; and THE CONQUEROR, which killed just about everyone in it. He also directed his own last film as director, BIG JAKE THE GREEN BERETS, and starred in his own last film as actor, THE SHOOTIST, a conscious self-elegy. I guess he just liked working with old guys when he was old, The most charming moment in THE COMANCHEROS is when Wayne signs into a hotel using the pseudonym “Ed McBain” and we notice that cinematographer William H. Clothier and the rest of the crew have checked in ahead of him. Curtiz hasn’t checked in, probably because he’s too busy checking out.

The best scene is a poker game where the single-source lighting is really beautiful and Wayne looks SO different and so much more interesting. Also playing is Lee Marvin, a bad guy with half a scalp (you could probably build a whole other Lee Marvin out of the bits Marvin had removed in his various characterisations). Elsewhere, the Arizona and Utah settings are epic and prehistoric. The finale is a bit pathetic: leading lady Ina Balin has to get over the death of her bad guy father in abound four seconds so she can look overjoyed at the happy ending. See also the studio-imposed finish of ONE-EYED JACKS.

Elmer Bernstein does the music on this one, and although it’s a bit more stately than THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN, as befits Wayne’s age and lumbering gait, you get the idea. It seemed kind of weird to me how the music stays celebratory during life-and-death conflicts and chases. Shouldn’t we be taking this seriously?THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN: Starring Rockwell P. Hunter, Rhoda Penmark, Maj. Marvin Groper, Hunk Houghton, Daisy Hawkins, Link Appleyard, Rollo Treadway, Reinhardt Heidrich, Winnie the Pooh, Tom Fury, Johnny Farragut and Magwitch.

FRANCIS OF ASSISI: Starring Big Eddie, Lisa Held, Orvil Newton, Prof. Thurgood Elson, Dr. Stern, Mrs. Karswell, Bob Cratchit and Magwitch again.

THE COMANCHEROS: Starring Ethan Edwards, Orvil Newton again, Little Bonaparte, Liberty Valance, Lt. Greenhill, John Driscoll, Charlie Max and Garbitsch.

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Things I read off the screen in “Lisa” AKA “The Inspector”

Posted in FILM, literature, Politics with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 22, 2008 by dcairns

We have to give this film both titles, because neither one is remotely adequate: LISA could be anything, whereas THE INSPECTOR works only as a cop movie, and preferably one where there’s something a bit funny about the titular investigator. But this isn’t a cop movie — after the first ten minutes, our hero (Stephen Boyd) stops acting as a policeman and quickly becomes a fugitive from the law. But somehow the two titles conjoined have a pleasing effect.

The 1962 drama, adapted by Nelson Gidding (THE HAUNTING) from the novel by Jan de Hartog, and “helmed” as Variety would say, by screenwriter-turned-director Philip Dunne, suffers from several kinds of flatness, but maintains a trembling grip on the viewer’s interest via some unusual plot elements and a meandering, unpredictable narrative.

HOEK VAN HOLLAND.

This is kind of a road movie avante la lettre, and we begin on a train — the credits appear over weirdly blue-tinted railroad tracks rushing past, a little iris effect allowing us a bubble of natural colour in the centre of the (pan-and-scanned) Cinemascope frame. This seems a little psychedelic, but turns out to be cinematographer Arthur Ibbetson’s best stab at day-for-night rail travel.

VERBODEN TOEGANG

Lisa (Dolores Hart, whose brief gesture at movie stardom was about to burn out) is on this train, in the company of shady import-export man Marius Goring (who’s by this time grown into his increasingly sinister face) and being shadowed by cops Boyd and Donald Pleasence. The supporting cast of this film is an amazing array of Brit talent. Everybody alights at the ferry station to embark from England, and we get some Dutch signage.

FOR HIRE

These words are upside down, which signifies that the London cab is NOT for hire. Because upside down letters mean the opposite of right-side up ones! That’s an important thing for visitors to London to know. Boyd takes the taxi to Scotland Yard, passing some blitzed-out ruins, which give us a sense of period — the movie is actually set in the immediate post-war period.

