

ANNIVERSARIES

Celebrating 10 Years of the Classic Movie Blog Association

Contributors

Aurora Bugallo

Karen Burroughs-Hannsberry

Patricia Gallagher

Amanda Garrett

John Greco

Marianne L'Abbate

Leticia Magalhães

Patricia Nolan-Hall

Patricia Schneider

Tynan Yanaga

Edited by John Greco

All the contributors to this book are members of the Classic Movie Blog Association (CMBA), an organization dedicated to sharing and promoting the best classic film writing on the internet. You can learn more about the CMBA at clamba.blogspot.com.

Any material possibly under copyright appearing in this publication does so only for the sake of criticism and illustration. No infringement on behalf of the copyright holders is intended and will be removed upon request.

All Written content, save for quotations and posters from the discussed original work is under copyright by their authors © 2019. All rights reserved.

All profits from this work go to the National Film Preservation Foundation. Learn more about it here.

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Table of Contents

Introduction

Bridging The Old and New Hollywood: Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969) by Patricia Schneider

Easy Rider and the New Hollywood (1969) by John Greco

The Chariot Race in Ben-Hur (1959) by Amanda Garrett

Top Five Film Noirs from 70 Years Ago by Karen Burroughs-Hannsberry

Stray Dog (1949) by Patricia Nolan-Hall

The Third Man at 70 by Tynan Yanaga

Robert Meets a Ghost (1944) by Patricia Gallagher

Double Indemnity (1944): Film Noir after Seventy-Five Years by Marianne L'Abbate

85 Years of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers by Aurora Bugallo

Cinematic Pandemic: The Spanish Flu and the Movies by Leticia Magalhães

# **Introduction**

In October 2019, the Classic Movie Blog Association (CMBA) celebrated its Tenth Anniversary. Founded on October 31st 2009 by Rick Armstrong of the Classic Film and TV Café, the non-profit organization has grown to almost 90 members. Like many organizations, it began small.

Rick quickly set up a website and designed a logo. In November 2009, he invited Rupert Alistair (Classic Movie Digest) to join. An inquisitive fellow, Rupert asked many questions on how the organization would operate. Would there be a board of directors, how would new members be added, etc. Rick began working on a charter and by late November 2009, the then small number of current members voted to approve the charter.

With its first selected subject, Black History Month, the CMBA launched its first Blogathon in February 2010. In 2011, the CMBA began what has become a tradition, two blogathons a year: one in the Spring and in the Fall. That year featured the Oscars Blogathon and the Classic Films of 1939. Future Blogathons would include subjects like Film Passion 101, The Dog Blogathon, The Horrorthon Blogathon, Banned and Blacklisted, Words, Words, Words, and many other topics too many to mention.

In addition to the blogathons, the CMBA began doing more, including the CiMBA Awards where members are recognized for their excellence. Monthly member profiles were initiated to introduce and familiarize fellow members, and in 2015 the CMBA published its first collection of eBooks. Each eBook was based on the most recent CMBA Blogathon. To date, eight books have been published with royalties going to the National Film Preservation Foundation. This book is the ninth in what we hope will be a continuing tradition.

The subject for this collection is appropriately, Anniversaries. Our creative members selected from a wide range of subjects and topics to explore.

The essays are arranged by anniversary date beginning with the earliest anniversaries and working our way up. We start with a couple of 50th Anniversary films. Patricia Schneider celebrates and looks at Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969) as a bridge between the old and new Hollywood. Yours truly, takes a look at Easy Rider (1969) and its ground-breaking influence on Hollywood. Next up is Amanda Garrett's essay on William Wyler's 1959 epic Ben-Hur with a focus on the famed 11 minute chariot race. Karen Burroughs-Hannsberry celebrates the 70th anniversary of five classic film noirs: House of Strangers, Too Late for Tears, The Set-Up, Tension and Criss Cross. Patricia Nolan-Hall examines the ground breaking Japanese film noir, Stray Dog (1949). Also celebrating 70 years is Carol Reed's classic, The Third Man, as Tynan Yanaga reminds himself and us what make this film so great. Patricia Gallagher's highlights the original film version of The Cantorville Ghost (1944), based on Oscar Wilde's short story. Marianne L'Abbate celebrates one of my own film noir favorites, Billy Wilder's Double Indemnity (1944). Aurora Bugallo contributes an epic assessment on the 85th anniversary of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. Last but nowhere near least, Leticia Magalhães' essay, Cinematic Pandemic: The Spanish Flu and the Movie, delivers a timely glance back at how the Spanish Flu epidemic affected the film industry.

Ten years have gone by since its inception, the CMBA is bigger and better with close to 90 members from around the world. We all are looking forward to the next ten years.

\- John Greco

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# Bridging The Old and New Hollywood: Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969)

Patricia Schneider (Lady Eve's Reel Life.docx))

In this piece I took a circuitous look back at Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, "the Citizen Kane of buddy films," on its 50th anniversary.

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It was during the 1950s that William Goldman, then a young novelist, first got interested in "the Butch Cassidy story." He was so fascinated with Cassidy, ringleader of a late 19th century band of outlaws, and one of his gang members known as the Sundance Kid, that he would research them off and on for another eight years.

It was also in the 1950s that young "method" actor Paul Newman left the Broadway stage and made his way onto Hollywood's sound stages. Once there, he would steadily be cast in leading roles in films like Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (1958), for which he received his first Oscar nomination, The Young Philadelphians (1959), and From the Terrace (1960).

By the early '60s Goldman was on the brink of a career in film. One of his novels, Soldier in the Rain, was adapted to the screen in 1963 and he was about to add screenwriting to his resume. Newman's career was also continuing upward. He earned a second Best Actor Oscar nomination for his performance as a young pool shark in Robert Rossen's The Hustler (1961), and a third Oscar nod for his portrayal of amoral ne'er-do-well Hud (1963). Soon enough the paths of screenwriter and actor would cross for the first time.

In 1965 Goldman adapted Ross MacDonald's 1949 private eye novel, The Moving Target, for the screen. The result would be the screenplay for Harper (1966). Newman starred as Lew Harper, a wily L.A. private eye involved in a mystery just as convoluted as The Big Sleep. The film also starred Lauren Bacall, Julie Harris, Janet Leigh and Robert Wagner. It was a great success.

But the times, they were a-changin'.

In his seminal book on the New Hollywood era, Easy Riders and Raging Bulls (Simon & Schuster, 1998), author Peter Biskind alluded to the domestic and international events that factored into the dramatic shift that hit the movies in the late '60s. It was during that decade that the world's superpowers teetered on the brink of nuclear war, when a U.S. president was shot down during a motorcade and when the civil rights movement caught fire. It was during those years that the post-war generation, the "baby boom," began making its enormous presence and mounting influence felt, and it was the decade in which a simmering conflict in Vietnam escalated into an all-out but undeclared war.

Cinematically speaking, all hell broke loose in 1967 with the release of what most in Hollywood considered two unlikely films. Bonnie and Clyde, directed by Arthur Penn, starring Warren Beatty and newcomer Faye Dunaway, was released in mid-August. It didn't do well at first, but in time attendance began to snowball on word-of-mouth and increasingly positive reviews. Wildly stylish, sexy and violent, the film was influenced by the French New Wave and based on the true story of Depression-era outlaws on the loose. By year's end Bonnie and Clyde was a sensation, a hit with the crowd and the critics alike. The Graduate, directed by Mike Nichols, starring Anne Bancroft and then-unknown Dustin Hoffman, was released in December 1967. It offered a witty/melancholy take on the meanderings of disaffected and anxious recent college grad, Benjamin Braddock (Hoffman). The boy drifts into a cold-blooded affair with the wife of his dad's business partner and then falls in love with her daughter. The mix of youthful angst and wry humor along with Dustin Hoffman's edgy lead performance, plus the contemporary soundtrack music of Simon and Garfunkel, would be catnip to the under-24 crowd. The Graduate turned out to be the #1 grossing film of the year.

Bonnie and Clyde and The Graduate weren't the only two films among the hit movies of 1967 with counterculture attitude and youth appeal. November brought Cool Hand Luke, the story of an incorrigible rascal of a prisoner on a Florida chain gang who will not stop trying to escape. Luke becomes a hero to the rest of the gang and the bane of the officers in charge. Paul Newman starred as Luke, the latest progression of a character type he had first undertaken in The Hustler and continued to explore with Hud, Harper and Hombre (1967). Iconoclastic, freewheeling and irresistibly charismatic, Luke was the role in the film that finally and firmly established Paul Newman's image as an archetypal antihero. Luke fit right in with Bonnie, Clyde, Benjamin-the-graduate and all the other rebels and mavericks who would soon populate theater screens everywhere. But, unlike others who became antiheroic icons of the era, Newman was already a bona fide movie star with three Oscar nominations under his belt when it happened. And he would receive another Best Actor nod for Cool Hand Luke.

It was while Paul Newman was filming Hombre that William Goldman got in touch and then came to visit him on the set in Tucson. Over several days they discussed the script Goldman brought with him, an original story he then called "The Sundance Kid and Butch Cassidy;" until Newman changed his mind, it was understood that he would play the Kid. What Goldman had conceived was a revisionist Western written not as the "sprawling epic" it could've been but as a personal story tied to the bond between two outlaws. The plot followed their exploits, the arrival of a "super-posse" hired to find them and take them down, the pair's escape to South America and their eventual demise in Bolivia. But the key to the story was the relationship between the two men.

It was no secret that Steve McQueen was everyone's first choice to co-star, that he and Newman had met and gone over the script, and that both were interested. There are varying accounts as to why this potentially intriguing pairing didn't happen, but McQueen's departure opened the door for Robert Redford, then a promising but minor leading man. Such is kismet. Director George Roy Hill had convinced Newman to take the role of Butch, a warm, affable charmer who, in real life, was liked by everyone including the Pinkerton detectives. Newman would later admit that he used "a good deal" of himself in the role. Redford was given the role of Sundance, the cool, solitary gunslinger. As Sundance, Redford would dazzle on sight, with his steady gaze and shaggy good looks. More importantly, he would have a chance to prove himself in a plum role. His, like Newman's, was an offbeat character with particular quirks and idiosyncrasies. In Goldman's view, Butch and Sundance had to be "appealing...different and special," that's how he wrote them. Newman and Redford would deliver more than that. The two managed to connect and project a rare mix of chemistry and devastating charisma the movie camera loved. And audiences would love the pair, too. It was said that without that audience reaction, "there's no picture." Fortunately, the picture was also blessed with Goldman's playful but finely balanced script, Hill's sure direction, Conrad Hall's evocative cinematography and a "semi-modern" score by Burt Bacharach.

Disregarding standard Western genre conventions for heroes, heroism, action and romance, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid would be fashioned as something more reflective, and more fun, about male bonding, changing times, self-reinvention and, with a subtle nod in the direction of Francois Truffaut's Jules and Jim (1962), triangular relationships.

One of the film's most striking assets is how deftly the balance of comedy and drama is handled. In the early scenes even the diciest moments of confrontation are played out with wit and whimsy. The tone starts to shift when the super-posse, a pack of gunmen on horseback, bursts out of a boxcar and launches its relentless hunt. Now tension begins to mount and a sense of desperation slowly seeps in. And yet Butch and Sundance continue to banter, though their humor grows darker as their future dims. Goldman would acknowledge his concern that if the film came off as too funny, no one would care when Butch and Sundance died. And he admitted that finding the balance between comedy and drama had been "brutal." Goldman may have suffered, but he found it.

Like Bonnie and Clyde, Butch and Sundance got off to a rocky start. The then-important New York critics didn't like it much. But within a couple of weeks, regardless of a lack of significant critical support, the film had become a phenomenon. A blockbuster. The #1 grossing film of 1969 and the #3 box office hit of the decade. Butch and Sundance would earn more than $100 million, that's more than $700 million in 2019 dollars. Redford would later remark that "the critics missed the chord that was hit with the public," referring to the resonant bond between Butch and Sundance and its across-the-generations appeal. And Goldman would remember the startling impact the film had on the younger generation of the late '60s and early '70s. He recalled a general theory of the time that the movie was actually about the Vietnam War, with the super-posse analogous to the government and "Nixon coming to get you," and the kids seeing themselves in Butch and Sundance.

Toward the end of the film, Etta Place (Katharine Ross), Sundance's lover, tells her man she'll do just about anything for him but she won't watch him die. The decision to depict Butch and Sundance's miserable end in Bolivia with a freeze-frame image rather than a bloodbath was both shrewd and kind. We'd already seen it with Bonnie and Clyde and would see it again many times. Besides, the future of the two outlaws was no mystery, Sheriff Bledsoe had announced it early on when he told the men, "Your times is over and you're gonna die bloody." Thankfully, like Etta, we didn't have to watch.

# Easy Rider and the New Hollywood

_John Greco (_Twenty Four Frames _)_

_" You know, this used to be a helluva good country. I can't understand what's gone wrong with it." \- George Hanson_

I originally was going to write about the year 1969 in film, but with the recent passing of Peter Fonda (in August) I turned my thoughts toward Fonda and _Easy Rider._

It's hard to believe that in Quentin Tarantino's recent ode to 1969, _Once Upon a Time in Hollywood_ , that neither Peter Fonda nor Dennis Hopper did not get a mention. Both are icons of the period. Though born into Hollywood royalty, Peter Fonda embraced the spirit of the sixties rebellion. He could have easily followed the path other Hollywood offspring and become a typical Hollywood idol in the tradition of Michael Douglas or Nancy Sinatra, instead, Fonda grew his hair long, rebelled, and became a symbol of the growing counterculture.

