Search results for: Ida Lupino

The Ida Lupino Project

Ida Lupino (1918-1995)

One of the long-term projects on this blog is to try to understand the Hollywood Studio System (roughly 1930-60). The Hollywood studio ‘model’ still influences how we think about global cinema in the 21st century. One way to to study how the system worked is to focus on the career of one extraordinary figure who worked in the American film industry as an A List star, a producer, writer and director. Ida could also sing, dance and compose music and made significant radio broadcasts as well as being one of the most prolific directors and actors in US television. I don’t think it’s possible to see all her work but I’m going to try to see as many of her feature films as possible.

I’ll add titles to this list as they are posted on the blog. Just click on the link to find the individual posting.

1953 The Bigamist (directed by Ida Lupino for The Filmakers, Lupino also stars with Joan Fontaine and Edmond O’Brien)

1953 The Hitch-Hiker (directed and co-written by Ida Lupino for The Filmakers)

Ida Lupino on set with director Nicholas Ray and co-star Robert Ryan in ‘On Dangerous Ground’, 1952

1951 Hard, Fast and Beautiful (directed by Ida Lupino for The Filmakers)

1949 Lust for Gold (dir. S. Sylvan Simon, starring Ida Lupino and Glenn Ford)

1946 Devotion (dir. Curtis Bernhardt, starring Ida Lupino, Olivia de Havilland and Paul Henreid)

1942 Moontide (dir. Archie Mayo, starring Ida Lupino and Jean Gabin)

1939 The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (starring Basil Rathbone, Nigel Bruce and Ida Lupino)

1939 The Lady and the Mob (starring Fay Bainter and Ida Lupino)

1939 The Lone Wolf Spy Hunt (starring Warren William, Ida Lupino and Rita Hayworth)

RKO – a studio with a difficult history

In the story of ‘studio Hollywood’, RKO Radio Pictures has the most tragic role. It’s possibly my favourite studio, but I do find that it is often the most misrepresented of the five majors. Why should that be?

In 1930, often quoted as the year which marked the emergence of the so-called ‘studio system’, RKO was the most recently confirmed major studio and arguably the one with the least prestigious background. Paramount (1912) and MGM (1924) were two of the most established studios, along with Universal (1912) and Columbia (1918). These latter two were ‘mini-majors’ because they were not fully vertically integrated – they lacked cinemas. All the major studios were formed by amalgamating production companies with distribution companies and theatre chains. Warner Bros had taken control of another studio, First National, and the Skouras Brothers Theatre chain in 1929. The fourth major saw Fox (formed in 1915) merging with 20th Century in 1935 to form the major studio that was familiar to cinemagoers for the next 50 years before the sale to Rupert Murdoch and then to Disney. Each of the six companies mentioned in this paragraph had their origins in a film production company established in the 1910s. RKO was a different kind of company.

Marie Prevost in THE GODLESS GIRL, 1928 dir. Cecil B. DeMIlle. Cecil B. DeMille Pictures
Released by Pathé Exchange, Inc. (see https://www.cecilbdemille.com/portfolio-item/the-godless-girl/)hhg

In 1928 an agreement between the head of RCA (Radio Corporation of America), David Sarnoff, and Joseph Kennedy (father of JFK) of the production/distribution company Film Booking Offices (FBO) established an integrated studio. Kennedy had already assumed control of the Keith-Albee-Orpheum chain of theatres as well as two other small producers, the independent American company Pathé and the Producers Distribution Company headed by Cecil B. DeMille. The overall result of these various mergers and acquisitions was the creation of ‘Radio-Keith-Orpheum’ or RKO Radio Pictures, the fifth major studio.

Katherine Hepburn in ‘Christopher Strong’, RKO, 1933, dir. Dorothy Arzner

Everything should have gone well. As the switch to ‘talking pictures’ was taking place, RKO had its own new ‘sound on film’ technology, Photophone, and FBO had some experience of working with sound. The three small production companies each contributed some studio space and facilities in Hollywood and in New York. But there were problems. The other four majors had better production facilities and more experience of making ‘A’ features. Even Universal and Columbia had better production facilities and United Artists, the distribution company founded by Mary Pickford, Charles Chaplin, Douglas Fairbanks and D. W. Griffith in 1919 had the star power and relationships with major independent producers. FBO and the other smaller companies in the newly-created RKO had focused on smaller features and the 1920s equivalent of ‘B’ Westerns. The KAO theatre chain had been developed for vaudeville and now had to be switched over to focus on cinema business. The new studio also lacked a strong studio head with a real feel for the business. Investment decisions and production strategies needed to be sorted out. In October 1931 a series of events saw production come under the control of David O. Selznick who was appointed ‘Vice-President in charge of production’. Selznick was already yearning for his own studio but the challenge at RKO was one he relished and during 1932 he transformed the economics of RKO’s output, making more pictures for less outlay and and also cutting the studio’s overheads. He brought in new talent, including director George Cukor and the young Katherine Hepburn. But the Great Depression was already hitting the studios’ chances of maintaining the profits that the boom years of the introduction of sound had brought. Selznick left in 1933 to return to MGM, the studio with the strongest foundations. He would revisit to RKO to lease facilities on the Culver City studio lot to set up his own Selznick International Pictures in 1935. By 1937 Selznick had taken over the whole of the old RKO-Pathe studio lot. His only interest in RKO would then be as an outlet for his contracted directors and players such as Alfred Hitchcock and Joan Fontaine who in the 1940s would be rented out to RKO for films like Suspicion (1941).