DANGER: FALLING DEBRIS

Perhaps this sign, posted at the ruins, is a forewarning of Boyd’s condition. In the next scene we get exposition by the clog-full: Boyd’s fiancee is dead; Goring is an ex-Nazi white slaver exporting girls to South America, but the Brits have no evidence to hold him on; Lisa’s family died in the war and she’s a concentration camp survivor. Boyd vows to stop Goring by any means, even though he has no legal authority on British soil.

Anthony Mann, who directed Boyd in THE FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE, considered him “no movie star”. The problem is that Boyd, so effective in his death scene in BEN-HUR, is really a character actor who’s interesting when he’s BIG, and dull when he underplays. Mann thought it was something to do with the brown eyes. Certainly Charlton Heston, who lacked Boyd’s versatility and sensitivity, makes an impression with facial micro-movements that Boyd, will all his skill, can’t match.

BLUT UND EHRE

The slogan is printed on a fake S.S. dagger which Goring displays when Boyd calls on him. Goring’s “legitimate” business is this tacky souvenir trade, while his real job is providing flesh for “a kind of house” in Brazil. Boyd punches the guy out and barely restrains himself from shooting the fallen creep. Here he’s a little like Robert Ryan in ON DANGEROUS GROUND, but just enough to make you wish Ryan was playing the role.

Boyd finds Lisa outside — she’d already left by the fire escape. She tells him that Goring had promised to take her to Palestine, where Israel is being formed. She didn’t trust him, but was sufficiently indifferent to her life that she was willing to take a chance. When Boyd tells her Goring’s true plans, she LAUGHS: “Sorry, it’s a private joke,” and this teaser to the film’s biggest, weirdest plot point, kept me watching for a bit longer. So did Dolores Hart, who’s very natural and alive and immediate as Lisa. She doesn’t manage to quite portray the character’s journey from battered cynic to loving, revitalised girl, because she’s too vital at the start, but she’s a winning presence. Movie stars tend to control their faces and make each expression count, whereas her face is all over the place, and she throws smiles and frowns around as if leaving a trail. It’s refreshing.

5436970

Number tattooed on Lisa’s wrist.

Boyd, touched by Lisa, promises to get her to Palestine. Taking her back to Rotterdam, he brings her home to mother, who notes the girl’s resemblance to Boyd’s late fiancee, who was killed by the Nazis, and assumes Lisa is a prostitute who has bewitched her son. Lisa angrily explains that this is impossible — she was detained in Auschwitz’s medical wing.

Right. Yikes. The movie never goes into clinical detail, which is a relief, but also sets the imagination working horrible overtime. What kind of damage has been inflicted that would physically prevent Lisa from working as a prostitute? I can’t think offhand of another film whose plot hinges in this way on the condition of the heroine’s downstairs parts. Boyd is still unaware of this gynaecological bombshell, and the film makes much of the poignancy of his falling in love with Lisa as he tried to transport her to the new Jewish homeland, and her resistance to the idea, based on her belief that she can never have sex, let alone children.

STRYDPERK VAN DODGE CITY

A book being read by Leo McKern, a smuggler who takes Boyd and Hart on as crew for his barge (Finlay Currie, the convict from Lean’s GREAT EXPECTATIONS, sets Boyd up with the position). This should get the duo as far as Morocco, but there’s a problem — Marius Goring has been found dead. According to later plot developments, Boyd and Hart each suspect the other of murdering the Nazi pimp (can there be a more unsavoury job description in any language? “What do you do for a living, Marius?”), but this potential source of suspense isn’t really brought out. Boyd’s old partner Donald Pleasence colludes in his escape from Holland and the group hit the seas.

LYNCH WET DE RED CREEK

Another of McKern’s paperbacks: he likes his westerns.