In 1965, Fonda met The Beatles at a home rented by Brian Epstein and tripped on acid with John Lennon and George Harrison. During the episode Fonda began talking about his near-fatal self-inflicted gunshot wound and telling Harrison he knew what it was like to be dead inspiring the Lennon-McCartney song _She Said, She Said._

Fonda's film career after a few minor straight low-budget films like The Young Lovers and Tammy and the Bachelor along a series of TV show turned more toward his counterculture roots with films like _The Wild Angels_ and _The Trip_ in part thanks to his friendship with Roger Corman. Then came 1969 and _Easy Rider_. Fonda and Hopper first worked together in Roger Corman's _The Trip_ , written by Jack Nicholson. _Easy Rider_ is a modern-day western with motorcycles instead of horses. They were outlaws antiheroes, and they went looking for America. They found it at the end of a shotgun used by two rednecks.

Written by Fonda, Hopper and Terry Southern, and directed by Hopper, _Easy Rider_ shook the Hollywood establishment where it hurt... in their financial pockets. There was a youth market out there with money to spend and they wanted a piece of the action. The film became a counterculture classic, the rock soundtrack, the first to use a playlist of previously recorded songs ( _Born to be Wild, The Pusher_ , and _Wasn't Born to Follow_ ). Other films used rock-and-roll songs going as far back as The Blackboard Jungle (955) with _Rock Around the Clock_ in its opening credits. _The Graduate_ used a rock soundtrack with Simon and Garfunkel songs, but _Easy Rider_ was the first to do a complete soundtrack. Other filmmakers followed using a rock soundtrack like Martin Scorsese in _Mean Streets_. Today, of course, many filmmakers have followed. _Easy Rider_ grossed over sixty million dollars on a budget of less than $400,000. Hollywood listened and willingly opened its pocketbooks to untried, young directors.

Hollywood didn't just change in 1969, it was a gradual shift because of a variety of situations: the loosening of the Production Code, a new breed of actors and filmmakers. Films like _Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolfe, The Graduate, Rosemary's Baby,_ and _Bonnie & Clyde_ helped pushed the change. But it was in 1969 that the Hollywood establishment really took notice.

1969 was historical in many ways, both good and bad. The good included man landing on the moon and the Woodstock festival. The bad included the Manson Murders and the ever-escalating war in Vietnam. Old Hollywood just didn't roll over and play dead, there were still plenty of glossy stale Hollywood films like _Hello Dolly, The Bridge at Remagen, and Goodbye Mr. Chips_. John Wayne even managed to win an Oscar for _True Grit_ , but it was the more edgy films taking advantage of the new freedom that raised 1969 to a great year: _Medium Cool, Midnight Cowboy, They Shoot Horses, Don't They? Bob and Carol and Ted and Alice, Last Summer, The Wild Bunch, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid,_ and _Easy Rider_.

Music played an important part in the film's success. Steppenwolf's _Born to be Wild_ sets the style during the opening credits as we see Wyatt and Billy riding in the open spaces. A similar scene with The Byrds _Wasn't Born to Follow_ playing reflects the free-spirited atmosphere. Many songs on the soundtrack comment or maybe a better word is compliment what we watched on screen. It was groundbreaking.

You can't talk about _Easy Rider_ without mentioning Jack Nicholson who played the alcoholic ACLU lawyer, George Hanson. It was his breakout role. Nicholson had been around the Hollywood industry in low-budget films making his debut in _The Cry Baby Killer (1958)._ For years, Nicholson labored in the low budget world of Roger Corman in films like _The Little Shop of Horrors, The Raven, The Terror,_ and _The St. Valentine's Massacre._ Nicholson also made two now offbeat classic westerns directed by Monte Hellman _(The Shooting and Ride the Whirlwind_ ). There were others, but it wasn't until his appearance in _Easy Rider_ that he made his mark and went on to make a series of classic films that will be remembered and admired for years.

# The Chariot Race in Ben-Hur (1959)

Amanda Garrett (Old Hollywood Films)

The 1959 version of Ben-Hur is celebrating its 60th anniversary this year. One of old Hollywood's best remembered films, this ancient epic set during the life of Christ has a lot to recommend it, including great performances, lavish sets and costumes, and fabulous set pieces like a spectacular sea battle.

However, Ben-Hur's real pièce de résistance is the famous chariot scene, a roughly 11-minute sequence that can still thrill movie fans 60 years after the film's release. In this article, I'll detail what makes the chariot race so special, but first here's some background.

Ben-Hur tells the story of Jewish aristocrat Judah Ben-Hur (Charlton Heston), who lives in luxury in first-century Jerusalem with his mother (Martha Scott) and his sister (Cathy O'Donnell). Judah's childhood friend Messala (Stephen Boyd) comes back to command the Roman garrison in the city and Messala hopes to secure Judah's assistance in quelling the many rebellions in Palestine; however, when Judah refuses, Messala eventually has him jailed on trumped-up charges. After serving as a galley slave in Roman warships and as a charioteer in Rome, Judah returns to Jerusalem to challenge Messala to a chariot race.

Ben-Hur, which is based on an 1880 novel by Christian writer Lew Wallace, had already been filmed once by MGM in 1925 to critical plaudits and a box-office bonanza. Studio chiefs had toyed with remaking the movie for years; in fact, a sound version starring Marlon Brando made it into pre-production before MGM dropped the idea in 1956. After Paramount Pictures' The Ten Commandments lit up the box office, the studio decided to revisit the idea, this time with Heston, who had starred in The Ten Commandments, in the lead. MGM's gamble paid off when Ben-Hur became the second-highest grossing movie in old Hollywood history — it was surpassed only by Gone With the Wind (1939) — and won 11 Academy Awards, including best picture, best director for William Wyler, and best actor for Heston.

Ben-Hur's opening scene of Christ's birth makes it an excellent Christmas movie, but there's also plenty of spectacle, especially during the chariot race scene. Here's five reasons why it's so great:

The Build-Up

Wyler, who directed classics like Mrs. Miniver (1942), The Best Years of Our Lives (1946), and The Heiress (1949), was a master of making the intimate epic. He has the opposite task in Ben-Hur, which he pulls off with aplomb. Wyler carefully lays the groundwork for the complex friendship/rivalry between Judah and Messala in the first half of film. It all culminates with the climactic chariot race that opens the second half of the film.

The Set

MGM lavished $1 million alone on recreating the famous Jerusalem circus in lavish and historically accurate detail on an 18-acre set outside of Rome. The set, which included a center oval that was carved out of a huge stone by 1,000 Italian craftsmen and 40,000 tons of sand trucked in from the Mediterranean, makes for breathtaking viewing. Wyler properly shows off the spectacular set in a stunning opening sequence that shows the horses walking around the track in perfect unison (this scene is also greatly aided by Miklos Rozsa's evocative score, which was based on ancient Roman melodies).

Messala

Every good old Hollywood movie needs a great villain, and Ben-Hur certainly has that in Boyd's mercurial, charismatic portrayal of the Roman commander. Messala is both understandably human (who hasn't wanted to get ahead in their career at some point) and deeply weird (his tendency to indulge in sinister giggling), and his death scene is probably the best piece of acting in the film. It's a shame that Boyd didn't win the best supporting actor Oscar for Ben-Hur — shockingly, he wasn't even nominated — but the honor went to his costar Hugh Griffith for his gaudy performance as Sheik Ilderim.

The Race

It took about five weeks for second-unit director Andrew Marton and legendary stuntman Yakima Canutt to film the chariot race. They used 76 Andalusian and Lipizzan horses that were trained for about three months to pull the heavy chariots. Most of what you are seeing on screen is stunt doubles, but both Boyd and Heston learned how to drive the chariots, and they pulled off some pretty impressive stunts of their own, including Heston clambering over a chariot and Boyd being dragged by a team of horses. BTW, there's a persistent urban legend that a stunt person died during filming, but that's not true. All of those people you see being trampled are very lifelike dummies.

Lots and Lots of Cheering

The thrill of victory and the agony of defeat is made even more exciting by the reaction shots of the actors and 1,000 rowdy extras who crowded into the stands (like true sports fans of any era, they run out onto the track at the end of the race). The excellent character actor Frank Thring goes from indifference to disgust as Roman governor Pontius Pilate, but the undisputed king of sportsfaces (as they call it on the Internet these days) is Griffith whose priceless reaction shots range from manic shouting to wild jubilation.

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# Top Five Film Noirs from 70 Years Ago

Karen Burroughs-Hannsberry (Shadows and Satin)

There's a reason why they called it "The Golden Age of Hollywood."

These days, if I were to decide on any given evening that I wanted to go to the picture show, I'd be hard-pressed to find something that was worth my time or money.

But that wasn't the case 70 years ago.

The year 1949 saw the release of such lauded classic film fare as The Heiress, A Letter to Three Wives, On the Town, Sands of Iwo Jima, Adam's Rib, and All the Kings Men. And then there were the film noir features that came out 70 years ago – it was a veritable noir-extravaganza!

To help celebrate the 10-year anniversary of the Classic Movie Blog Association (CMBA) – of which I've been a proud member since 2011 – I'm taking a look at what I consider to be the top five film noir that are turning 70 this year. They may not be the most popular noirs of the year, or even the most highly acclaimed, but they're definitely my favorite five and the ones that I've seen over and over (and over) again.

So here they are, in no particular order, my top five films noir of 1949 – watch out for spoilers, y'all – and happy anniversary CMBA!!

House of Strangers

House of Strangers is probably the least noirish noir of the group. But don't get me wrong – it still packs a cynical, shadowy punch. The film stars Edward G. Robinson as Gino Monetti, the head of a successful bank and the patriarch of an Italian family that consists of four sons: Joe (Luther Adler), Tony (Efrem Zimbalist, Jr.), Pietro (Paul Valentine), and Max (Richard Conte). Max, an attorney, is clearly his father's favorite – Gino treats the other three, who work for him in the bank, like the hired help, refusing to give his eldest, Joe, a raise, and frequently referring to the youngest, Pietro, as "dumb head."

Although Gino's bank is profitable, it turns out that his practices are dubious at best and illegal at worst. The law eventually catches up to him, and when he's arrested, Max is the only son who stands by his side – even bribing a witness in an attempt to secure his father's freedom. But Max's valiant (if misguided) efforts are all for naught – his father goes to jail, and so does he. Gino dies in prison and when Max emerges five years later, he's intent on avenging his father's death.

I'm a huge Richard Conte fan, and in House of Strangers, he doesn't disappoint. He's sexy, audacious, shrewd, intelligent, ruthless, and sexy. (Did I say that already?) Edward G. Robinson does his usual fantastic job, this time effectively pulling off an Italian accent, and these two are ably supported by the rest of the cast which, in addition to the actors who played the brothers, includes Hope Emerson, Debra Paget, and Susan Hayward as Max's thoroughly bad-ass girlfriend.

Too Late for Tears

From the opening scene of this film – which features Lizabeth Scott complaining to her husband (Arthur Kennedy) about the dinner party they're headed for, and bitching about the host's "diamond-studded wife" – to the shocking ending that left my mouth agape at my first viewing, there's nothing I don't love about Too Late for Tears. Scott is Jane Palmer, who's unhappy with her middle-class life and doesn't want to just keep up with the Joneses – she wants to surpass them. So when a satchel packed with a cool 60 grand in cash is mistakenly tossed into the family vehicle one dark night, turning it into the authorities like a good citizen is the last thing on Jane's mind.

Jane's husband, Alan (Arthur Kennedy), wants to do the right thing, so of course, he's not long for this world. And Jane's next obstacle – the cash money's rightful recipient, played by the always fabulous Dan Duryea – soon finds that he's disposable as well. Unfortunately for Jane, her smooth lies and clever machinations don't pull the wool over the eyes of Alan's sister (Kristine Miller) and a tenacious stranger (Don DeFore) who claims to be Alan's old Army buddy.

Of all of Lizabeth Scott's noirs (and she's in some great ones, including my much-loved The Strange Love of Martha Ivers and Pitfall), Too Late for Tears is doubtlessly my favorite. Scott's Jane is one of the most ruthless, thoroughly bad housewives you'll ever want to come across; unfeeling, deceitful, self-centered, and avaricious, she's a classic sociopath with murderous tendencies. And I can't get enough of her.

The Set-Up

This film is so good, and it doesn't get nearly the attention it deserves. Offered in real-time on a single evening, The Set-Up tells the story of Stoker Thompson (Robert Ryan), an aging boxer who refuses to go gently into that good night. On this particular night, he's feeling good about his chances to emerge victorious from his scheduled bout, not knowing that his faithful, steadfast, and endlessly supportive wife Julie (Audrey Totter) can no longer bear to watch him getting beat up and won't be in her normal seat in the stadium. He also doesn't know that his manager (George Tobias) and trainer (Percy Helton) have taken money from a local gangster, ignominiously named 'Little Boy' (Alan Baxter), to ensure that Stoker takes a dive.