Ida Lupino and Robert Ryan in ‘On Dangerous Ground; RKO, 1950, dir. Nicholas Ray

The tragedy is that RKO’s basic flaws were never properly resolved and its potential synergy of radio and film never amounted to much. The studio made some great films and developed some of my favourite stars – Fred and Ginger, Cary Grant, Katherine Hepburn and Robert Mitchum. It invited in Orson Welles and his Mercury Theatre Company but couldn’t handle him and the losses his productions cost them. It distributed Disney’s pictures and allowed Val Lewton to flourish for a few years. It was the starting point for Nick Ray and a (somewhat difficult) partner for Ida Lupino’s small film company. These latter two relationships were both developed after Howard Hughes took over the company. Hughes had control of the company from 1948 to 1955. In the latter stages of his control, Disney pulled out of its distribution deal and set up its own distribution through a wholly-owned subsidiary Buena Vista. Disney is today the biggest Hollywood brand. Other independent producers also pulled out and Hughes sold his controlling stake to General Tire and Rubber which had been buying radio networks in the US. The sale ironically took RKO back to its roots and the new company became known as RKO Teleradio Pictures. The film business lasted another four years before the studio was finally broken up in 1959. The final crucial act of RKO in film industry terms was the sale of its film library to independent TV stations which meant that by 1956 RKO films were on TV sets across the US at a time when the other studios were still, in public at least, not sharing product with television. In practice they were setting up their own TV production units alongside independents such as Desilu which were buying RKO facilities.

Silver Screen Classics

In 2020, following the outbreak of the Covid-19 pandemic, BBC programmers placed a group of RKO films on iPlayer in the UK under the group title of ‘Silver Screen Classics’. Recently they added a second tranche and now there are 38 features from the ‘studio period’ of Hollywood history. Unusually, these films are available for “over a year” – how come? The BBC will usually acquire rights for a set period and/or a specific number of broadcasts, but in this case it appears that these are just some of the titles which the BBC acquired for broadcast ‘in perpetuity’ from the ailing RKO studio in the 1950s. In 1987 the BBC produced a six part documentary series on the history of the studio. I’ve already included some of the BBC titles on this blog and more will follow, time permitting. If you are in the UK you can browse the 38 Silver Screen Classics titles on iPlayer here.

Here is an interesting visual history of RKO from TCM Cinéma, in French but with some wonderful photographs:

Is Paris Burning? (Paris brûle-t-il?, France-US 1966)

Résistance fighters take to the streets . . .

This last week has given us two unusual titles broadcast by the ever-intriguing Talking Pictures TV – a rare Ida Lupino film from the Filmakers (more on that later) and this co-production monster. Is Paris Burning? is exactly the kind of production that interests us on this blog. It’s a mammoth production which attempts to represent the successful attempt by the Allies and the French résistance forces to take back control of Paris in 1944 before the city could be literally rased to the ground as Hitler demanded. The title refers to the desperate demand by Hitler at the moment of German capitulation. Many reviews and commentaries compare the film to the similarly large-scale production of The Longest Day in 1960. This is understandable but there also some important differences between the two. I would also bracket Is Paris Burning? with The Victors (UK-US 1963), Carl Foreman’s excellent film about American GIs in the European campaign.

Gert Frobe (left) as the German commander of Paris

It might be helpful to begin with the details of the broadcast print. Since Talking Pictures TV has ad breaks I can’t be sure of the length of the film but I think it conforms to the usual stated length of 175 minutes. It appears to be the American print as distributed by Paramount. The film is dubbed into English and was broadcast in a ratio close to the intended 2.35:1. IMDb tells me there was also a 70mm print blown-up from the 35mm original and projected in 2.20:1 and that might be the TV ratio as well? The film was shot in Black and White but the final shot of the city and the closing credit sequence appears in colour and was framed in a slightly narrower ratio within the widescreen Black and White frame.

Orson Welles plays the Swedish consul, here with Leslie Caron on a race to save her husband

The film is directed by René Clément and written by a host of writers adapting and presumably adding to material adapted from a book by Larry Collins and Dominique Lapierre. The lead writers, credited with the screenplay, appear to be Gore Vidal and Francis Ford Coppola. As far as I can make out, this is essentially a French production with American funding, which offers a host of American stars in return for control over the script. The 1960s was a major period of ‘international productions’, often by American independent producers persuading Hollywood studios to finance films made in Italy or France or Spain. These were the so-called ‘runaway productions’. Hollywood studios also poured funding into the British film  in the 1960s. At the same time, various producers in Europe attempted to mount big budget genre pictures in various European locations. These would often have international casts and many would be made in English or dubbed into English and other languages. It’s worth remembering that the Italian, French and West German film markets were still maintaining admissions in the 1960s in contrast to the big declines in the UK and US. Many of these films were criticised, partly because the language and cultural differences between crews, actors and producers caused problems and sometimes muddled and incoherent film narratives. Is Paris Burning? seems to have suffered from this incoherence problem.

