Wednesday, June 12, 2013

Welcome Stranger



“Welcome Stranger” (1947) would likely play well for those who like Bing Crosby and Barry Fitzgerald but find “Going My Way” (1944) too treacly for words. Both Crosby and Fitzgerald won acting Oscars for their roles in that film, and the film itself took the Best Picture Oscar that year, a feat that strikes many today as representing everything that’s wrong about the Academy Awards. More on that later.

Replace priests with doctors and you have the template for “Welcome Stranger.” Barry Fitzgerald plays Dr. Joseph McRory, a general practitioner in a small town in Maine who is scheduled to take his first vacation in years. While he’s away, he consults with the area medical board to arrange a substitute while he is away. Said substitute is Dr. Jim Pearson (Bing Crosby) who McRory had had some earlier humorous encounters (not to McRory) on the train. McRory doesn’t like Pearson and plans to stick around a bit (and localizes his fishing vacation much more than he planned) to make sure Pearson doesn’t muck up the works.

 

The townspeople are initially aloof to the substitute doctor – no Southern hospitality here – and Pearson is ready to leave on the first train. But like the situation in “Going My Way” the two doctors learn to eventually like and respect each other, finding that new ideas and old fashioned common sense – and experience – can do wonders when handling various medical crises that pop up.

Helping Pearson stay is local schoolteacher Trudy Mason (Joan Caulfield), fiancĂ©e of town pharmacist Roy Chesley (Robert Shayne, years before playing Inspector Henderson on the “Superman” TV series). Chesley’s father C.J. (Charles Dingle) practically runs the town and is anxious for both doctors to leave so he can put his own man in as head of the new hospital planned for the area.

 

Crosby and Fitzgerald are wonderful together and beautifully complement each other – the easy, laid back Crosby against the quirky and often befuddled (but always alert) Fitzgerald.

There’s an easy charm that permeates the whole film, but all is not saccharine and light. Originally the townspeople aren’t very friendly and there’s a story line concerning newspaper Bill Walters (Frank Faylen) who drinks too much and is on the verge of becoming a full blown alcoholic, much to the dismay of daughter Emily (Wanda Hendrix).

The songs by Jimmy Van Heusen and Johnny Burke are very pleasant, with standouts being “Country Style” (a terrific square dance number, with Bing doing the calling. Is there any type of music Bing could not handle with seeming ease?) and the beautifully haunting “As Long As I’m Dreaming.” The latter is sung at the end of a long sleigh ride with Pearson and Trudy snuggled up amongst other townspeople. Other couples are necking, except Bing and Joan. Joan doesn’t seem too concerned, as she has Bing singing to her. Anybody can neck, few can croon.

 

The scene is beautifully lit and its one of my favorite Crosby moments ever. A few years ago I had a co-worker who told me she was going to spend Christmas in Vermont, where she was born. I asked her, “Where you raised in a Bing Crosby movie?” I was thinking, of course, of “White Christmas” (1954) but subconsciously was also thinking of that sleigh gracefully making its way through the darkened New England snowscape, and Bing singing a love song as only Bing could. It’s a lovely, lovely moment.

As I said earlier, I suspect that viewers may take more to “Welcome Stranger” than “Going My Way” the latter being an incredulous Os car winner to many. But I’ve always thought the Oscars were as much a barometer for what was going on in the world at the time as it is for honoring the best in cinema.


Two years ago “The Artist” won and I suspect that Oscar voters saw themselves in the same predicament as the film’s protagonist George Valentin, who was worried about the effect of talking movies on his career. Surely among that year’s Oscar voters were many technicians, set designers, costumers, and yes, performers worried about their futures. Why design sets and costumes when some computer whizzes can design a set and dress an actor using computers?

Last year’s winner “Argo”, while terrific entertainment, was hardly the year’s best film. But it spoke to a world yearning for solutions to the Middle East crisis where the good guys achieve victory without any killing.

“Going My Way” came out in 1944, while World War II was still raging. The studios were primed in the war years to product morale-boosting movies, both for the home front and the troops overseas. America and the rest of the civilized world were sacrificing their children and families to ensure that civilization would not crumble under Fascism and tyranny. A country that could produce “Going My Way”, showing the best of humanity and what the troops can look forward to coming home to, resonated with critics, audiences and Academy members in ways that seem foreign to us today. It likely would not have won if it had been produced after the war, but during World War II it was the right picture at the right time.