The Set-Up primarily alternates between Stoker's actions inside the Paradise City boxing arena, and his wife's agonizing deliberation over whether to support her husband or stay away from the match. There are several other minor, but memorable characters, who greatly add to the film's flavor. These include boxers like the quietly confident Luther Hawkins (James Edwards) and the punch-drunk Gunboat Johnson (David Clarke), whose career has almost certainly ended on this night. Other members of the supporting cast can be found in the audience of the boxing arena, like the blind man who has every move described to him by a friend, the portly spectator who seemingly never stops shoveling food into his mouth, and the woman who comes off as slightly squeamish, but watches each match with her eyes blazing with frenzied passion, and at one point is heard to scream, "Let's have some action!"

Based on a poem by Joseph Moncure March about a washed-up black boxer, The Set-Up is one of Robert Ryan's best noirs. It's not your typical film from this era, but it does have what I consider to be the essential noir quality: that feeling of impending dread, and the suspicion that everything is not going to turn out all right. And it's got that feeling in spades.

Tension

In Tension, Audrey Totter moves from the good side that she exhibited in The Set-Up to the unmistakably bad side. Here, she's Claire Quimby, who's unhappily married to a mild-mannered pharmacist Warren (Richard Basehart), but manages to keep herself entertained by swiping pricey bottles of perfume from the drug store where Warren works, and stepping out with any Tom, Dick or Harry who happens to catch her fancy. When she hooks up with a well-to-do local guy named Barney Deager (Lloyd Gough), Claire decides to leave her humdrum hubby, who tries valiantly to win her back, but winds up getting a Barney beat-down.

Warren gets the bright idea to assume another identity – a fellow named Paul Sothern – murder Barney, and pin the crime on the fake persona, but somebody beats him to the punch. Barney winds up dead before Warren/Paul can get his mitts on him, and Claire comes skittering back home to Warren as the authorities are all trying to track down the elusive Mr. Sothern. Talk about tension!

There are two main reasons why I love this movie – the crazy plot and Audrey Totter. Noirs are notorious for their labyrinthine storylines, but this one is more than that. It requires a hefty suspension of disbelief (after all, Warren's big transformation into Paul Sothern simply involves him donning a pair of spectacles) but you just have to go with it. And Audrey Totter is pure nastiness, through and through – watching her sneer and snipe at her husband gives me pure joy.

Criss Cross

No matter how I'm feeling when I make a top 10 film noir list (and my lists have been known to vary, depending on the time that I compile them and the mood I'm in), Criss Cross is one film that always makes every list. For me, it's just about perfect, possibly ranking second to my all-time favorite noir, Double Indemnity. It stars Burt Lancaster as Steve Thompson, who returns to his native San Francisco and reunites with his ex-wife, Anna (Yvonne DeCarlo), only to find that you really can't go home again. Turns out that Anna's involved with local mobster Slim Dundee (Dan Duryea), but even after Anna becomes Mrs. Dundee, Steve is still obsessed and determined to have her for his own.

Steve craftily joins forces with Slim to pull off a carefully planned heist of the armored car company where Steve is employed as a driver. But Steve's real plan – like Walter Neff of Double Indemnity – is to get the money and the girl. Guess what he winds up with?

There are so many things to love about this movie. First off, I dig all the standard film noir characteristics that it serves up – voiceover narration, flashback, shadowy scenes, upright man of the law, femme fatale, law-abiding everyman led into a life of crime by said femme fatale – and, of course, that imminent sensation of doom. But beyond that, it's got a cracking plot, first-rate performances by Lancaster, DeCarlo, and Duryea, and a perfect ending that fulfills the promise of the film's title. Oh, and it's also got a tender Tony Curtis, in his big screen debut, dancing with DeCarlo in a nightclub. What more could you ask for?

And that's my top five film noirs that folks were lucky enough to see on the big screen 70 years ago.

# Stray Dog (1949)

Patricia Nolan-Hall (Caftan Woman)

Stray Dog was my introduction to Akira Kurosawa; an introduction that occurred far later than it should have or, perhaps in the grand scheme of things, when the timing was right. The groundbreaking Japanese film is 70 years old this year and is a perfect time capsule of an era and startling fresh filmmaking. Kurosawa and frequent collaborator Ryuzo Kikushima first wrote Stray Dog as a crime novel before turning it into a screenplay.

The contemporary (1949) crime drama could easily be subtitled The Coming of Age of a Cop. A stifling heatwave has the entire population on edge, no one more so than rookie Homicide detective Murakami (Toshiro Mifune). The necessary urban scourge of public transportation put strangers in uncomfortably close quarters, both cops and crooks. The result of Murakami's transit journey finds his department-issued Colt revolver pinched. The former soldier presents himself to his superior in abject disgrace, expecting the worst for his transgression.

Murakami's employers have more understanding than the young man has for himself. He is quickly forgiven and offered guidance with the investigation. Experienced department heads and fellow workers in records and forensics give practical sympathy and point promising avenues to follow. Those avenues will include much pounding of the beat.

"apres guerre"

The French term for the post-war years used by Chief Detective Sato when discussing Murakami's situation.

The post-war Japan setting presents the opportunity to present two sides of the young returning veteran. Detective Murakami saw much beastly behavior and upon returning to Tokyo had his knapsack stolen. Bitterness filled his heart, yet he turned his face toward justice and his current career. An introverted young man named Shinjiro Yusa (Isao Kimura) was traumatized by the war and by the theft of his belongings upon returning to Tokyo. He turned to crime. Eventually, he would come into possession of Murakami's pistol and use it in increasing violent robberies, culminating in murder.

One of the pickpocket gang was a "middle-aged lady" and the mug shots lead to Ogin (Noriko Sengoku). While the pickpocket and Officer Ichikawa (Reikichi Kawamura) reminisce about their old days, the young detective observes and learns. Anxious to discover more about his gun from the tight-lipped Ogin, Murakami follows her. Filmed on city street locations, it is a chase that is amusing for the detective's doggedness in the face of Ogin's increasing frustration. Eventually, the pickpocket joins the ranks of the protective superior officers at headquarters. She offers the tired young detective a cold beer and the benefit of good advice for the next phase of the investigation.

Murakami sets out to find those who deal in contraband firearms. He becomes a down-and-outer, roaming the back alleys with a desperate and haunted look, waiting for someone to reach out with an illicit offer. Once more, Kurosawa and cinematographer Asakazu Nakai film the seedier sections of Tokyo capturing the atmosphere, the faces, and even evoking the smells of the underworld. Murakami's headstrong anxiety about his stolen gun clouds his judgment and in arresting a contact, misses his man. A victim is wounded by the gun in a robbery and Murakami feels he must resign.

Lt. Nakajima (Gen Shimizu): "Bad luck either makes a man or destroys him. Are you gonna let it destroy you? Depending on how you take it, bad luck can be a big break."

Murakami is placed on a team with Chief Detective Sato (Takashi Shimura), a much-respected officer with many commendations. Sato's reputation has Murakami's built-in respect, and the relationship between the two characters flourishes.

Once more Kurosawa takes his camera to a unique setting as a gun-runner named Honda (Reizaburo Yamamoto) is traced to Korakuen Stadium. Filming an actual baseball game must have been interesting for film and baseball fans of the day, nostalgic for a later generation, and interesting history for still later viewers. It makes for a tense and exciting incident in the film.

The investigation takes a deeply emotional turn as Sato turns to murder during a break-in. The grief of the victim's husband wounds Murakami deeply. Sato tries to help his young protege navigate the pitfalls of becoming too involved with crime victims or alternately hardening your heart against any emotion. The necessities of investigating citizens at such a vulnerable time must be dealt with as the team learns about Yusa's home life and background. They discover the soft spot in his heart for childhood friend Harumi Namika (Keiko Awaji). Harumi is a young chorus girl, and this avenue brings varied and quirky show business characters into the officer's circle.

Murakami is asked to "tough it out" on a rainy night as the tumultuous mother/daughter relationship between Harumi and her single mother may lead to Yusa's whereabouts. Sato investigates a possible lead at a hotel. He has left his gun with Murakami and must face the frightened Yusa alone.

Detective Murakami thrives and matures during the incident of his stolen pistol. He uses his head when confronting Yusa, yet his heart still feels the pain.

Detective Murakami: "They say there is no such thing as a bad man. Only bad situations. Come to think of it, you have to feel sorry for Yusa."

Chief Detective Sato: "Oh, no. Thinking like that won't get you anywhere as a cop. It is easy to develop delusions, chasing criminals all day. We can't forget the many sheep a lone wolf leaves wounded."

Whatever the future holds for Detective Murakami, he will be a different cop from the one who lost his pistol on that crowded streetcar. His lessons and experiences will mold him. In some ways, he will be like his mentors, but in other ways, the war years will continue to shape his character.

The familiar mean streets of film noir are waiting for you in Stray Dog with the added cinematic experience of stepping into another place and time through the artistry and technical skill of Akira Kurosawa.

# The Third Man at 70

Tynan Yanaga (4 Star Films)

Oh, how I love The Third Man (or The 3rd Man). Regardless of how you write it, Carol Reed's post-war noir is one of those special films that was a case of love at first sight. I knew some of the reasons already, but watching the film with a friend (on his first viewing) teased them out even more so. It was a nice reminder of why this film continues to enchant me and engage me on fundamental levels time after time.

Dutch Angels in Post-War Vienna

My buddy was right. The Third Man is inherently disorienting. Visually the film presents all of its subjects from a stilted perspective. They're always slanted, featured in crammed together close-ups, and never quite sitting square in our line of vision from the camera's uncomfortably low angles. Whether we realize them or not, there's no doubt the Dutch angels (from "Deutch" or German) manipulate how we experience the action.

Starting with these formalistic elements, the mood is perfectly ingrained in the fundamental building blocks of the story with the crumbling city sectioned off into its uneasy alliances between the WWII victors. We have a crosshatching of districts and a melting pot of language and objectives.

Thus, when the blundering American author Holly Martins walks into the story, he, like his audience, has very little understanding of what is going on. His level of comprehension is lost in translation even as he goes around trying to get to the bottom of the scenario. Joseph Cotten does a fabulous job in the part, effectively becoming our eyes and ears in the environment.

And this strong association is part of the reason I so vehemently decried Netflix's tampering with the original film's ambiguity. If you're like me and Holly Martins, you're no polyglot, aside from a few token phrases here and there. When the old man or woman in the house rattles off something, you're lost in the unfamiliarity. You're waiting for someone to explain it, even trusting on the good graces of others. In some regards, you are helpless.

It's part of the way the film toys with us. You realize the whole time maybe you've been played and a whole level of the film's context has flown over your head. Subtitles alleviate our ignorance but also cause us to lose out on some of the perplexity felt as a result of such a global battleground. The Third Man capitalizes on the richness of these cultural ambiguities.

The Zither & Herb Alpert

The music is next on my list. My friend was right again. The title song's awfully familiar and after Anton Karas got plucked off the streets of Vienna to provide the lively but strangely hollow and foreboding soundtrack, it would go onto some acclaim on the music charts (including a guitar rendition by Guy Lombardo).

The tune is one of a select few early movie themes to hit the mainstream remaining fairly recognizable even today. This is even more surprising given its inauspicious roots. My friend connected the dots later only to realize he'd heard the particularly Latin-flavored version by Herb Alpert and The Tijuana Brass on their album!! Going Places!! He taught me something learned new, but you learn a lot being friends with an avid record collector.

Quick Pacing

It might be a mere generalization, but I feel like there are often complains leveled at films of yore that they languish, there's too much talking, and they don't boast enough action. But I think my buddy was spot on once more. The Third Man has surprisingly timely pacing (aside from the deliberate final shot).

One of the practical reasons for this might have been director Carol Reed literally being hooked on the stimulant Benzedrine to get through his hectic shooting schedule around the clock. This might be one explanation for the zip, even in the opening monologue. However, there's also an undeniable drive to The Third Man because it's stuffed with questions, mystery, and underlying tension.

As information begins to reveal itself, we have screeching taxi rides, reveals, harrowing meetings on Ferris wheels, and climactic chases sequences clattering through the rubble-strewn streets and labyrinthian waterworks. But the reason it grips us has to do with falling in with intuitively compelling characters. That's as good a place as any to bring him up...

Harry Lime: Super-Villain?

The final observation I found to be particularly interesting was my buddy's acknowledgment that Harry Lime felt surprisingly modern, a precursor even to the current villain. I want to tease out this idea even more because I've been drawn to movies that layer their menace. I can think of the likes of Black Panther or Mission Impossible: Fallout as two recent examples.

However, what I mean by this is how you don't quite know where the trouble is going to come from, who you can trust, and who will betray you. It makes for a glorious puzzle to navigate. Is Calloway someone we can give our allegiance to? He's an awful stickler for the law without clemency.

Mr. Crabbin is an unnerving chap before we ever learn who he is and the shifty-eyed likes of the Baron, Dr. Winkel, and Popescu have far more to tell than they willingly divulge. The woman Anna (Valli), who loves Harry, is almost delusional with her unwavering love for a scoundrel. Even Cotten, our initial hero, lumbers around like a drunken idiot, thinking he has everything figured out.

And of course, there's Mr. Harry Lime himself. The most iconic, charismatic, Machiavellian anti-hero. Orson Welles makes him a dashing shadowy specter, larger-than-life and theatrical. But there's no discounting the mercilessness pulsing through him. None of these characters are strait-laced by any stretch of the imagination. They have some flaw, evil, or vice dragging them down. Lime just remains the mastermind and the poster boy of it all.