Fighters of the FFI

The situation in France in August 1944 was complicated following the D-Day landings in June. The British and Canadians were moving through Northern France with the intention of liberating Belgium and the Netherlands. The Americans were further south but were focused on reaching the Rhine rather than attacking German defences around Paris. A joint American and French campaign launched earlier in August from landings in the South of France made rapid progress northwards and this prompted the resistance groups in Paris to consider mobilisation. (The campaign in the south involved the French ‘Army of Africa’ as detailed in the film Indigènes (Algeria-France 2006)). The German occupation of Paris was always seen as important in ideological terms. Hitler seemingly enjoyed the humiliation heaped on France and the French in turn reacted to that. I don’t think Paris was bombed by the Allies (unlike many strategic French targets). I know that the RAF flew several low-level morale-boosting sorties over Paris for propaganda purposes without attacking targets. De Gaulle was insistent that Paris was to be ‘liberated’ by Free French forces.

Kirk Douglas in a very brief cameo as General Patton

IMDb carries an interesting range of ‘User comments’ on the film which range from the ecstatic to the woeful in terms of their appreciation, arguably with more towards the lower end of the scale. Most of the comments appear to be by Americans (as most comments are on the site) but the most perceptive are from Americans who have lived in France and know Paris and the history. The underlying issue here is the delicacy of the historical record of the Liberation of Paris and in particular the control over shooting on the streets of the city as demanded by Charles de Gaulle. Various sources suggest that this meant the film couldn’t be in colour because the Nazi flags on Parisian buildings were not allowed to be shown. The monochrome representation was deemed acceptable. The attraction of co-productions is often seen to be the guarantee that the film will be widely screened in both countries but in this case that also became a major problem. American audiences perhaps felt that the American contribution was being diminished in what finally appeared in the film. In France the film was much more successful.

René Clément had a big success in 1946 with La battaile du rail. That film had used a neo-realist approach to present the sabotage organised by large numbers of railway workers and the big plus for me in Is Paris Burning? is the coverage of the large number of resistance fighters in the initial struggle to take over the Prefecture of Police. As far as I could follow the plot (and the accepted history) of the struggle to liberate Paris, there were many different resistance groups. I think there is a communist group as well as the FFI (‘French Forces of the Interior’), the main organised force primed to ‘rise up’ in Paris occupying key buildings (and conveniently wearing FFI armbands in the film). Eventually these groups would be merged with the Free French units equipped by the British and Americans and part of the Allied invasion forces. The Free French units were de Gaulle’s forces and in the film the Gaullist politicians represented by Alain Delon and Jean-Paul Belmondo in Paris are trying to follow orders from London and control events on the ground. My problem in identifying who is who is partly because of Clément’s use of Long Shot compositions, which often means large groups of characters together, and partly the dubbing. The dubbing is heavily criticised by many viewers but I found it was generally pretty good – ironically the Long Shot compositions meant we don’t see so many close-ups and problems of lip-synching but all the same I did fail to recognise some of the well-known French actors I certainly should have recognised.

A sobering warning for Alain Delon and Leslie Caron – in a cinema watching a German propaganda film of the crushing of the Warsaw Uprising.

This is a film of too many cameo performances, especially the American stars who may only appear for a couple of lines. There is a feeling that some of these cameos have required a separate bit of ‘business’ for their moments on screen. Yves Montand has a couple of moments in a tank that work in script terms but don’t need his star presence – as is the case for Simone Signoret’s moment behind the bar in a café. Only Orson Welles and Gert Fröbe have the kind of roles which might be developed in a conventional drama. Pierre Vanek as Major Gallois also features across a lengthy sequence as the envoy sent out from the city to the front line of the American advance in order to contact the American and Free French High Command in the hope of diverting some forces towards Paris.

Overall, I would say the first half of the film works best, leading up to the occupation of the Prefecture of Police and its defence against German forces. I love the fact that the prefecture has a large wine cellar and that the FFI have planned to empty the wine and make Molotov cocktails. I didn’t enjoy the the arrival of Allied troops as much but there is still the emotional rush of a population liberated. There is greater use of archive footage at various points, including images of de Gaulle arriving. Unfortunately much of the archive footage is squashed and I’m surprised more care was not taken. All in all, though, this film is certainly worth watching even at over three hours with the ads. That’s an afternoon out of lockdown!

The film has its second showing on Talking Pictures TV tomorrow (Friday 6 November) at 14.40 in the UK.