“Welcome Stranger” may not be as well-remembered as “Going My Way” but it is its equal in charm and tunefulness. It’s a most engaging movie, one I look forward to re-visiting in the future.

Wednesday, May 29, 2013

A Weekend with Maureen O'Hara



I had a wonderful Memorial Day weekend in Winterset, IA at the John Wayne Birthday Celebration. The weekend was a billed as “A Tribute to Maureen O’Hara” and the great lady appeared in person, in what was billed as her last public appearance. It was a real thrill to see and hear her in person.

Before I go any further, a few caveats. I did not get to meet her and I didn’t take any pictures. I’m not a picture person and don’t own a camera. But there are some wonderful pictures of the weekend online, in far better quality than I could have taken. Please visit the John Wayne Birthplace site http://www.johnwaynebirthplace.org/news.html for a vast array of wonderful pictures of the entire weekend.  
Also, I’m somewhat embarrassed to say, I didn’t think about blogging about the event until I was driving home, so I didn’t take notes or anything like that. Bad, bad blogger.

 
Because of the 5.5-hour drive from Chicago’s western suburbs to Winterset, I missed Friday morning’s ceremonial groundbreaking ceremony for the John Wayne Birthplace Museum, which Ms. O’Hara attended, along with John Wayne’s daughter Aissa.

I didn’t arrive in Winterset, IA until Friday night for the square dance where Ms. O’Hara put in an appearance. She’s 92 years old and in a wheelchair, but looks as lively as ever and when she spoke at Saturday night’s dinner the voice was sure and strong, with no hesitation or shakiness at all. And that brogue was as vibrant as ever. One can’t mistake Maureen O’Hara’s voice for anyone else’s.

There were lots of people in line to have their picture taken with Ms. O’Hara, but after awhile they were asked to stop, as the constant flashes irritated her eyes. I didn’t have a camera with me and thought about going over there just to say hello, but there were so many people around her I didn’t want to add to the crowd.

Besides, what could I say to her that she hasn’t heard a million times already? The only thing I could think of that she may not have heard so much is she is one of my favorite swashbucklers. Sure she’s known for the movies she made with John Wayne and John Ford, and “Miracle on 34th Street” (1947) and “The Parent Trap” (1961), but I have a fondness for those adventure movies she made at RKO and Universal. Watch her dueling scenes as a Musketeer’s daughter in “At Sword’s Point” (1952) or alongside Errol Flynn in “Against All Flags” (1952). She’s an absolute natural and looks to be doing her own fighting. What a gal! So I could have told her how much I enjoy her swashbuckling movies, which she probably didn’t hear that weekend, but I just didn’t feel like bothering her. 

Concurrently, I thought about saying hello to John Wayne’s daughter Aissa, also in attendance, but again, so many people had crowded around her to talk to her that I didn’t feel like adding to the situation. It was just a pleasure to be there.  

Instead, I enjoyed the live music that evening and conversations I had with John Wayne and Maureen O’Hara fans from around the country. A walk through the parking lot saw license plates from as far away as Massachusetts, New York, Texas and Georgia. Over the course of the weekend I had conversations from people in those states, along with Kansas, Oklahoma, Minnesota, Illinois and Ohio.

Speaking to these people, I thought about Wayne’s and O’Hara’s continuing appeal. True, the crowd skewered older, but there were lots of families there, along with people in their 20s, 30s and 40s. I’d be hard pressed to think of any actor who has been dead for more than 30 years, or any actress who has not made a movie in more than 20 years, to generate this kind of affection and to have people get in their cars and drive hundreds of miles to be a part of a weekend.  

The weather throughout the weekend wasn’t particularly pleasant, being rainy, cold and overcast most of the weekend. One would think that the Duke, of all people, would have enough pull with The Man Upstairs to arrange some nice weather for his birthday celebration weekend, but it was not to be.