We get to Morocco and the signs disappear for a looong time. Hugh Griffith plays another, more sinister smuggler, a Welsh Dutchman (complimenting Boyd’s Irish Dutchman and Currie’s Scottish Dutchman) who offers to take the pair to Palestine but at a cost: Boyd must work for him for a year as payment for Lisa’s passage. But there’s an alternative: an American (Neil McCallum, a Canadian who made a steady living playing Yanks in Britain) will take them without such conditions — but Lisa must have a medical examination, since the Israelis don’t want any diseases coming in. The examination terrifies Lisa, I think partly because it’s to be conducted by a character apparently called DOCTOR METROPOLIS*. I certainly wouldn’t want anybody named after a Fritz Lang movie fumbling with my undercarriage. Although DR MABUSE would be worse, I guess.

The medical turns out to be a cathartic release for Lisa, who experiences a quasi-flashback as she tells Doc Metrop her story. Appropriately enough, this features a multi-image shot of eyes borrowed straight from Lang’s METROPOLIS. I wonder if the Doc’s character name preceded/inspired the reference? 

It all ends in a fade to white, and is the liveliest bit of filmmaking in the whole show. The need to treat the sequence allusively rather than directly unlocks some imaginative muscle in the director. Maybe the film has unseen compositional merits obscured by the wretched pan-and-scan treatment dished out by some long-ago TV broadcaster, but it’s the plot and guest-stars that allow it to survive a viewing. Malcolm Arnold’s score tries to convince us that THIS IS CINEMA, but actually just gets in the way.

(Once in a while I find somebody who wants to swap movies, but doesn’t have anything I particularly want, so I take pot luck, and thus I find myself with a film like LISA AKA THE INSPECTOR. And it sits, unwatched, for years, until the night I randomly pluck it out and slot it in the machine.)

Oh, I almost forgot, we also have Robert Stephens as a navy man, sloping around like a spy after Boyd. “You Dutchmen, always on the go!” he rejoices, and I think this may well be the line Robert Stephens was BORN TO SAY. There is such a line for all actors. Anthony Hopkins’ line is “I’m a mercenary ham with the head of a whale!” but no one has written it into a script for him yet.

Stephens informs Boyd that tests have show that Goring died accidentally, falling on his S.S. knife. The authorities would like Boyd to return and clear the matter up, but he’s not being charged with murder. And nobody much liked Goring anyway.

BUT! Browne the American doesn’t want Lisa to go to Israel: now that he knows her history he wants to pack her off to Nuremberg to testify about what was done to her.  It’s clear this would be destructive to her psychologically, and she still really wants to go to Israel, where she’ll finally feel safe. This part of the film was the most powerful for me: some well-meaning people are quite willing to destroy Lisa in order to create a powerful effect at the war crimes tribunal. A sensation of desperation.

At this point, signposts suddenly reappear, helping Boyd chart his way through the unfolding narrative:

AIR ATLAS

Stencilled on the plane to Germany which Lisa doesn’t get on, because Boyd realises she’s in love with him. They make a deal with the Welsh Dutchman and set sail with Arab Harry Andrews. After numerous examples of nationality-muddled casting, the film finally presents a Brit browned-up. Andrews is appalling casting. His accent fluctuates across the globe’s entire surface, and at one point he gets water splashed in his face and turns lighter. Absurd.

MADRE DOLOROSA

Not the most encouraging name for a ship (shades of Dario Argento!), but if Harry Andrews is the captain and he’s wearing body makeup, I guess things can’t get much worse. More double-dealings and plot twists turn up, but after the quasi-resolution of the love story, none of it matters too much. The final leg of the journey puts me in mind of Clouzot’s MANON, which likewise ends with a trip to the new state of Israel, but Clouzot’s conclusion is both bleaker and better. He’s a real director, and Philip Dunne just isn’t. Despite the strange lack of star-power in the central roles, his movie does deliver a couple of unusual characters who engage the interest and the sympathy. It doesn’t quite find a narrative structure that uses and resolves these people, but I’m still reasonably glad I saw it.

Having recently seen an Arab documentary, THE ARABIAN DREAM,  which as you might expect took a more sceptical view of the founding of Israel, this was also fascinating to see as a time-capsule from an era before the Israeli dream really started to turn sour…

*Actually it’s “Dr. Mitropoulis”, silly.