John Ford #1: Fort Apache (US 1948)

One of the iconic images of Fort Apache. Wayne is positioned below Fonda but note Wayne’s relaxed posture (e.g. his hands), his loose torso and the stiffness of Fonda

Fort Apache seems like a good start for thinking about John Ford’s films in the current context. It comes at a precise moment in Ford’s output and is possibly one of his most misunderstood films. Tag Gallagher in his magisterial book on Ford (University of California Press 1986), posits a ‘periodisation’ of Ford’s long career. He suggests five periods, taking the first as an ‘apprenticeship’ between 1917 and 1926. Period 1: 1927-35 is ‘Introspection’ and Period 2: 1936-47 is ‘Idealism’. Fort Apache is then the first film of the Third Period (1948-61), ‘Myth’. (The ‘Final Period’, 1962-65, is the ‘Age of Mortality’.) In the ‘Idealism’ period Ford had directed big ‘prestige’ pictures, including his two ‘straight’ literary adaptations How Green Was My Valley and The Grapes of Wrath and his study of Young Lincoln. He’d made two ‘art films’ in The Long Voyage Home and The Fugitive. He’d also been to war and served his country well. He was a popular and ‘serious’ filmmaker producing films respected by his industry peers. Then, just as European producers and aspects of Hollywood production were turning towards forms of realism and stories about social issues, Ford seemed to turn in on himself and make highly personal films, which were often couched in popular genre terms. One very pragmatic basis for Ford’s decision was to make money for his company Argosy Pictures. Like Alfred Hitchcock, Ford tended to work ‘with’ major studios through his own company (which he started with Merian C. Cooper). He had lost money on The Fugitive after taking only minimum payment for his wartime work.

Fort Apache is the first film in Ford’s unofficial ‘7th cavalry trilogy’. All three films were adapted from short stories by James Warner Bellah that appeared in The Saturday Evening Post in 1947. The story ‘Massacre’ became Fort Apache and, as adapted by Ford’s new scriptwriter Frank Nugent, it fictionalised aspects of General Custer’s actions in 1876, changing the Native American warriors to Apache rather than Plains warriors from further North. Ford’s Custer-like character is a West Point officer with no knowledge of ‘Indian Affairs’ who refuses to listen to his officers with real experience – but it’s also much more than that.

The opening to the film is quite brilliant at introducing the narrative and all the layers of meaning. The credit sequence offers a montage of shots from scenes across the whole narrative and the narrative proper begins in Monument Valley, which during this period becomes a kind of ‘Fordlandia’ seemingly extending across Arizona and Texas (it is actually between Utah, where Ford also shot on location, and Arizona). A stagecoach is heading for a staging post and on board is a sarcastic, stiff-necked officer Lt. Colonel Thursday (Henry Fonda). With him is his lively daughter Philadelphia (Shirley Temple). Fonda had starred in four of the top Ford pictures between 1939 and 1946 and in The Fugitive. Temple was the star of Ford’s Wee Willie Winkie in 1937. At the post Philadelphia is delighted to find a bare-chested 2nd Lt. John O’Rourke (John Agar) who is waiting for transport to take him to Fort Apache, returning after his commission at West Point.

The Scottish inn keeper and the stagecoach driver and guard are all old friends and recognisable Fordian characters. To emphasise this it is Ford’s older brother Frank, playing the stagecoach guard, who hawks with astounding accuracy to make the spitoon several feet away dance a little jig. When the fort’s ‘ambulance’ arrives it’s manned by a quartet of sergeants led by another Ford regular Victor McLaglen as Sgt. Mulcahy, who will turn out to be O’Rourke’s godfather (McLaglen was the star of Ford’s first Oscar winner The Informer (1935) and he played alongside Shirley Temple in her Ford film in 1937. If we’ve noted the credits we can probably guess that Ward Bond will be the boy’s father and we know that Wayne is in the film and that he will be the opposite of Fonda as a presence. The crucial exchange in the staging post is the news that the telegraph wires are down – a potential sign of Apache action. With this information and the arrival of the three ‘outsiders’, Ford has effectively set up his narrative. We note that the Fonda character is a WASP Bostonian who gets O’Rourke’s name wrong twice and treats him curtly while Philadelphia is already smitten (Temple and Agar were married just before shooting started). At least Thursday buys a round of drinks.

The three principal women in the melodrama of life in the fort, (from left) Mary O’Rourke (Irene Rich), Emily Collingwood (Anna Lee) and Philadelphia Thursday (Shirley Temple)