The Iowa Theater, located in downtown Winterset, showed all five John Wayne/Maureen O’Hara movies daily Friday through Sunday. I attended an 11:30 a.m. Saturday showing of “The Quiet Man” (1952).  I got there at 11:10 and had to sit in the front row, the only seats available. The entire audience, represented by children and senior citizens and everyone in between, laughed and cheered throughout. John Wayne’s first appearance got a round of applause, but Maureen O’Hara’s unforgettable entrance in the movie doubled the Duke’s appearance by a wide margin. I don’t think the Duke would have minded that at all.

 

Composer Victor Young’s name had one person cheering for him – it wasn’t me. I suspect it was someone who has responded to the score, not realizing the background score is made of up Irish folk songs and music. (I think the cue for the horse race – a marvelous cue – is original to Young, but I could be wrong).

After visiting the John Wayne boyhood home and visiting the gift shop (I picked up an “Old Guys Rule” T-shirt with a picture of John Wayne on the back), I drove back to West Des Moines to my hotel where I showered and suited up for the big night. At $125 a plate (proceeds going to the John Wayne Birthplace Museum), and with Ms. O’Hara attending in person, I didn’t want to slack off.

It was a wonderful dinner, with a sell-out crowd of more than 800 people in attendance.

Singer Catherine O’Connell traveled from Chicago to sing several of the songs featured in “The Quiet Man”. Chicago was also represented by the Shannon Rovers Irish Pipe Band, who accompanied Irish dancers the McKay Sisters.

An auction netted more than $30,000 for the John Wayne Birthplace Museum. Some amazing items were auctioned off including a jacket worn by Wayne in “Hellfighters” (1969) and a shirt worn by Wayne throughout most of “The Cowboys” (1972).

Iowa Governor Terry Branstad declared May 25, 2013 as Maureen O’Hara Day in Iowa and the Greater Madison County Community Foundation presented a check for $25,000 to the Birthplace Museum. Construction on the Museum is expected to take place soon.

There was a very nice video tribute given showcasing Ms. O’Hara’s career (no swashbuckling scenes, alas) and then one of Ms. O’Hara’s family members (yep, should have taken notes) read a statement thanking everyone for their kindness to the family during the long weekend. He said Maureen had been looking forward to it for a long time and they thanked everyone in the room, and the state of Iowa, for being so friendly and welcoming to them.

And then the lady herself was presented with a microphone and speaking from her wheelchair, mentioned her great love for Wayne, who she called her best friend. Director John Ford was singled out. She said he was very tough and could be very mean, but one put up with it because they knew they were making something great. Everyone was eager to sign on to the next project he was involved in.  

 
All in all, I had a most marvelous weekend. I got to see and hear Maureen O’Hara in person, contributed to a most worthwhile cause, met a lot of very nice people and got to see “The Quiet Man” on the big screen.

If anything was a disappointment it was I really didn’t get to see Maureen O’Hara up close and that was my fault.

 I was seated at one of the table’s upfront and an announcement was made that dinner would start in 10 minutes. I thought this would be a good time to use the bathroom. I made my way to the other side of the room – a far piece – and was just finishing washing my hands when I heard this loud roar of cheers and applause. Sure enough it was Maureen’s arrival from a side entrance and while she didn’t go right past our table, she came fairly close.

When the dinner was over some three-and-a-half hours later, and everyone was milling around, I again took the opportunity to use the bathroom. Once more, coming out I heard cheering and the clapping of hands. Yep, Maureen O’Hara was leaving the building.

Stupid bladder.

To learn more about the John Wayne boyhood home and progress on the John Wayne Birthplace Museum, visit  http://www.johnwaynebirthplace.org/

Wednesday, May 8, 2013

The Mary Astor Blogathon: The Prisoner of Zenda (1937)

 
“Toward the close of the last century, when History still wore a Rose, and Politics had not yet outgrown the waltz, a great Royal Scandal was whispered about in the Anterooms of Europe. However true it was, any resemblance in ‘The Prisoner of Zenda’ to Heroes, Villains, Heroines, living or dead, is coincidence not intended.”

Thus begins “The Prisoner of Zenda” (1937), one of the genuine jewels from Hollywood’s Golden Age, a marvelous entertainment on every level and one of the greatest romantic swashbucklers ever made. It offers several career-best performances, luscious black and white photography, wonderful costumes, a glorious Alfred Newman score and a truly literate and witty screenplay. “The Prisoner of Zenda” is one of those happy instances where all the right people were in the right place at the right time. Above all, it could be one of the most perfectly cast movies ever.