The one character who seems like a generally agreeable chap is, of course, the one who (SPOLIERS) gets it. Somehow it fits the times and the world. It couldn't be any other way.

So, 70 years on The Third Man still remains one of the preeminent examples of a quality thriller, pulsing with atmosphere, style, romance, and intrigue. To say they don't quite make movies like this anymore is immaterial.

What's truly staggering is how brilliantly Carol Reed's film still holds up. I look forward to many more viewings to come, preferably with a friend or two. After all, they're the ones who help me appreciate classics like these with new eyes.

# **Robert Meets a Ghost (1944)**

Patricia Gallagher (The Movie Night's Group's to Classic Film)

When the ancestral home of the de Canterville's is sequestered for use by the U.S. Army, the heiress, Lady Jessica de Canterville (Margaret O'Brien) meets an American descendent of the family Cuffy Williams (Robert Young). They also meet the resident ghost, Sir Simon de Canterville (Charles Laughton) who was condemned to walk the halls of the house until a descendant performs an act of bravery. Could Cuffy be the one to free The Canterville Ghost (1944)?

As part of the 10th Anniversary celebration for the Classic Movie Blog Association, we're featuring film-related anniversaries. Now 75 years old, The Canterville Ghost is also part of the memorials for the Second World War and D-Day (it was released in August, just two months after the invasion).

Let's begin by mentioning that the screenplay, adapted from an Oscar Wilde short story of the same name, has only marginal similarity to its inspiration. This is very much a World War II tale - there is no need for a descendant to perform an act of bravery for Sir Simon in Wilde's version. For one thing, Sir Simon's crime in Wilde's story is far more deserving of his horrible fate - in an unjustified fit of jealousy, he murders his innocent wife. In the film version, Sir Simon runs away from an opponent in a duel - even Sir Simon's adversary thinks his punishment horrific. Because the victim of his crime in the Wilde novella was a woman, Sir Simon must be saved by a woman: "you must weep for me for my sins, because I have no tears, and pray with me for my soul, because I have no faith, and then, if you have always been sweet, and good, and gentle, the Angel of Death will have mercy on me." (The Canterville Ghost by Oscar Wilde). The idea of courage under fire was deemed more meaningful in the midst of the war.

As we saw in Journey for Margaret (1942), the chemistry between Margaret O'Brien and Robert Young is outstanding. He's also faced with the unenviable task of playing a coward as his country (and the viewers of the film) face an horrific war. It cannot have been easy to play a man who begins the film running from danger, but Mr. Young takes on the task. He makes Cuffy even more the hero, because the audience is aware that he is truly afraid. (Mr. Young remained in Hollywood during World War II. He participated in war bond rallies and worked with the local civil defense.)

Equally enjoyable are the scenes between Charles Laughton and Ms. O'Brien. He was "enchanted" by Ms. O'Brien (TCM article) and their affection shows. It's been said that Mr. Laughton wanted children, however his wife, Elsa Lanchester, was either not willing or unable to have children (she admitted to at least two abortions). Mr. Laughton was allegedly quite receptive to interactions with youngsters - in fact, his only work as a director, The Night of the Hunter (1955), focused on two children.

We were especially taken with the dancing sequence in which a young soldier asks Lady Jessica to dance. As the child is unfamiliar with swing dancing, the soldier does all the steps for her. Ms. O'Brien really gets into the routine - even when she is unable to do something, she turns control over to her partner. It's a lot of fun to watch.

The film also demonstrates the skills of a number of excellent character performers: Una O'Connor (Mrs. Umney) is good as Lady Jessica's nanny. William Gargan (Sargent Benson) has just the right amount of military demeanor for a man who has literally just seen a ghost. Peter Lawford (Anthony de Canterville) dons a blonde wig that we suspect he stole from June Allyson to play Sir Simon's brother. Reginald Owen (Lord Canterville) is autocratic as a man who values courage over the life of his son.

The film was originally to be directed by Norman McLeod, but Charles Laughton was concerned with Mr. McLeod prior experiences with broad comedy (he was the director on two Marx Brothers and one W. C. Fields films), and requested that he be replaced. Jules Dassin stepped in, and he and Mr. Laughton got on swimmingly. As this was one of Mr. Dassin's earliest feature films, Mr. Laughton provided advice in private, which the director found helpful.

There have been numerous adaptions of The Canterville Ghost. An early television broadcast (September 1949) starred Wendy Barrie and Edward Ashley. The following year, Robert Montgomery Presents Your Lucky Strike Theatre (November 1950) had a version with Cecil Parker and Margaret O'Brien. In April of 1951, the Du Mont network aired a show with Lois Hall and Reginald Sheffield. May 1953 saw Ziv TV show the story with John Qualen and Connie Marshall. It was made into a musical in November of 1966 \- again on television - with Michael Redgrave, Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. and Peter Noone (of Herman's Hermits fame), John Gielgud and Andrea Marcovicci were in a 1986 television film, and Patrick Stewart and Neve Campbell tackled the parts in 1996. (AFI catalog). A Film Comment article from 2018 calls this version "the strangest one of all," but we agree with them that it is "definitely charming."

#

# Double Indemnity (1944): Film Noir after Seventy-Five Years

Marianne L'Abbate (Make Mine Film Noir)

September 6, 1944, release date

Directed by Billy Wilder

Screenplay by Billy Wilder and Raymond Chandler

Based on the novel Double Indemnity by James M. Cain

Fred MacMurray as Walter Neff

Barbara Stanwyck as Phyllis Dietrichson

Edward G. Robinson as Barton Keyes

Billy Wilder directed many great films, some of which happen to be my personal favorites: Sunset Boulevard (1950), starring Gloria Swanson and William Holden; Some Like It Hot (1959), starring Marilyn Monroe, Jack Lemmon, and Tony Curtis; The Apartment (1960), starring Shirley MacLaine and Jack Lemmon. I have seen these films numerous times, but I hadn't seen Double Indemnity for the first time, from beginning to end, until earlier this year [2019].

My sister couldn't believe that I call myself a fan of noir, and I hadn't seen the film for so long. I find it a little hard to believe myself. I often like to say that I prefer the book to the film and that I want to read the book before I see the film version. But I had read James M. Cain's book, and I still balked at seeing the film for the longest time. And now that I have seen Double Indemnity, I see that it deserves all the praise that is directed its way. But I must confess that I struggled with writing this blog post.

It has to do with the actor playing the male lead: Fred MacMurray as Walter Neff. MacMurray is wonderfully slimy as Jeff D. Sheldrake, C. C. Baxter's (Jack Lemmon's) boss who offers career advancement in The Apartment only if Baxter allows his apartment to be used as a love nest for company executives. But I just cannot see MacMurray as a romantic lead or as an homme fatale. Did his starring role in the television series My Three Sons (1960–1972) ruin him as a man capable of dangerous passion? It may be part of the reason, but I am not entirely convinced. I have seen MacMurray in Borderline, a film noir in which he is paired with Claire Trevor, and I think he succeeds as a romantic lead in that film. I suspect, however, that some of the credit may be attributed to Trevor because she is fantastic in everything in which she appears. And MacMurray's part in Borderline didn't require lust and a lack of ethics.

James M. Cain's novel Double Indemnity, the story that is the basis for the film, is hard to beat for its noir characteristics, specifically its lack of redemption for all its characters. If I had to choose between the novel and the film (if I were stranded on a deserted ship and forced to lighten my load to avoid sinking!), I would have to pick the novel. It is pessimistic, it is bleak, it is thoroughly noir.

The ending is but one example of why I like the book more: Barton Keyes arranges an escape to Mexico via ship for Walter Huff (Walter Neff's name in the novel), but instead Huff finds himself on board a ship that is also carrying Phyllis Nirdlinger (Phyllis Dietrichson's name in the novel). Keyes had arranged both Phyllis's and Walter's ship passages; he wants to get rid of them rather than sully the name of the insurance company, his employer, by prosecuting a crime, murder, committed by one of its employees, namely, Huff. The ending isn't stated explicitly, but Huff seems resigned to following Nirdlinger overboard into shark-infested waters because neither one of them have any other options other than the death penalty. And death by shark would be decidedly quicker than navigating the legal system.

Billy Wilder made some changes to the story in the novel because the Motion Picture Production Code, also known as the Hays code, that prevailed in the film industry at the time wouldn't allow the subject of suicide and other topics deemed sensitive by the censors to be portrayed on-screen. In the film, Barton Keyes does catch up with Walter Neff and learns that he is responsible for the murders of both Phyllis and her husband, but he is deeply disappointed because he considers Walter a friend and is rather fond of him. Keyes's interest in Neff struck me as paternal; he takes an interest in his career path, for example, when he suggests that Neff become a claims adjustor and join his department.

In his commentary on the DVD, film historian Richard Schickel maintains that the most important relationship in the film is not the one between Phyllis and Walter, but the one between Walter and Barton Keyes. Lem Dobbs states the same in the commentary he almost shares with Nick Redman (I say "almost" because Dobbs does almost all the talking), although Dobbs feels that the relationship between the two is based on an equal footing and not a father-son dynamic. But these observations just emphasize how hard it is for me to see Fred MacMurray as a man capable of passion. His portrayal of Walter Neff just doesn't make me believe there is any lustful passion involved. Walter Neff wants the money; he wants to prove that he can beat the insurance industry at its own game. But I'm not sure he wants Phyllis Dietrichson quite as much.

Double Indemnity has earned high praise from many, and my copy of the film on DVD from Universal Studios Home Entertainment comes with not one but two audio commentaries: one by Richard Schickel and one by film historians Lem Dobbs and Nick Redman. The seventy-fifth anniversary of the film's release has received plenty of attention.

Many film noir scholars consider Double Indemnity to be the first true film noir, the first in a genre that was yet to be named when the film was released in 1944, seventy-five years ago. Film noir is a category that is very difficult to define, however, and people define it in different ways. Even trying to define a film noir period is difficult to do.

There is no doubt, however, that Double Indemnity stands up to scrutiny after seventy-five years (eighty-three years for the novel). Even after several decades, the stories in both the print and film versions are absorbing, and I think it's because they focus on the relationships among the characters. With the novel, readers can imagine the setting anyway they want to; with the film, the out-of-date styles for just about everything—from clothes to cars, even to office furniture—are clear and obvious. Yet the story still commands attention. In his audio commentary, Richard Schickel maintains that the changes to the novel for the screenplay owe their cohesion and success mostly to Billy Wilder, that he was the one who kept the focus on the characters and especially on the relationship between Walter Neff and Barton Keyes. I have to agree, and Schickel's points are probably some of many reasons why Double Indemnity still appeals to so many fans after seventy-five years.

# 85 Years of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers

Aurora Bugallo (Once Upon a Screen)

October 2019 marks the 85th anniversary of the country-wide release of Mark Sandrich's The Gay Divorcee. That occasion would normally have been just another movie release except it marks a significant moment in movie history. The Gay Divorcee, you see, was the first starring picture for Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. While cinema has given us many memorable romantic movie couples, only one was so memorably romantic in dance.

The Gay Divorcee is my favorite of the Astaire-Rogers pictures thanks in large part to its hilarious supporting cast including Alice Brady, Edward Everett Horton, Erik Rhodes, and Eric Blore who supply laughs galore in a story we'd see over and over again later in the 1930s as the Astaire and Rogers film canon picks up speed. Here we see Mimi Glossop (Rogers) trying to get a divorce from her estranged husband. Her Aunt Hortense (Brady) suggests she consult with attorney Egbert Fitzgerald (Horton) with whom Hortense has a romantic history. The fumbling lawyer suggests a great way for Mimi to get a quick divorce is for her to spend the night with a professional co-respondent and get caught being unfaithful by the private detectives hired for the task. Except, Egbert forgets to hire the detectives. As the co-respondent Egbert hires Rodolfo Tonetti (Rhodes) who is supposed to introduce himself to Mimi by saying "Chance is a fool's name for fate," but the Italian can't keep the line straight, which never fails to make this fan roar with laughter.

"Fate is the foolish thing. Take a chance."

In the meantime, staying in the same hotel is dancer Guy Holden (Astaire) who fell for Mimi the moment they had an uncomfortable meeting on the ship from England. Guy is determined to make Mimi his while she mistakes him for the co-respondent. It's quite the confusing premise that serves the talent of the cast and Astaire-Rogers pairings on the dance floor, which made the trip to the movies the magical experience these movies surely were.

Fred Astaire reprised his role from the stage play The Gay Divorce for The Gay Divorcee. Censors insisted that The Gay Divorce be changed to The Gay Divorcee, because a gay divorce was no laughing matter. Erik Rhodes and Eric Blore, who played the waiter in typical snooty fashion, also reprised their roles from the stage version. Cole Porter wrote the music for the stage production, but only one song, "Night and Day" was retained for the movie.

The Gay Divorcee won one Academy Award, the first ever Best Original Song for "The Continental" with music and lyrics by Con Conrad and Herb Magidson respectively. The film was also nominated for Best Picture, Best Art Direction, Best Sound, Recording, and Best Music Score for Max Steiner, then head of the sound department at RKO. While awards recognitions are great, the place The Gay Divorcee holds in history is much more important. As mentioned, this was the first movie where Fred Astaire's and Ginger Rogers' names appear above the title. This film also set the stage quite nicely for subsequent Astaire-Rogers movies, which often followed the same formula. First, Fred's character would usually annoy Ginger's upon first meeting. In The Gay Divorcee, for example, she has her dress caught in a trunk while he attempts to flirt. In Top Hat (1935) he wakes her up with his tap dancing in the room above hers. In Swing Time (1936) he asks her for change of a quarter only to ask for the quarter back a bit later.