This is quite a long film for a Western (128 minutes) and the first part is almost a ‘cavalry fort procedural’ with new recruits to be trained, dances to be organised and the daily life of the fort before the first evidence of Apache action is presented. Then the battle between Fonda’s West Point martinet and Wayne’s Captain Kirby York as the soldier with local knowledge will begin in earnest. But there are other layered narrative strands. Philadelphia and John will have a romance even if Colonel Thursday’s social class rigidity (and army tradition) outlaw it. The sergeants will fall from grace, led by Mulcahy and there is yet another ‘couple narrative’ with the outgoing captain Collingwood (another Ford actor, from the 1920s, George O’Brien) and his wife (Anna Lee, yet another Ford actor from How Green Was My Valley who would go on to other Ford roles later). If actors appeared for Ford and he liked them and what they did, they invariably appeared for him again. The one star name I haven’t mentioned so far is Pedro Armendáriz. He was one of the great Latin American actors of the period and had worked on Ford’s previous picture, The Fugitive (1947), made in Mexico. His role in Fort Apache as Sergeant Beaufort is as the interpreter who enables Thursday to speak to the Apache leader Cochise using Spanish (Cochise is played by the Mexican actor Miguel Inclán). But Armendáriz must have riled Ford on his next picture as one of the three leads in 3 Godfathers (1948), because he never appeared for Ford again (and Henry Fonda only appeared in two further films in which Ford directed alongside others). Ford had his ‘stock company’. He was hard but loyal towards his actors who accepted and embraced his methods or didn’t repeat the experience.There are several well-known Ford character players in the fort including Mae Marsh as one of the officers’ wives and Hank Worden as a raw recruit. Both would go on to play multiple roles for Ford.

The NCO’s dance. At the front are Sgt Major O’Rourke and his wife between Philadelphia Thursday and her father

Ford’s films of this period are ‘personal’, almost keeping narratives ‘within the family’. Part of this communal family ‘feel’ also comes through the use of music – for marches, for dances and as folk songs/romances. Music is a feature of all three cavalry pictures, reaching a peak in Rio Grande (1950) with the Sons of the Pioneers. In Fort Apache the NCO’s dance is a high point and for me the most important scene in the film. I don’t want to spoil anyone’s enjoyment, so let’s just say it is Ford at his finest in exploring protocol and comradeship and Western culture. When the dance ends with Capt. York’s return and Thursday’s decision to betray York, Ford makes a clear statement. Ford was working with RKO but he didn’t use any contracted studio creatives. The music was score scored by one of the many European émigrés in Hollywood, the Dutch composer Richard Hageman. He had worked with Ford on three previous films and would continue on the next three before his retirement in 1954.

As with the music, Ford had his own preferred cinematographers. Ford had poor eyesight and eventually wore a patch over one eye. Before that he wore dark glasses. However, he had a brilliant internal eye and knew exactly what he wanted and how to get it. As Gallagher points out, Ford worked with big names like Gregg Toland and Arthur Miller, with their own distinctive styles, yet their films with Ford always looked like ‘Fordian films’. Archie Stout had photographed many Westerns in the 1930s including some of John Wayne’s B Westerns. His son was part of Ford’s wartime Photography Unit. Ford trusted him and admired his black and white work. On his Monument Valley shoots Ford would often use infra-red stock to achieve high contrast. One of Harry Carey Jr.’s stories about Ford sees Ford quizzing him about compositions and telling him that “if you can work out why the horizon is near the bottom of the frame in some shots and near the top in others, then you might become a picturemaker”. We can be sure Archie Stout new precisely why and delivered some of Ford’s most distinctive shots just as his director required. Ford also had William Clothier on Second Unit and he would become cinematographer on later Ford films such as The Horse Soldiers (1959) and The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962). Archie Stout is one of my heroes because he worked with Ida Lupino on three of her early features as director.

A Fordian sky, a low horizon, a rider on the skyline – what’s not to love?

Fort Apache made the money that Ford had aimed for – though Red River with Wayne made more in the same year. But if it was popular with audiences, the critical reaction was mixed. In the UK, the short Monthly Film Bulletin review praised the look of the film and the spectacular action and picked out John Wayne’s performance but the anonymous reviewer thought there were two many shots of mesas and buttes and riders silhouetted against the sky. They also had no time for Shirley Temple and the narrative strand of the romance. This last criticism is echoed in some American reviews. On the plus side the influential New York Times reviewer Bosley Crowther praised Ford’s representation of the Apache as a breakthrough. It is the seeming contradiction inherent in the closing scenes of the film that has proved a stumbling block for many critics. Since the story is based on the historical events involving the death of George Armstrong Custer, I’m not spoiling the narrative by analysing the ending of Fort Apache.

Thursday not only ignores York’s advice but pushes aside his objections about breaking his word to Cochise. Thursday is depicted as a racist from the East, obsessed with his own honour and adherence to Army regulations. The reason he is so bad-tempered throughout is that he believes he has been doubly punished by an ungrateful US Army. His wartime promotion to General was downgraded after the war ended (this was standard practice, not a personal rebuke) and he was sent to the “God-forsaken outpost” of Fort Apache. By contrast, Kirby York accepted his posting after similar success in the Civil War and has found a way to negotiate with the Apache and also to be at ease with the community of the fort. Why then does York at the end of the film praise Thursday’s bravery and attachment to discipline when asked a question by a journalist visiting the fort? The answer, I think, is embodied in the way in which York praises the whole cavalry regiment and maintains that those lost in Thursday’s fatal charge are not gone but ride on with the everyday soldiers who now defend the frontier.