Some movies take a bit to warm up to. With others, it’s apparent from the very start that something magical is about to take place. “The Prisoner of Zenda” is the latter. With its scene of a row of immaculately dressed trumpeters shown onscreen playing a thrilling Alfred Newman fanfare, and an honor roll of a cast – Ronald Colman, Madeleine Carroll, C. Aubrey Smith, Raymond Massey, Mary Astor, David Niven and Douglas Fairbanks Jr., all appearing in a story “From the celebrated novel by Anthony Hope” I was hooked.

And when that aforementioned title card comes up right after the credits, one is ready to sit back and enjoy.

“The Prisoner of Zenda” tells the oft-filmed story of Rudolf Rassendyll, an Englishman on a fishing vacation in the mythical Central European kingdom of Ruritania. He’s an identical double for the king (and distant cousin) Rudolph V, about to be crowned the next day. When the fast-living king is drugged on the eve of his coronation, Rassendyll agrees to take his place at the coronation until the king can be revived. Immediate suspects to the drugging are the king’s power hungry half brother Michael (Raymond Massey) and his henchman Rupert of Hentzau (Douglas Fairbanks, Jr., in the performance of his career).


Rassendyll falls in love with the king’s betrothed Princess Flavia (Madeleine Carroll), and she with him. She can’t get over the change to the man she formerly despised. When the king is kidnapped, Rassendyll continues the charade until the king can be found and restored to the throne.

 

So where does Mary Astor fit into all of this? She plays Antoinette de Mauban, the mistress of Michael. Hers is probably the most nuanced, and adult, portrayal in the movie. This is not meant as a slight to the other cast members. Everyone is at the top of their game. But Antoinette’s character centers the movie with real emotion. She genuinely loves Michael and thinks he is in love with her. But Rupert knows everyone’s Achilles Heel and he zeroes in on hers, which is Michael.

Rupert taunts her, telling her that as king, Michael will have to marry Flavia. If she thinks Michael will renounce Flavia and marry his mistress, does she have a surprise in store for her. Astor reacts marvelously in these scenes. One can almost see the yearning, hope and crushing realization crossing her face all at the same time.

She’s probably the most adult character in the film, giving the film an edge that plays against, but well, with the story’s more swashbuckling fantasy element. It’s not a large role, but it is a key one.

“The Prisoner of Zenda” offers my favorite Ronald Colman performance. 1937 was a great year for Colman with this and his other signature role in “Lost Horizon.” But the essence of Colman’s popularity is here. The beautiful speaking voice, the courtly manners, the wit and the style are all there. He’s fairly mature for a swashbuckling hero, but no one can charm like Ronald Colman. And that voice! I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. If there’s such a thing as reincarnation, I want to come back as Ronald Colman’s speaking voice.

 

I love his expression when he’s listening to Rupert’s plans to do away with everyone else and only leave the two of them standing. Rupert calls Rassendyll “the play actor” and tells him “You and I are the only ones worth saving” out of the whole mess. Rassendyll is as amused by Rupert’s plotting as Rupert is in hatching it.


The other great performance is Douglas Fairbanks Jr.’s Rupert. It’s a joy to see him in every scene. Despite committing several murders on-screen and  ready to break a promise to not kill Rassendyll (as he holds a gun in his hand), he’s the most charming rogue and villain in swashbuckling movie history. The man gleefully grins from ear to ear at his own nefarious plots. He actually gets away at the end, and I for one am ready to cheer when he does so. I never felt that way about Basil Rathbone, George Sanders or George Macready in their costume villainous portrayals. Bur Fairbanks trumps all of them.  

(And for the life I can’t figure out how this got past the Hays Office. Censorship mores at the time demanded the villain be properly punished for his deeds at the end, but here Rupert gets off scot-free. Methinks he charmed the censors as much as he charms the audience. Author Hope did write a sequel called “Rupert of Hentzau” but when did a little thing like that ever affect the Hays Office.)

Fairbanks was initially reluctant to take on the role, due to its supporting nature. His famous father told him to can it, Rupert was the best role in the story and he would be a fool to forsake it. He thankfully took his dad’s advice. One does regret he didn’t do more roles like this. He should have received an Oscar nomination for Best Supporting Actor and he should have won that year.