Most Fred and Ginger movies also have mistaken identity central to the plot and most are set in lavish surroundings, extravagant art deco sets "Big White Sets" as they were called, and include travel to exotic places.

More importantly, most of the Astaire-Rogers movies feature dances that further the characters' story together, all are supremely executed, beautifully orchestrated, and emoted to a tee. Through dance Fred and Ginger express love, love lost, anger, giddiness, joy, despair, tragedy. The movies usually feature at least two main routines for the couple, one a fun, lighthearted affair and the other a serious, dramatic turn, depending on where in the story the dance takes place. Most can move this viewer to tears. These dance routines take precedence in the films above all other elements and are, ultimately, what create the Astaire-Rogers legend, each its own priceless gem. For this dance through history the focus is on the dance routines, which were born out of the RKO story.

RKO was born RKO Radio Pictures in October 1928 as the first motion picture studio created solely for the production of talking pictures by David Sarnoff and Joseph Kennedy as they met in a Manhattan oyster bar. Radio-Keith-Orpheum (RKO) resulted from the merger of the Radio Corporation of America, the Film Booking Offices of America, and the Keith-Albee-Orpheum circuit of vaudeville houses.

RKO had a successful first year producing about a dozen pictures, mostly film versions of stage plays. The studio doubled that number the following year and was established as a major studio with the Academy Award-winning Cimarron (1931) directed by Wesley Ruggles. Unfortunately, the film's success did not result in money for the studio. That year RKO lost more than $5 million, which resulted in the hiring of David O. Selznick to head production. Selznick immediately looked to stars to bring audiences into theaters to see RKO pictures. The first place he looked was the New York stage where he found and contracted Katharine Hepburn whom he placed in the hands of George Cukor for Bill of Divorcement (1932) opposite John Barrymore. Hepburn became a star and the movie was a hit, but RKO's fortunes did not improve making 1932 another difficult year. Enter Merian C. Cooper and a giant ape. David O. Selznick had made Cooper his assistant at RKO.

The idea of King Kong had lived in Copper's imagination since he was a child, but he never thought it could come to fruition until his time at RKO. It was there that Cooper met Willis O'Brien, a special effects wizard who was experimenting with stop motion animation.

King Kong premiered in March 1933 to enthusiastic audiences and reviews. RKO's financial troubles were such, however, that even the eighth wonder of the world could not save it. David O. Selznick left RKO for MGM and Merian Cooper took over as head of production tasked with saving the studio. Cooper tried releasing a picture a week and employing directors like Mark Sandrich and George Stevens. Of the two Sandrich made an important splash early with So This Is Harris! (1933), a musical comedy short that won the Academy Award for Best Short Subject. This short paved the way for RKO's memorable musicals of the decade, the first of which introduced future megastars Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers as a dancing duo.

"I'd like to try this thing just once" he says as he pulls her to the dance floor.

"We'll show them a thing or three," she responds.

And they did. For the movie studio permanently on the verge of bankruptcy Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers proved saving graces. Pandro S. Berman, who produced several of the Astaire-Rogers movies, said "we were very fortunate we came up with the Astaire-Rogers series when we did."

Fred Astaire was born Frederick Austerlitz II on May 10, 1899 in Omaha, Nebraska. Fred began performing at about the age of four with his older sister Adele. Their mother took them to New York in 1903 where they began performing in vaudeville as a specialty act. Of the two it was Adele, by all accounts a charmer on stage and off, who got the better reviews and was seen as the natural talent.

By the time Fred was ten years old, he and his sister were making about $50 a week on the famed Orpheum Circuit. As they traveled the country, their reputation grew and by 14 Fred had taken over the responsibility of creating steps and routines for their act. He also hunted for new songs as he was able, which led to a chance meeting in 1916 with then song plugger George Gershwin. Although the two did not work together then, they'd have profound effects on each other's careers in the future, including the Astaires headlining George and Ira Gershwin's first full-length New York musical, Lady, Be Good! in 1924.

Unlike her driven brother, Adele did not even like to rehearse. For Fred's constant badgering to rehearse she ascribed him the nickname "Moaning Minnie." Fred later admitted the nickname fit because he worried about everything. Between Fred's attention to detail and Adele's charm for an audience, the Astaire's review usually read like this, "Nothing like them since the flood!"

Fred and Adele made it to Broadway in 1917 with Over the Top, a musical revue in two acts, and never looked back. Their other hits in New York and London included the Gershwin smash, Funny Face (1927), where Adele got to introduce the Gershwin's "S Wonderful" and the Schwartz-Dietz production of The Band Wagon, Adele's final show before retiring to marry Lord Charles Cavendish in 1932. At the time she and her brother Fred were the toast of Broadway.

After his sister retired, Fred starred in Cole Porter's A Gay Divorce, his last Broadway show before heading west to Hollywood where he was signed by David O. Selznick at RKO. Legend goes that of Fred Astaire someone in Hollywood said after watching his screen tests, "Can't act; slightly bald; can dance a little." If true, those are words by someone who had a terrible eye for talent, but I doubt they are true because Fred Astaire was a huge international star of stage then. The likelihood that someone in Hollywood didn't know that is slim. David O. Selznick had seen Fred Astaire on Broadway and described him as "next to Leslie Howard, the most charming man on the American stage." What was true is that Fred Astaire did not look like the typical movie star. He was 34 years old at the time, an age considered old for movie stardom. Astaire's mother insisted he should retire at 34 since he'd been in the business from such a young age. We can only be thankful he ignored her request.

Not sure what to do with him, or perhaps to see what he could do, Selznick lent Astaire to MGM where he made his first picture dancing with Joan Crawford in Robert Z. Leonard's Dancing Lady (1933). Flying Down to Rio experienced some delays, but it was ready to go after Dancing Lady so Fred returned to RKO to do "The Carioca" with a contract player named Ginger Rogers.

By the time Fred Astaire made his first picture, Ginger Rogers had made about 20. She was under contract with RKO and excelled at sassy, down-to-Earth types. In 1933 Ginger had gotten lots of attention singing "We're in the money" in Gold Diggers of 1933 (1933) and in 42nd Street. She did not have top billing in either of those, but the public noticed her.

Ginger Rogers was born Virginia Katherine McMath in Independence, Missouri on July 16, 1911. Her first few years of life were confusing ones. Her parents were divorced and Ginger was kidnapped by her father several times until her mother, Lelee (or Lela), took him to court. In need of a job, Ginger's mother left her with her grandparents while looking for a job as a scriptwriter.

Lelee met and married John Rogers in 1920 and, for all intents and purposes, became Ginger's father. The family moved to Dallas where, at the age of 14, Ginger won a Charleston contest, going on to become Charleston champion dancer of Texas. The prize was a 4-week contract on the Vaudeville Interstate circuit. Lela took management of her daughter and put together an act called "Ginger and Her Redheads." Ginger continued to perform on her own after the Redheads were disbanded eventually going to New York where she was seen by the owner of the Mocambo night club who recommended her to friends for the Broadway show Top Speed.

Ginger was making two-reelers in New York when she was offered a Paramount contract making her feature appearance in Monta Bell's Young Man of Manhattan (1930) starring Claudette Colbert. At about that time, she was cast as the lead in the Gershwin musical Girl Crazy, which - by happenstance one afternoon - offered her the opportunity to dance with Fred Astaire for the first time ever. Astaire had been brought in to the Girl Crazy production to see if he could offer suggestions for the routines. Ginger was asked to show him one of the main numbers to which he said, "Here Ginger, try it with me."

Ginger and Lela headed to Hollywood and the picture business in earnest. She made a few forgettable pictures for Pathé and was cast as Anytime Annie in 42nd Street and singing that number about money in Golddiggers of 1933. Both gave Ginger Rogers ample opportunity to show off her comedic skills. These types of parts, funny flappers, were definitely in the cards for Ginger Rogers until fate intervened when Dorothy Jordan, who was scheduled to dance "The Carioca" with Fred in Flying Down to Rio, married Merian C. Cooper instead. Ginger was by now under contract with RKO so she was rushed onto the set of Flying Down to Rio three days after shooting had started.

"They get up and dance" in 1933

The stage direction in the original screenplay for Flying Down to Rio simply read, "They get up and dance." Ginger Rogers was billed fourth and Fred Astaire fifth showing she was the bigger star at the time. In looking at Astaire and Rogers doing "The Carioca" in Flying Down to Rio one doesn't get the impression that these are legends in the making. Ginger agreed as she wrote in her memoir that she never would have imagined what was to come from that dance. "The Carioca" is exuberant, youthful, and fun, but certainly lesser than most of the routines the couple would perform in subsequent films. I say that because we can now make a comparison. At the time audiences went crazy for "The Carioca" and the dancers who performed it, their only number together in the Flying Down to Rio and only role aside from the comic relief they provide. The picture was, after all, a Dolores Del Rio and Gene Raymond vehicle.

Hermes Pan's first assignment at RKO was to find Fred Astaire on stage 8 to see if he could offer assistance. Fred showed him a routine and explained he was stuck in a part for the tap solo in Flying Down to Rio. Hermes offered a suggestion and another legendary movie pairing was made. Pan worked on 17 Astaire musicals making musical movie magic for decades.

On Flying Down to Rio, Hermes Pan explained that he went to early previews and was surprised to see the audience cheer and applaud after "The Carioca." The studio knew they had something big here and they wanted to capitalize on the Astaire-Rogers pairing, which made an impact on the audience far greater than the film's romantic leads.

When RKO approached Fred Astaire about making another picture paired with Ginger Rogers, Astaire refused. After years being part of a duo with Adele, the last thing he wanted was to be paired permanently with another dancer. If he was to do another picture he wanted an English dancer as his partner, they were more refined. Pandro Berman told him, "the audience likes Ginger" and that was that. Astaire was at some point given a percentage of the profits from these pictures and the worries about working with Ginger subsided. Ginger's contribution to the pairing was not considered important enough to merit a percentage of the profits.

The Gay Divorcee (1934)

The Gay Divorcee offers ample opportunity to fall in love with the Astaire-Rogers mystique. The first is a beautiful number shot against a green screen backdrop, Cole Porter's "Night and Day." Fred as Guy professes his love for Mimi (Ginger), mesmerizing her with dance until she is completely taken by the end. He, so satisfied, offers her a cigarette.

Later in the film the two, now reconciled after a huge mix-up, dance "The Continental." The song is introduced by Ginger who is swept off her feet to join the crowd in the elaborate production number. Needless to say Fred and Ginger clear the floor with outstanding choreography. "The Continental" sequence lasts over 17 minutes, the longest ever in a musical holding that record until Gene Kelly's 18-minute ballet in An American in Paris in 1951. "The Continental" was clearly intended to capture the excitement of "The Carioca" and exceeds that by eons with enthusiasm and gorgeous execution by these two people whose chemistry is palpable. No one could have known if either Fred or Ginger could carry a movie, but The Gay Divorcee proved they were stars of unique magnitude. For 85 years dance on film has never been bettered and that's why I celebrate this anniversary with all the enthusiasm I could muster as my contribution to The Anniversary Blogathon sponsored by the Classic Movie Blog Association (CMBA), which is celebrating its tenth year of classic love.

Fred always gets a solo number in these pictures, by the way and, as you'd expect, they're wonderful. Many times these take place in hotel rooms all of which \- luckily - have fantastic floors for tap dancing. In addition, The Gay Divorcee has the added attraction of a routine with Edward Everett Horton and Betty Grable, who has a small part in this.

Fred Astaire and Hermes Pan, who helped put together all of the dance sequences, began work on the routines up to six weeks before the principal photography was scheduled to start on the pictures. Pan played Ginger's part and would teach her the routines once she arrived to start rehearsals. Her part was long and arduous and Fred Astaire always said he admired her work ethic as she gave everything she had to make those routines memorable and match him move for move. As they say, she did everything he did backwards and in heels. In later interviews, Fred always made it a point to state that Ginger was also the only one of his partners who never cried. The unfailing result of their work together is absolute beauty in human form. Ginger Rogers completely gave herself to Fred Astaire, was entirely pliable to his every whim in dance. This is why they became legend together. Fred may have partnered with better dancers and I certainly cannot say whether that's true or not, but what he had with Ginger Rogers was special. The Gay Divorcee was only the beginning.

As for working with Fred again, Ginger had no worries. She enjoyed the partnership and the dancing and was fulfilled by doing various other parts at the same time. While Fred and Hermes worked on the routines she was able to make small pictures for different studios appearing in seven in 1934 alone.

Roberta (1935)

Fred and Ginger's next movie together is William Seiter's Roberta where they share billing with one of RKO's biggest stars and talents, Irene Dunne. Here, Fred and Ginger have the secondary love affair as old friends who fall in love in the end. As they do in most of their movies, they also provide much of the laughs. The primary romantic pairing in Roberta is between Dunne and Randolph Scott.

The film's title, Roberta is the name of a fashionable Paris dress shop owned by John Kent's (Scott) aunt where Stephanie (Dunne) works as the owner's secretary, assistant, and head designer. The two instantly fall for each other.