Thursday with York and Collingwood in the desert. Thursday wears the kepi and neck cloth

When York, now Colonel, rides off to finish the picture he is wearing Thursday’s kepi and neck cloth. We are here in the territory of ‘fact’ and ‘legend’ in Ford, presented more directly in The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance. Gallagher argues that in most of the films of this ‘Myth’ period, Ford’s focus is on community and often the military community. In his historical films he explores how these communities survived and grew. It is clear that Thursday is a threat to the community, but that to denigrate his memory would hurt the community by undermining the image of the military. But that’s a relatively clear explanation. Ford does more because he shows the ways in which all the members of the community contribute to upholding the social codes of Army life, even if it means they will be individually hurt, so in a crucial scene, Emily Collingwood does not attempt to stop her husband, whose recall to Washington has just come through, from riding out with Thursday. To do so would be to cast him as running from danger. A review of the film by Dennis Schwartz includes comments on Ford’s Irish characters and this:

 . . . while the women on the outpost are made into saints. Emily Collingwood (Anna Lee), the wife of Captain Collingwood, is a picture of an ideal wife, who makes Philadelphia feel at home, while the sergeant major’s wife, Mary O’Rourke (Irene Rich), is the perfect Army wife and whatever she does is seen as noble.

The danger is in trying to see Ford’s depictions of the historical American West as ‘realist’ – though they are imbued with carefully researched accurate details. I think all the women in Fort Apache have important roles in the narrative and in this case they operate partly within the mythic narrative of army life and partly within the family melodrama which exists within the fort and which is in turn mixed up with the formal codes of social interaction. Thursday treats the O’Rourke family with disdain, safe in the knowledge that as 2nd Lt. O’Rourke is the son of an enlisted man and therefore not a ‘gentleman’ he cannot court Philadelphia. Sgt. Major O’Rourke was highly honoured during the Civil War and this enabled his son to enter West Point. Mrs O’Rourke understands these social codes. Note in detail how Ford directs the Grand March and the dance that follows during the NCO’s ball when Mrs O’Rourke must dance with Owen Thursday and her husband with Philadelphia as the ‘Colonel’s Lady’. Irene Rich does so much here with a few glances (She first worked with Ford in 1921 as a leading lady and then often with Harry Carey Sr. and Will Rogers, two major Ford collaborators.)

The Apache wait . . .

Several aspects of Fort Apache, including the representation of the Apache warriors (who apart from Cochise, never speak) will have to wait for commentaries on the rest of the cavalry trilogy, but I don’t want to leave the film without mentioning Richard Dyer’s analysis of Fonda and Wayne together in Stars (1979, 165-168). Dyer offers an early analysis of how Wayne has developed his performance skills in terms of his body movements and gestures in Fort Apache (see the still at the head of this post). I was impressed by this and it prompted my first attempts to work on the film in the 1980s. Since then I’ve read more about how Wayne learned about performance from both John Ford and Harry Carey Sr. and the big group of cowboy performers from early Hollywood. Quite why Fonda was replaced by Wayne in Ford’s casting at this point isn’t totally clear. Much of it was because of the change in the kinds of films Ford wanted to make, but I have seen some suggestions that Fonda himself changed around this time. Perhaps it was something to do with politics? Again, we’ll have to return to this later. The late 1940s became a fraught period when Wayne and Bond became leading ‘hawks’ and anti-communists during the HUAC and McCarthy periods. Ford’s politics were complex and he routinely mixed actors he knew were strongly opposed to each others views – as we will see in later posts.

There is a re-worked and expanded version of these notes produced for an online discussion event available to download from the ‘FREE Education Resources to download’ page

Nightfall (US 1956)

Jacques Tourneur is one of those filmmakers who was perhaps wasted by ‘Studio Hollywood’. He made some excellent films and some less good ones but nearly all show an understanding of techniques, a real imagination and a great feel for composing and choreographing scenes. Nightfall is a shortish feature (78 mins) adapted from a David Goodis novel by Stirling Silliphant. That’s a good starting point. Goodis was a noir novelist, arguably as well-known in France as the US, perhaps even more so with adaptations by Truffaut (Tirez sur le pianiste, 1960) as well as René Clement and Jean-Jacques Beineix. Silliphant was a prolific writer for TV and cinema from the 1950s until the 1980s, mainly for ‘tough guy’ action narratives. Nightfall was the first of his film scripts and the casting adds to the feel of the film which would sit well with some of his 1970s scripts. Aldo Ray is a distinctive figure and he is matched by Brian Keith as the lead villain, although Rudy Bond as the almost psychotic ‘Red’ eclipses Keith at times. The surprise for me was Anne Bancroft who had been appearing in films and TV for five years already, but this is the first role of hers that I’ve noticed and she is very good, even if underused in what is primarily a male action picture.

Jim searches for a newspaper

The set-up is classic film noir with Jim Vanning (Aldo Ray) introduced to us as a man perusing newspapers on a street corner in Los Angeles. It’s one of those long newsstands with papers from every major city in the US. When the cashier turns on the overhead lights as dusk approaches, the sudden brightness seems to really disturb Jim. A man asks him for a light and starts up a conversation before heading off to catch a bus. Jim goes into a bar-diner on the corner and meets a young woman, Marie (Bancroft). She wheedles $5 out of him and then they have a drink and he buys her dinner. In a parallel cut we see the man who caught the bus arrive home to meet his wife. Does he know Jim? Outside the bar Jim and Marie part and immediately two men bundle Jim into a car. Who are they? Was Marie set up to trap him? What has Jim done? It’s a brilliant start to a narrative and in a short while we’ll get a flashback that reveals the incident in which the wholly innocent Jim found himself caught up in the kind of story that only a noir writer could devise.