Huck Haines (Astaire) is a musician and John's friend who runs into the hateful Countess Scharwenka at the dress shop. Except Scharwenka is really Huck's childhood friend and old love, Lizzie Gatz (Rogers). Fred and Ginger are wonderful in this movie, which strays from the formula of most of their other movies for their story. The plot between Irene Dunne and Randolph Scott is actually similar to other Fred and Ginger movies. Again, aside from the dancing Fred and Ginger offer the movie's comic relief and do so in memorable style with Ginger the standout in that regard.

There are quite a few enjoyable musical numbers in Roberta. Huck's band performs a couple and Irene Dunne sings several songs including the gorgeous "When Smoke Gets in Your Eyes" and a beautiful sequence on stairs during a fashion show to "Lovely to Look At," which received the film's only Academy Award nomination for Best Music, Original Song. That number transitions into a Fred and Ginger duet and dance to "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes" followed closely by an exuberant finale number.

Early in Roberta, at the Cafe Russe, Ginger is delightful singing "I'll be Hard to Handle" with the band. She and Fred follow with a supremely enjoyable duet with their feet, a routine where each answers the other with taps. I believe there were requests for them to re-record the taps after the live taping as you can hear Ginger laughing during the routine, but Fred insisted to leave it as is. The result is a relaxed, wonderfully entertaining sequence I hadn't seen in years. I also love the pantsuit she wears during this number.

Later, Ginger and Fred sing a duet to "I Won't Dance" with Fred following with an extraordinary solo routine. This may be my favorite of his solo sequences.

Fred Astaire was perfection on the dance floor and that didn't come without hard work. Astaire was known for rehearsing and losing sleep until he felt every movement in every sequence was perfect. Nothing had changed since his days on stage with his sister. Admittedly, he doubted and revisited and never liked to look at himself because he found imperfections. Much of the legend of Fred and Ginger came about due to his meticulous nature. He preplanned even the smallest detail of every dance number. Astaire insisted, for instance, to shoot every single sequence in one shot, with no edits. He also insisted that their entire bodies be filmed for every dance number and that taps be recorded live. He was known to say that either the camera moves or he moved. The result are performances and sequences for the ages that are as much a statement in endurance as they are in artistry.

Top Hat (1935)

Directed by Mark Sandrich, Top Hat is the first film written expressly for Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers by Dwight Taylor and Allan Scott and feels bigger from its catchy opening sequence on forward than the other movies in the series to this point. This is perhaps the well-regarded of the Astaire-Rogers movie pairings and it's no wonder because it's delightful sharing several similarities with The Gay Divorcee. Joining Fred and Ginger once again are Edward Everett Horton in the second of three Fred and Ginger pictures he made, Eric Blore in the third of five, and Erik Rhodes in his second donning that wonderful, hilarious Italian accent. Joining the group is Helen Broderick as Madge Hardwick, Horton's wife.

The story here begins when Fred as Jerry Travers meets Ginger as Dale Tremont when he wakes her up by tap dancing in the hotel room above hers. She is naturally annoyed, but warms up to him fairly quickly the next day as he woos her with Irving Berlin's "Isn't This a Lovely Day?" when the two are in a gazebo during a rainstorm. The song ends in a wonderful dance sequence that starts off as a challenge, but warms to perfection. I should add we see here what we see in many Astaire-Rogers routines that is so darn exciting - when they don't touch. Although the gazebo number is not as emotionally charged as others the couple executes, it's a great example of the longing that happens during the sequences during which he is wooing her with dance. By the end of this routine she is sold on him and what prospects may lay ahead.

Unfortunately, after the gazebo number there's confusion concerning Dale believing Jerry is married to one of her friends. Mistaken identity rears its head again as it is Horace Hardwick (Horton) who's married. She gets angry because she's hurt and before you know it, Jerry has to win her over once again. Then heaven arrives.

"Heaven, I'm in heaven  
and the cares that hung around me through the week  
seem to vanish like a gambler's lucky streak  
when we're out together dancing cheek to cheek"

These songs are standards for a reason. It just does not get better than that.

To continue the story - at the insistence of Madge Hardwick, Dale and Jerry dance as he singe those lyrics to her. She is She is mesmerized, wanting to believe him wearing that famous feather dress designed by Ginger herself. They move onto a terrace in each other's arms as the music swells. This is heaven.

Once again, the song is over and her heart is stolen. She's seduced as are we.

One of the few times Ginger seriously disagreed with Fred concerning a routine was her stance on the feather dress for the "Cheek to Cheek" sequence. Fred hated it. During the number feathers went everywhere, including in his face and on his tuxedo. Ginger designed the dress and insisted she wear it, despite the cost of $1,500 worth of ostrich feathers. She was right. While you can see feathers coming off the dress during the number, none are seen on Fred's tuxedo, but it doesn't matter because it moves beautifully and adds immeasurably to the routine.

The feather dress didn't stay there. In fact, it stayed with Ginger for some time as thereafter, Astaire nicknamed her "Feathers." After what Ginger described as a difficult few days following the feather dress uproar, she was in her dressing room when a plain white box was delivered. Inside was a note that read, "Dear Feathers. I love ya! Fred"

Fred Astaire has two solo routines in Top Hat, "No Strings" at the beginning of the movie, the tap dance that wakes Dale, and "Top Hat, White Tie and Tails," a signature production number considered one of his best.

Following in the tradition of "The Carioca" and "The Continental," Top Hat features "The Piccolino," an extravagant production number with song introduced by Ginger who said that Fred was supposed to sing the tune and hated it so he told Sandrich to give it to Ginger. In any case, she and Fred join the festivities with only their feet visible heading toward the dance floor, reminiscent of the movie's opening sequence. It's quite the rush as you see their feet advancing toward the dance floor, I must say.

"The Piccolino" is lively and fun, a terrific routine with a fun ending as the two end the number by sitting back at their table with Ginger having to fix her dress, which made it to the Smithsonian.

Top Hat premiered at New York's Radio City Music Hall to record crowds. Added security had to be sent to the venue to ensure order. The movie went on the gross $3 million on its initial release, and became RKO's most profitable film of the 1930s.

Follow the Fleet (1936)

Mark Sandrich was back to direct Follow the Fleet, which I have a huge affection for. The Irving Berlin score in this film is superb with songs that take me back to my childhood and the memory of watching these movies on Saturday night on our local PBS station. Fred, Ginger, Sandrich and the crew of Follow the Fleet heard about the record numbers of moviegoers attending Top Hat as they gathered to begin shooting this movie. The excitement certainly inspired them to make Follow the Fleet the cheerful, energetic movie it is. Although, Ginger hoped that by this, their third movie together, Mark Sandrich would recognize her worth. In her estimation, that was not to be.

Like in Roberta, Fred and Ginger's relationship in Follow the Fleet is that of the secondary romantic couple supplying the laughs in the film despite the fact that they get top billing. The primary romance here is the one between Harriet Hilliard (in her first feature film) and Randolph Scott. The story is simple, Bake Baker (Astaire) and Bilge (Scott) visit the Paradise Ballroom in San Francisco while on Navy leave. At the ballroom are Connie Martin (Hilliard), who is immediately taken with Bilge, and her sister Sherry (Rogers), the dance hostess at the ballroom and ex-girlfriend of Bake's. Sherry and Bake reunite by joining a dance contest and winning (of course), but it costs Sherry her job.

In the meantime, Connie starts talking about marriage to Bilge who is instantly spooked sending him into the arms of a party girl. Bake tries to get Sherry a job in a show, which entails mistaken identities amid more confusion until things clear up and the two are successful, heading toward the Broadway stage. The confusion here comes by way of some bicarbonate of soda, in case you're wondering.

Follow the Fleet is a hoot with several aspects straying from the usual Fred-Ginger formula. To begin, Fred Astaire puts aside his debonair self for most of the movie by smoking and chewing gum. It's fun to see him as close as a regular guy as he could probably muster. Fred opens the movie with Berlin's wonderful "We Saw the Sea," the words to which I remembered during the last viewing, quite the surprise since I had not seen Follow the Fleet in decades. Later in the movie he gets another solo tap routine on deck of his ship with fellow seamen as accompaniment. Both instances are supremely enjoyable as one would expect.

Ginger does a great rendition of "Let Yourself Go" with Betty Grable as a back-up singer. A bit later there's a reprise of the fabulous song during the contest, the dance reunion of Bake and Sherry. According to Ginger, a search through all of Los Angeles happened to find other dance contest participants who could compete with Fred and her. This may already be getting old, but here you have another energetic, enjoyable routine by these two masters. The whistles from the crowd at the Paradise Ballroom show the audience is in agreement.

As part of an audition, Ginger gets to do a solo tap routine, a rarity in these movies so it's particularly enjoyable to watch. Unfortunately, Sherry doesn't get the job as a result of the audition even though she's the best the producer has seen. Thinking that he's getting rid of her competition (mistaken identity), Bake prepares a bicarbonate of soda drink, which renders the singer incapable of singing. Sherry drinks it and burps her way through the audition.

Now rehearsing for a show, Bake and Sherry sing "I'm Putting All My Eggs in One Basket" followed by a wonderfully amusing routine where Ginger gets caught up in steps leaving Fred to constantly try to get her to move along. During the number the music also changes constantly and they have fun trying to stay in step be in a waltz or jazz or any number of music moods. This routine is a rarity for Fred and Ginger whose dance sequences are usually step perfect. It looks like they have a blast with this including a few falls and a fight instigated by Ginger.

Fred and Ginger follow the comical exchange in "I'm Putting All My Eggs in One Basket," with one of their greatest sequences, another rarity in that this one happens out of character for both in the movie. The wonderful "Let's Face the Music and Dance" and the routine to it make as iconic an Astaire-Rogers sequence as has ever put on film. The song and the performance tell a mini story outside the confines of the plot of Follow the Fleet. This is a grim tale executed with extraordinary beauty as we see two suicidal people happen upon each other and are saved from despair through dance. Again, kudos to Berlin's genius because the lyrics of this song are sublime.

"There may be trouble ahead  
But while there's moonlight and music  
And love and romance  
Let's face the music and dance"

Ginger is a vision as Fred guides her across the dance floor. The dance starts off with a sway, they are not touching, he's leading her, but she's despondent at first, unable to react to his urging - there is something to live for. As that beautiful music advances she responds and in the process conquers demons. The routine ends as the music dictates in dramatic fashion with a lunge, they are both now victorious and strong. Magnificent. The movie concludes minutes later because...what more is there to say?

Ginger is wearing another legendary dress in the "Let's Face the Music and Dance" routine. Created by one of her favorite designers, Bernard Newman, the dress weighed somewhere between 25 and 35 pounds. The entire thing was beaded and moved beautifully along with Ginger. Fred Astaire told the story of how one of the heavy sleeves hit him in the face hard during the first spin in the sequence. They did the routine about 12 times and Sandrich decided on the first. If you look closely you can see Fred flinch a bit as Ginger twirls with heavy sleeves near his face at the beginning of the dance, which is affecting, beautifully acted by both, but particularly Ginger in the arms of Fred Astaire.

Lucille Ball plays a small role in the film and can be seen throughout the film and a couple of times during the "Let's Face the Music and Dance" sequence. Also, Betty Grable is in the film in a supporting role. Harriet Hilliard sings two songs in Follow the Fleet as well, but to little fanfare.

By Follow the Fleet Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers were top box office draws as a team. America was in love with Fred and Ginger. And they still hadn't reached the apex of dance.

Swing Time (1936)

Swing Time was directed by George Stevens, his first musical, made when he was the top director at RKO Pictures. As I watched these films in succession I noticed something I never had before, Fred and Ginger's dancing in Swing Time is more mature than in previous films. The emotionally-charged "Never Gonna Dance" sequence has always been my favorite, but I had never considered that Astaire and Rogers are at their peak in Swing Time. This, they're fifth starring outing as a pair, is their best.

The plot of Swing Time is similar to that of Top Hat to include the ever-present mistaken identity theme, but this movie is wittier and more inventive and clever surrounding memorable songs by Dorothy Fields and Jerome Kern. The story here begins as dancer and gambler, Lucky Garnett (Astaire) arrives late for his own wedding to Margaret Watson (Betty Furness). Angry at the young man's audacity, the father of the bride tells Lucky that the only way he can marry his daughter is to go to New York and become a success. Lucky heads East with his lucky quarter and constant companion Pop Cardetti (Victor Moore).

Once in New York Pop the stage is set for a chance meeting between Lucky and Penny Carroll (Rogers). The encounter leads to the first routine in the movie to the glorious "Pick Yourself Up" at the dance academy where Penny works as an instructor. The exchange leading up to the dance sequence is quite enjoyable as Lucky makes believe he can't dance as Penny tries in vain to teach him. His fumbling on his feet causes her to be fired by the furious head of the dance studio, Mr. Gordon (Eric Blore). To make it up to Penny, Lucky pulls her to the dance floor to show Gordon how much she has taught him and she delights in seeing his amazing dancing ability. The routine that ensues is energetic, fun, and the movie's acquaintance dance after which Penny is completely taken with Lucky.

Watching Ginger transition from angry to incredulous to gloriously surprised to such confidence that the dance floor can't even contain them is simply magnificent. As the dance progresses her joy grows naturally illustrated by such details as throwing her head back or giggling as Fred, who's the wiser, wows her. And she, in turn, gives Gordon a few hard looks as he sits there making memorable Eric Blore faces. At the end of the dance their relationship is different and Gordon is so impressed he gets them an audition at the Silver Sandal Nightclub where they enchant the patrons and are hired. Incidentally, since Fred's mood, shall we say, is what initiates and dictates these routines he has little emotional change through these mini stories. The journey is mostly all hers.

Before they do the nightclub act, Lucky sings "The Way You Look Tonight" to Penny while her hair is full of shampoo. The song won the Academy Award for Best Music, Original Song.  
Penny and Lucky are now in love. That night at the nightclub, Penny tells Lucky that bandleader Ricardo Romero (Georges Metaxa) has asked her to marry him many times so it's no surprise when Romero squashes their chance to perform. That is until Lucky wins Romero's contract gambling and sets the stage for the "Waltz in Swing Time"

"The Waltz in Swing Time" looks like the most complex of the Astaire-Rogers dance sequences. Performed at the gorgeous art deco club, this routine is as airy as it is masterful. Fred and Ginger are in heaven here, lovingly looking at each other throughout as twists and turns and light taps that honor their first dance together in the movie happen around them. They are awe-inspiring. I may have already said that.

The next day Lucky does all he can to avoid a love-making scene with Penny. He's in love with her, but remembers he's engaged to another woman and hasn't told her. Meanwhile Pop spills the beans to Mabel (Helen Broderick, the fourth wheel in this ensemble. A kiss less Penny and a frustrated Lucky sing "A Fine Romance" out in the country and Ginger once again gives a lesson in acting. I've noted in other posts about how acting in song is never taken too seriously by people and this is another example. Ginger Rogers reviews in these films were often mediocre with the praise going Astaire's way most of the time. Admittedly, Astaire-Rogers films are not dramatic landscapes that allow for much range, but the fact that Ginger manages believable turns in the routines and in all of the sung performances should be noted. She had an air of not taking the films and roles too seriously, but still managed great performances, particularly when the time came to emote in dance. That only made her all the better and often the best thing in the movies aside from the dancing.

Fred Astaire has a wonderful production number, "The Bojangles of Harlem" even though he performs in blackface. The number is intended to honor dancers like Bill 'Bojangles' Robinson who were influential to Fred Astaire. Aside from Fred's memorable dancing in the sequence, the number is memorable for introducing special effects into Fred Astaire dance routines as he dances with huge shadows of himself, which was achieved by shooting the routine twice under different lighting. "Bojangles of Harlem" earned Hermes Pan an Academy Award nomination for Best Dance Direction.

As our story continues - Penny and Lucky are definitely into each other and Ricardo is still wooing Penny when Margaret shows up to spoil the festivities. Actually, she comes to tell Lucky she's in love with someone else, but doesn't have a chance to say it before Penny is heartbroken.

And so here we are...we see Penny and Ricardo talking. Given the situation with Lucky - his impending marriage and his losing their contract while gambling - she feels she has no choice but to marry Ricardo when Lucky walks in. Two heartbroken people stand at the foot majestic stairs as he begins to tell her he'll never dance again. Imagine that tragedy. The music shifts to "The Way You Look Tonight" and "The Waltz in Swing Time" throughout. Ginger descends the stairs and the two walk dejectedly across the floor holding hands. The walks gathers a quiet rhythm until they are in each other's arms dancing. Still, she resists, attempts to walk away, but he refuses to let her go until she succumbs, joining him in energetic rhythm, two people in perfect sync as the music shifts to past moments in their lives together - shifts between loud and quiet, fast and slow, together and part mimicking the turmoil of the characters in that time and place.

Ginger's dress here is elegantly simple as if not to detract from the impassioned piece. Everything about this routine is absolutely gorgeous. Fred and Ginger split toward the end of the number, each going up an opposite staircase on the elaborate set. They reach the top where the music reaches its crescendo. Turbulent twirls lead to her running out leaving him shattered. And us.

To my knowledge, the "Never Gonna Dance" sequence in the only one where a cut had to happen during the dance in order to get the cameras on top of the stairs. This is the famous routine that made Ginger's feet bleed. One of the crew noticed her shoes were pink and it turned out to be that they were blood-soaked. Also notable is that the number was shot over 60 times according to Ginger and several other people there. At one point Stevens told them all to go home for the night, but Fred and Ginger insisted on giving it one more try. That was the take that's in the movie.

At the end of the movie, as is supposed to happen, Lucky manages to interrupt Penny's marriage to Ricardo and makes her all his own.

Ginger looks stunning in Swing Time. For details on her Bernard Newman designs in the film I suggest you visit Glam Amor's "Style Essentials" entry on this film.

Despite the many wonderful things about Swing Time, the movie marked the beginning of the decline of audience attendance at Fred and Ginger movies. The movie was still a hit, but receipts came in slower than expected. The Fred Astaire-Ginger Rogers partnership never quite gained the same momentum as it did up to this point in their careers together. Although the pair was still an asset for RKO and they had many more memorable on-screen moments to come.

Shall We Dance (1937)

In 1937 Astaire and Rogers made Shall We Dance with Mark Sandrich at the helm once again. Edward Everett Horton and Eric Blore are also on hand for the film that had the first Hollywood film score by George and Ira Gershwin.

The plot of Shall We Dance is a bit convoluted, but still enjoyable. Fred plays Peter P. Peters a famous ballet dancer billed as "Petrov" who yearns to do modern dance. One day he sees a picture of famous tap dancer Linda Keene he sees a great opportunity to blend their styles. Similar to their other movies, Fred falls in love with Ginger at first sight. It takes her longer to recognize his graces, but eventually falls hard for him too. That is, after many shenanigans and much confusion when she gets angry and hurt and then he has to win her over once again.

Fred has a terrific solo routine here with "Slap That Base," which takes place in an engine room using the varied engine and steam sounds to tap to. Ginger later does an enjoyable rendition of the Gershwin classic, "They All Laughed (at Christopher Columbus," which leads to a fun tap routine for Fred and Ginger. For this Ginger is wearing that memorable flowered dress by Irene who dressed her for this movie. This "They All Laughed" sequence is where he woos her and where she cannot help falling for him.

Soon after "They All Laughed" Fred and Ginger call the whole thing off in the classic sequence that takes place in New York's Central Park on roller skates. At this point in the story the tabloids have reported the two are married and, having fallen for each other, they don't know what to do. "Let's Call the Whole Thing Off" was written by the Gershwin's in New York prior to the making of Swing Time, but they brought it with them to Hollywood and it work perfectly in the comedic scene with both Astaire and Rogers taking turns with verses of the catchy tune before starting the roller skating tap routine.

Unable to stop the rumors that they are married, Pete and Linda decide to actually marry in order to later divorce. The problem is that they're both crazy about each other, which he demonstrates with one of the most romantic songs ever written, "They Can't Take that Away From Me." This song was a personal favorite of both Fred and Ginger. So much so, in fact, that it was used again in their final film together, Charles Walters' The Barkleys of Broadway in 1949. "They Can't Take That Away From Me" remains the only occasion on film when Fred Astaire permitted the repeat of a song previously performed in another movie.

George Gershwin died two months after Shall We Dance was released in May 1937. He was posthumously nominated for an Academy Award, along with his brother Ira, for Best Original Song for "They Can't Take That Away From Me."

The finale of Shall We Dance is an odd production number, if I do say. Fred does a ballet in front of dozens of women donning Ginger Rogers masks. Pete Peters decided if he can't dance with Linda Keene then he'll dance with many of the next best thing. The real Linda joins him for the final act, softened by his attempt to clone her. The end.

In 1937 Fred Astaire made another picture for RKO sans Ginger, George Stevens' A Damsel in Distress. Although I think the movie is fun thanks to Burns and Allen, audiences didn't respond to it and A D Damsel in Distress was RKO's biggest flop of the period. Joan Fontaine, who plays Fred's leading lady is no Ginger, she doesn't have the energy and, more importantly, can't dance. The pairing simply does not work.

Carefree (1938)

Carefree is probably the Astaire-Rogers movie I've seen least and it was refreshing to take a new and improved look at it for this tribute. Mark Sandrich directs Fred and Ginger for the last time in this romantic comedy, the shortest of their films, which attempts a new story flavor for our stars with Irving Berlin tunes.

Stephen Arden (Ralph Bellamy) asks his Psychiatrist friend Dr. Tony Flagg (Astaire) to meet with his fiancée Amanda Cooper (Rogers). Immediately we know Arden's in trouble because Ralph Bellamy never gets the girl. Anyway, Amanda is having trouble committing to marrying Stephen and agrees to see Tony who immediately decides she needs to dream in order for him to decipher her unconscious. After having all sorts of odd foods for dinner Amanda dreams, but of Dr. Tony Flagg, not Stephen. Embarrassed by her dream, Amanda makes up a weird tale, which leads Tony to think she has serious psychological issues that only hypnosis can fix. In slapstick style, Stephen comes by Tony's office to pick up Amanda and without realizing she's hypnotized lets her run free on the streets causing all sorts of havoc.

Fred Astaire does an impressive routine Carefree where he hits golf balls to music. I know nothing about golf, but I can tell that even the best of 'em couldn't do what this guy does here. During an interview in the 1970s, Astaire spoke fondly of this sequence saying he couldn't believe he was asked to reshoot because the balls ended off out of camera range at the very end of each shot.

Amanda's dream in the picture allows for a beautiful, fantasy-like routine to Irving Berlin's "I Used to Be Color Blind" made famous because Fred and Ginger share the longest kiss here than in any other one of their movies. It happens at the end of the sequence done partly in slow motion, which definitely causes swooning. About the kiss Fred Astaire said, "Yes, they kept complaining about me not kissing her. So we kissed to make up for all the kisses I had not given Ginger for all those years." Fred was not a fan of mushy love scenes and preferred to let his kissing with Ginger in movies be alluded to or simple pecks, but he gave in partly to quell the rumors that circulated about he and Ginger not getting along. As Ginger told the story, Fred squirmed and hid as the two reviewed the dance as she delighted in his torture. She explained that neither of them expected the long kiss as it was actually a peck elongated by the slow motion. That day she stopped being the "kiss less leading lady."

By the way, Ginger is wonderful in the sequence when she's hypnotized. She gets an opportunity to showcase her comedic skills in similar fashion than she does in Howard Hawks' Monkey Business (1952) opposite Cary Grant.

At the club one evening Ginger kicks off "The Yam" festivities. According to Ginger this is another instance where Fred didn't like the song so he pawned it off on her. Who could blame him? Silly at best, "The Yam" is a dance craze that never actually catches fire as it doesn't have the panache of "The Continental." These people give it all they have, however, and the evening looks like an enjoyable one. Or, at least I would have loved to be there. Of course Tony joins Amanda in doing "The Yam" before the crowd joins in. As an aside, Life Magazine thought Fred and Ginger doing "The Yam" was worthy of a cover on August 22, 1938.

After yamming it up, Amanda is determined to tell Stephen she's in love with Tony, but he misunderstands and thinks she professes her love for him. Suddenly Stephen announces their engagement. It's a total mess that Tony tries to fix through hypnosis, which backfires supremely. Thank goodness everything straightens itself out in the end.

Before getting to the final, exceptional routine in Carefree the supporting cast deserves a mention. Louella Gear joins the fun in Carefree as Aunt Cora, in the same vein as Alice Brady and Helen Broderick in Fred and Ginger movies before her. Hattie McDaniel makes a brief appearance albeit as a maid, but it's better to see her than not and Jack Carson has a few enjoyable scenes as a brute who works at the psychiatrist's office.

After Amanda tells Tony she's in love with him, he hypnotizes her to hate him because he doesn't want to betray Stephen. When Tony realizes he loves Amanda it's too late, she's left his office to be happy with Stephen and avoids Tony at all cost. But at the club one evening, Tony manages to find a few moments alone with her outside and what results is a sexy number during which she's completely under his spell. In fact, this may be Fred and Ginger's sexiest routine with longing and fulfillment present. The song is "Change Partners and Dance with Me," which begins inside as she dances with Stephen. This is another beautiful song from Irving Berlin, which received one of the three Academy Award nominations for Carefree for Best Music, Original Song. The other two Oscar nods were for Best Art Direction and Best Music, Scoring.

Howard Greer designed Ginger's gowns for Carefree and the one she wears in the passionate "Change Partners and Dance with Me" dance is absolutely stunning.

The Story of Vernon and Irene Castle (1939)

The Story of Vernon and Irene Castle directed by H. C. Potter is the ninth of ten dancing partnership films of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, the last of their musicals in the 1930s and for RKO, and the only one of their films based on a true story and real people.

Vernon and Irene Castle were a husband-and-wife team of ballroom dancers and dance teachers who appeared on Broadway and in silent films in the early 20th century. Hugely popular, the Castles were credited with popularizing ballroom dance with a special brand of elegance and style. Their most popular dance was the Castle Walk, which Fred and Ginger do in the movie. In fact, they replicate most of the Castle's dances as closely to the original as possible. As you'd expect from Fred Astaire.

Irene Castle served as a Technical Advisor on The Story of Vernon and Irene Castle and the story goes that she eventually disowned the film because of the film's lack of authenticity. In defense of some of the changes though, 1934 censorship restrictions were quite different than those in the 1910s. The differences affected costuming and casting at every level of the film. That said, Variety gave The Story of Vernon and Irene Castle a glowing review and the public received it warmly.