Marie and Jim together

Without describing the plot outline in detail, I’ll just point out that Jim was on an innocent trip to the hills in winter when he became involved with a pair of violent men. Fortunately Jim escaped and by chance discovered the men had left a briefcase of money. Jim hid the money and went into hiding. But now he has been found by both the two violent men and the third man – an investigator tracking the stolen money. The narrative is clearly going to return to the hills and it will become a matter of who gets there first and finds the hidden money. We know Marie must be involved further because she is a leading player. Other than that it’s all up for grabs.

Marie is a catwalk novel on an upmarket fashion show (in the open air)

There has been some discussion about the film as to the noir label. I’m certainly not a purist in these matters. The night-time opening sequence certainly suggests noir. The sequences in the snow in the hills might seem less so but there are certainly precedents in, for example, Nicholas Ray’s On Dangerous Ground (1949) in which a ‘disturbed’ cop (Robert Ryan) and an angry father (Ward Bond) hunt for a young man across the snowy hills. There are also some parallels with Tourneur’s own classic noir, Out of the Past (1947) – including a scene where two urban heavies turn up in the peaceful mountain community where Jeff (Robert Mitchum) is trying to escape his past. And in turn we wonder if Marie will prove to be a femme fatale like Jane Greer’s Kathy in Out of the Past. Paranoia (and terror) can be represented in snowy and sunny landscapes just as it can in dark urban streets.

Jim appears caught by the Brian Keith character

Jeff has been in the forces but he makes his living as a commercial artist which is an interesting idea for an actor as physically distinct as Aldo Ray. (Ray was best known for military roles.)  Similarly, Ms Bancroft is a respectable fashion model and one of the film’s showpiece sequences is a fashion show in the open terrace of a famous LA department store watched by the two heavies and an anxious Jim Vanning. This sequence feels ‘modern’ – in fact the whole film seems to have moved on from the earlier noir world – though the slight story doesn’t have the complexity of some of the major 1950s noirs. But what it does have is the suspense and paranoia. Another reference might be Ida Lupino’s The Hitch-Hiker (1953) – two men on a fishing trip who inadvertently give a lift to a serial killer. There is also something of the same realist feel of Lupino’s films shot around LA. Overall the film is lean and mean. The closing sequence has been controversial and I won’t spoil it but the reference here might be a ‘looking forward’ to crime thrillers which bring city violence into the agrarian community like the later films North by Northwest (1959) with its crop duster plane chasing Cary Grant and Prime Cut (1972) with its chase featuring a combined harvester. Other films which have some of the same flavour include Kiss Me Deadly (1955) – Ray has a similar presence to Ralph Meeker and Anne Bancroft even looks a little similar to maxine Cooper who played Mike Hammer’s secretary Velda. Nightfall features some excellent camerawork by Columbia house lensman Burnett Guffey who was well versed in noirish crime thrillers (e.g. Human Desire 1954 and the Ida Lupino-produced Private Hell 36 (1954)). I enjoyed the film very much and would recommend it. Anne Bancroft is a revelation and Aldo Ray’s casting works for me. Nightfall can easily be found online but I watched the Blu-ray from Arrow in the UK which includes analysis by Philip Kemp and other contributors less familiar to me, but each offers something extra on a film that deserves to be re-discovered. I hope to feature more of Jacques Tourneur’s work on the blog, so watch this space.

Here’s the scene where Jim meets Marie for the first time.

The Blue Gardenia (US 1953)

A lurid French poster which somehow remains accurate in detail but still misrepresents the Anne Baxter character

Fritz Lang had a difficult time during the period of ‘studio Hollywood’. Possibly he was his own worst enemy, but it is the case that he struggled to make the kinds of films he thought were appropriate for a filmmaker of his standing. In 1953 he would be 63 years-old and about to embark on his 36th directorial project. That means he directed 36 features over 34 years, including his ‘epic’ productions during the 1920s at Ufa.

In Fritz Lang: The Nature of the Beast (faber & faber 1997), Patrick McGilligan argues that in 1952 Lang was complaining that he was blacklisted for his leftist/communist leanings after finishing work on Clash By Night, but actually Lang was ‘out of work’ for only six months before he got the contract to make The Blue Gardenia. It was Columbia supremo Harry Cohn who intervened for Lang and helped him get the job. The Blue Gardenia was an independent production which was to be distributed by Warner Bros., not Columbia. After it was completed, Lang signed a contract to work at Columbia and his next picture would be one of his best known American films, The Big Heat which would appear later in 1953.