It should be mentioned that The Story of Vernon and Irene Castle features two of the greatest character actors who ever lived: Edna May Oliver plays the Castle's manager Maggie Sutton and Walter Brennan plays Walter, Irene's majordomo, for lack of a better word, since she was a child. Both of these characters were changed dramatically for the film due to production code restrictions. The real Maggie Sutton (real name Elizabeth Marbury) was openly a lesbian and the real-life Walter was a black man. Neither of those suited the production code mind for broad appeal across the country.

Fred and Ginger do a fine job in this movie. The dances are pretty if not as elaborate as those Astaire and Rogers performed in their other movies. It is exciting to see them do a Tango, a dance I am particularly fond of. However, there is one other dance sequence in particular that moves me immensely, "The Missouri Waltz" at the Paris Cafe when Vernon returns from the war. The acting in the sequence is superb as you can feel the emotion jumping off of her as he picks her up in a gorgeous move during which she wraps herself around him. It's stunning.

Ginger wrote in her book about the day they shot "The Missouri Waltz," the last dance filmed in the movie and, to everyone's mind, likely the last number she and Fred would ever do together. RKO was abuzz with rumors and people came from far and wide to watch them shoot it. They came from all around RKO, from Paramount and from Columbia to see this last dance. "That was a very dignified way to end our musical marriage at RKO," she wrote.

In 1939, after completing The Story of Vernon and Irene Castle, Astaire and Rogers split as you know. Astaire's salary demands proved too much for RKO pictures. Fred Astaire went on to make movie musical magic in all manner of ways, both alone and with other outstanding talents, leaving a rich legacy of treasures. Ginger Rogers went on to prove herself a true quadruple threat. We knew by 1939 that she could sing, dance and be funny but now, determined to go into straight drama she reached the pinnacle with an Academy Award-winning performance in Sam Wood's, Kitty Foyle in 1940. I recognize Ginger's dramatic talent in the time I spent watching the many dance routines she did with Fred Astaire, but in a time when movies were seen just once it's difficult to think of other actors who make the transition from film genre to film genre so seamlessly as she did. Hers was a rare talent.

Since I already dedicated an entire entry to Fred and Ginger as Josh and Dinah in The Barkleys of Broadway, I will forego a full summary here. For now let's relive the reunion.

Ten years after she made her last appearance on-screen with Astaire, Ginger Rogers walked onto the set of The Barkleys of Broadway. The cast and crew had tears in their eyes. This was special. She said her "hellos", kissed Fred Astaire and they got to work. At first Ginger explained that Fred seemed disappointed. Judy Garland was scheduled to make the picture with him, but was replaced by Ginger. All of that doesn't matter though because as a fan, I cannot fathom what it must have been like for audiences in 1949. If people are out of their minds excited about the release of a superhero film today, if audiences drool over a new and rehashed installment of Spiderman, imagine seeing legends together again after a ten-year sabbatical. I would have had to take a Valium. I get chills just thinking about it, and admit a bit of that happens when I watch The Barkleys of Broadway in my own living room. From the moment I see the opening credits, which are shown while the couple is dancing, quite happily – she in a gold gown and he in a tux, I mean, seriously, I'm verklempt right now.

Despite their legendary individual careers the magic of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers together cannot be replicated. And it wasn't necessarily the dancing, or not the dancing alone, that made them a perfect pair. It was the glances, the touch, and the feel that made them magic. The spell of romance, real for the length of a composition, entranced. We all know Katharine Hepburn's famous quote, "she gave him sex and he gave her class." Well, Kate was not wrong. Fred Astaire was never as romantic as when he danced with Ginger. And Ginger, a down-to-Earth beauty, was never as sophisticated as when she danced with Fred.

Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers brought prestige to RKO when it was in desperate need of it and joy to a nation hungry for respite from tough times. In a six-year span they established themselves as the best known, best loved dancing partners in the history of movies and have remained there for 85 years. I'll end with these words by Roger Ebert, "of all of the places the movies have created, one of the most magical and enduring is the universe of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers."

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# Cinematic Pandemic: The Spanish Flu and the Movies

Leticia Magalhães (Crítica Retrô)

The First World War ended leaving 17 million people dead, but the shadow of death wasn't going to disappear with the Armistice on November 11th, 1918. Since the beginning of 1918, a mutation of the influenza virus was spreading quickly throughout the world – and it was incredibly deadly. The second decade of the 20th century would see even more dead people, as 1919 was the climax of the worst pandemic since the Black Death.

The Spanish flu got its name because Spain was a neutral country during the war, so its press wasn't censored. That's why Spanish newspapers were able to publish info about the new pandemic – the other countries couldn't publish about the disease because it would affect the troops. That's how, although it did not appear first in Spain, the pandemic became known as Spanish flu.

Estimations vary, but all over the world, more than 50 million people were killed by the Spanish flu – some researchers say that the amount of victims may be 100 million. In the US, the disease left five times more dead than the war – 675,000 Americans perished. The disease was easily spread by soldiers coming home from the front, and the lack of hygiene at the time also didn't help stopping the pandemic.

Some of the victims were famous movie stars. Besides that, in 1918 the movie world had just passed through its first big revolution – the rise of feature film – and the Spanish flu pandemic posed the first big outside threat to the film industry.

Film Casualties

One of the first "film stars" was also one of the earliest people to die from the Spanish flu. Andrée Lumière, Auguste Lumière's daughter, was one-year-old when she appeared in two films presented in the very first movie exhibition on December 28th, 1895. Andrée is the star of both the well-known Baby's Breakfast (Le Repas de bébé) and the not so celebrated Le pêche aux poissons rouge. Andrée caught the deadly flu and passed away in 1918, at age 24.

Myrtle Gonzalez had already left Hollywood when the Spanish flu took her life. The American actress of Mexican descent worked from 1913 to 1917, in both small parts and lead roles – the leading ladies she played often lived among nature and overcame several difficulties. Myrtle Gonzalez left Hollywood in 1917, when she got married. She died in 1918 at only 27.

Harold Lockwood's star was on the rise when his life was cut short by the Spanish flu. Lockwood was among the 10 favorite film stars listed by the Motion Picture magazine in December 1918 – although he had died in October at age 30. Harold had been working on film since 1911, and had worked in studios like Nestor, Selig and Famous Players. Between 1915 and 1917 he made 22 features with actress May Allison, of which only one is readily available today. It's believed that Harold Lockwood caught the influenza virus while selling war bonds.

The early demise of Vera Kholodnaya shocked the Soviet Union. Considered to be the first Russian film star, she made over fifty films, although only five survive, being the most well-known film of hers the actual footage of her funeral. Having Asta Nielsen as her main inspiration, Vera often worked in melodramas based on popular songs and wore extravagant costumes. Due to her popularity, at the time of her death a rumor appeared, saying that she had been poisoned by her French lover because she was a Bolshevik spy. Considering that, in 1924, the Bolsheviks ordered most of her films to be destroyed, this rumor sounds very unlikely.

Besides those, many other film workers perished. We should also mention actor and director Joseph Kaufman, Indian actor and author Dark Cloud, American actress Betty Gray, English actor Julien L'Estrange and German actress Gilda Langer.

Some people whose lives would be told in movies later also died from the Spanish flu: for instance, Jacinta and Francisco, two of the three kids who saw the Virgin Mary in Portugal in 1917, passed away during the epidemic. Their story was later told in the 1952 Hollywood production The Miracle of Our Lady of Fatima.

Film Stars Who Caught the Spanish Flu

As we could see with these unfortunate victims in the film industry, the Spanish flu was deadlier for people between 20 and 40 years of age. Pregnant women who caught the disease had the worst outcome: more than 20% of them didn't survive, and in some regions 70% of all infected pregnant women died. In the general population, 20% of those contaminated would die.

This means that the blow for the film industry could have been much bigger. Some of the biggest stars of the time contracted the disease, but recovered. Mary Pickford caught the flu but recovered quickly, while Lillian Gish had a high bout of fever, but recovered with the help of a doctor and two nurses who took care of her 24/7.

Still a teenager, Walt Disney contracted the Spanish flu – and it may have saved his life. Disney was supposed to leave to the war front as an ambulance driver, but he got sick and, when he recovered, the war was over.

Margaret Dumont had retired from the stage in 1910 to marry a millionaire, but the Spanish flu put an ending to the union as both contracted the disease, and he died. Recovered and widowed, Margaret returned to the stages and started appearing in comedies. In the movies, she became known for her work alongside the Marx brothers.

In 1920, Greta Garbo, then only 14, lost her father to the Spanish flu. Many sources claim that she also contracted the disease and, fortunately, survived.

Although he had nothing to do with film, US president Woodrow Wilson also caught the Spanish flu, and his illness may have changed history: because he couldn't attend all meetings before the Treaty of Versailles was signed, French president Georges Clemenceau became for a while the leader of the group of war winners – and he demanded the Germans to pay a high price for losing the war, a demand that certainly was important for the rise of Nazism and of the German wish for a rematch.

The Movies During the Spanish Flu

With many of its stars contracting the disease, the movie industry suffered a hard blow with the Spanish flu. In many places, the whole film industry was left in standstill, with movie theaters interdicted – because they are closed places, where the risk of inoculation was high.

According to Ben Strassfeld, author of the article "Infectious Media: Debating the Role of Movie Theaters in Detroit during the Spanish Influenza of 1918", 60% of all movie studios in California ceased their production completely while the pandemic was on the rise. Distributors stopped their activities for a month. Photoplay magazine estimated that 80% of all movie theaters closed for at least a week. Many people thought it was the end of the newborn movie industry.

This doesn't mean that there were no movies being shown. The nickelodeons resurfaced for a little while, and there were people who strongly believed that movie theaters shouldn't be closed down during the pandemic: they could be used for educational purposes, teaching the public about the new disease.

As Strassfeld chronicles, movie theaters in Detroit exhibited educational slides before the movie and also showed educational movies. Detroit was then the capital of educational films, and one of them, Spreading Spanish Influenza, used storytelling techniques to spread the message – something that the public and the scholars weren't used to, because they believed that frivolous movies needed storytelling, while serious educational films didn't.

In Detroit and other cities, movie theater owners didn't like the mandatory closing of their businesses. That's why they agreed to repurpose the movie theaters to show educational pictures – it was the only way they could keep their businesses open. As the worst days of the flu went by, movie theaters went back to their normal schedule of entertainment pictures – but now they knew how to gain the respectability the film business had always been looking for. The Spanish flu showed that films could both entertain and inform.

The Spanish Flu at the Movies

Surprisingly, as much as it was devastating, the Spanish flu is not often used as a plot device, unlike the contemporary First World War IMDb has only 19 movies, documentaries or TV show episodes listed with the tag "Spanish flu", while it also has 1939 productions labeled with the "World War One" tag.

One of the films about the pandemic is the 2009 English TV movie Spanish Flu: the Forgotten Fallen. The film takes its title from the fact that the pandemic was, even during the 20th century, nearly forgotten. It is, indeed, more noble to die defending your homeland than to die because of the flu – so the ones killed during the pandemic were not celebrated as martyrs.

Besides that, as author Mark Honigsbaum writes, it wasn't until the 1970s that the world actually realized how deadly the pandemic was – for the first time the researchers talked about more than 50 million dead due to the Spanish flu. Now, it is estimated that the Spanish flu killed between 50 and 100 million – the Black Death in the Middle Ages killed between 40 and 70 million people. Even if some day we calculate the casualties with precision and find out that the Spanish flu wasn't the deadliest pandemic of all time, we can't ignore how it shook the world and the nascent film industry.

References:

Ben Strassfeld (2017): Infectious Media: Debating the Role of Movie Theaters in Detroit during the Spanish Influenza of 1918, Historical Journal of Film, Radio and Television, DOI: 10.1080/01439685.2017.1300002

Benjamin, Kathy. 14 Famous People Who Survived the 1918 Flu Pandemic. At Mental Floss:  https://mentalfloss.com/article/58376/14-famous-people-who-survived-1918-flu-pandemic

Honigsbaum, Mark. Why historians ignored the Spanish flu. At The Conversation:  https://theconversation.com/why-historians-ignored-the-spanish-flu-101950

Influenza Encyclopedia: http://www.influenzaarchive.org

IMDb list of Spanish flu victims:  https://www.imdb.com/list/ls033642481/?ref_=nm_bio_rls_1

Lovett, David A. Tem Famous People Who Survived the 1918 Flu. At Smithsonian Magazine:  https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/ten-famous-people-who-survived-1918-flu-180965336/

Where to Find This Issue's Contributors

All the contributors to this book are members of the Classic Movie Blog Association (CMBA), an organization dedicated to sharing and promoting the best classic film writing on the internet. You can learn more about the CMBA at clamba.blogspot.com.

Below is a list of the authors and their website.

Aurora Bugallo – Once Upon a Screen

Karen Burroughs-Hannsberry – Shadows and Satin

Patricia Gallagher – The Movie Night Group's Guide to Classic Film

Amanda Garrett – Old Hollywood Films

John Greco – Twenty Four Frames

Marianne L'Abbate – Make Mine Noir

Leticia Magalhães - Crítica Retrô

Patricia Nolan-Hall – Caftan Woman

Patricia Schneider –Lady Eve's Reel Life.docx)

Tynan Yanaga – 4 Star Films

Thanks for reading!