The Blue Gardenia was a low budget film adapted from a story by Vera Caspary, a writer with real pedigree and a long list of Hollywood credits including Otto Preminger’s Laura (1944) and Joe Mankiewicz’s A Letter to Three Wives (1949). Caspary’s story was adapted by Charles Hoffman whose credits were also numerous if slightly less distinguished apart from the Michael Curtiz film Night and Day (1946) starring Cary Grant as Cole Porter. Despite the low budget, the production did have some class, enhanced by the cinematography of Nick Musuraca who was still working at RKO but had just completed Ida Lupino’s The Hitch-Hiker. Presumably at this point he was available for loan-outs. He had also worked on Clash By Night (1952) which was an independent production released through RKO and using RKO contractees.

Nat King Cole sings the ‘Blue Gardenia’ song in the restaurant

The story is fairly straightforward , especially for what some critics see as a film noir. It also shares with Lang’s later films, While the City Sleeps (1956) and Beyond a Reasonable Doubt (1956), a fascination with journalists and murder stories. Local fashion designer Harry Prebble (Raymond Burr) has a reputation as a womaniser, luring young women back to his flat where he also has a sideline in painting glamour/pin-ups of his attractive conquests. His latest idea is to hang around a telephone exchange hoping to collect the phone numbers of the ‘exchange girls’ as new conquests. One of the switchboard operators receives a ‘Dear Joan’ letter from her boyfriend in the American forces stationed in Korea and accepts a date with Prebble on the rebound. She is not the kind of young woman Prebble usually dates and in her fragile state she drinks too much and passes out. At this point, the film begins to feel not just Langian but also Hitchcockian. Bad things happen! Richard Conte plays a crime reporter with a following for his column in an LA paper. He sees the possibility of a major story and cooks up a plan to entice the murderer into the open. I’ve avoided any spoilers so don’t leap to conclusions about what happens (and ignore the IMDb summary which is wrong anyway). I do think that there are some flaws in the plotting but overall this makes an intriguing 90 minutes murder mystery. The ‘Blue Gardenia’ refers to the restaurant where the couple eat and drink and the flower bought from a blind flower-woman. It is also the song sung by Nat King Cole live in the restaurant – I told you this film has class!

Norah (Anne Crawford, left) and Crystal (Ann Sothern)

The woman who goes on the date is played by Anne Baxter. She is very good and Lang said later that whatever his misgivings about the film (he routinely put down his own work), he was pleased with her casting. She was someone he had always wanted to work with. It’s not hard to see why. She was Oscar-nominated for her role as Eve in All About Eve (1950), she won as Best Supporting Actress for The Razor’s Edge (1946) and also appeared in leading roles for Welles in The Magnificent Ambersons (1942) and for Hitchcock in I Confess (1953). Baxter’s character Norah is one of three single women, all working at the same telephone exchange and sharing a rented cottage-style house in LA. The older woman is played by Ann Sothern (who also appeared in A Letter to Three Wives) and the younger by Jeff Donnell. I spent much of the film trying to think why I knew her and eventually realised that she is the wife of the police officer, whose superior officer during the war was Humphrey Bogart, in In a Lonely Place (1950).

Harry Prebble (Raymond Burr) on a high stool at the telephone exchange with Norah and Crystal. Sally (Jeff Donnell) is in the background

The two male leads are also interesting. Raymond Burr was very active at this time. He was an equally suspicious character in Rear Window (1954) for Hitchcock. Here he seems an enormously powerful physical figure, dwarfing the women he encounters. Richard Conte seems the only one of the cast who might be mis-cast. McGilligan describes him as a ‘hero-without-warts’ which is a little unkind, but I don’t see him as a reporter or a columnist. He seems too smooth and I think if it had been Dana Andrews, the journalist from Beyond a Reasonable Doubt, the role might have worked better. Conte is ‘Casey Mayo’, a star reporter/columnist whose clout on the paper can enable him to mount his own campaign to find a wanted person before the police. He is so prestigious that he is invited to witness an H-bomb test and must therefore ‘solve’ the mystery and get into print before he boards a plane to see the test. This reference alongside the war in Korea and a reference to TV shows are all markers of a clever script that strives to be contemporary but Conte’s character with his ‘little black book’ seems full of contradictions. He’s man in his forties who acts like someone much younger and I felt that his actions in the final third of the narrative don’t serve the intriguing situation that had been set up earlier.

Norah with Casey (Richard Conte)

It seems that Lang had only 20 days in which to shoot The Blue Gardenia – roughly the time available for most B pictures. The script and casting are for an A picture and Lang did very well to produce what he did in such a short time. The speed of the shoot must also have put pressure on Musuraca. As it is there are some impressive night-time scenes, complete with heavy rain and fog, and a drunken haze scene which perhaps evokes films noirs from the 1940s. Otherwise the camerawork is efficient and functional on a first viewing. The Blue Gardenia now has a much higher reputation than it had at the time. I’m not sure about its status as a ‘forgotten’ or ‘unheralded’ noir, but aspects of the film are very good indeed, particularly Anne Baxter’s performance and I would like to have seen the ‘three women in the apartment’ angle developed more. I just wonder what Lang might have achieved with more time to work on the script and more time to shoot.