James Wong Howe’s photography can’t be beat. The film boasts one of the most famous pull backs in movie history, as the Rassendyll and Princess Flavia make their first appearance at the coronation ball. The shot stars in on a close up and then pulls back the length of the ballroom as the two descend down the stairs and past a long row of bowing subjects.

 

The later castle dungeon scenes are marvelously evocative, with lighting from nearby a fireplace and flickering candles highlighting the final action as Rasendyll sneaks into the castle to save the king before he can be killed. The black and white contrast scenes are marvelous to behold and some of the scenes are gorgeous enough to frame. If Ansel Adams ever decided to photograph swashbuckling action in a castle, his scenes would look like something out of “The Prisoner of Zenda.”  

Madeleine Carroll makes just about the loveliest princess imaginable. Not just physical beauty (which Carroll most certainly has), but a warmth and generosity that makes her instantly appealing.


 
The film’s final scene between Flavia and Rassendyll is one of the greatest farewells in movie history and I think it’s every bit as good as the similar scene in “Casablanca.” (1942). After Flavia has been told who Rassendyll really is, she asks to see him. Rassendyll tell her that he has been an imposter in everything but his love for her and he invites her to throw away her cares and duties and follow him to England. She tells him she was born to those cares and duties and that honor binds a woman’s heart too, as much as any man. It’s beautifully played and written, and if “Casablanca” had never been made, I think this scene would win as the ultimate self-sacrifice scene in movie history.

Interestingly, it was a scene that came about amidst much controversy. The film was in production when Edward VIII elected to abdicate the English throne in order to marry the American socialite Wallis Simpson. No honor for Edward, and producer David O. Selznick was worried that this scene in “The Prisoner of Zenda” might be seen as a condemnation towards Edward. There was some talk about changing the ending, but wiser heads prevailed. (Still, one wonders if Edward had been allowed to keep the throne and marry Wallis Simpson, if Selznick would have done the same with Rudolf and Flavia).

Director John Cromwell stresses the film’s romantic aspects over the adventurous ones. Most of the action is confined to the castle raid, and the older Colman is clearly doubled in the long shots during the duel between Rassendyll and Rupert. The dialogue between the two as they parry and thrust is a delight. This is one swashbuckler where the words are more important than the action.

The film’s final goodbye scene between Rudolf, Col. Zapt and Fritz, backed by that glorious Alfred Newman music (with wordless chorus chiming in) and Rudolf riding away in the distance with a tip of his hat, is just about one of the greatest endings ever and never fails to bring a lump to my throat. Just glorious and wonderful in equal measures.

 

When looking at Mary Astor’s credits, I’m always impressed with her participation in several landmarks movies in their particular genres. In addition to Zenda, she graced two of the greatest private eye movies ever, one in the 1930s “The Kennel Murder Case” (1933) and one in the 1940s “The Maltese Falcon” (1941). Drama - her Academy Award-winning role in the splendid woman’s movie “The Great Lie” (1941). Musical – her warm mother portrayal in the immortal “Meet Me in St. Louis” (1944). Comedy - roles in two of the greatest comedies ever made “Midnight” (1939) and in “The Palm Beach Story” (1942) (as the Princess Centimillia!)

“Dodsworth” (1936) is one of the finest literary adaptations ever, and “The Hurricane” (1937) ranks among the top disaster movies of all time, and the historically important “Don Juan” (1926), the first film to feature a synchronized score and sound effects impresses today with its wit, sweep and action.

Admittedly, Mary Astor may not be the first name that comes to mind when one thinks of these films. Undoubtedly though, she is an essential part of the success of these films, and one can’t imagine any of them without her participation.  She remains one of the most underrated figures from Hollywood’s Golden Age and if this Mary Astor blogathon attracts much deserved attention to her career, it will be a grand thing indeed.

 

To read more about this woman and her amazing career visit the Mary Astor blogathon page to see the schedule and what films are being covered.
http://doriantb.blogspot.com/p/astor.html

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

The Slime People


 
Did Stephen King see “The Slime People” (1963) in his youth, where it somehow wormed its way into his subconscious? I thought of that as I watched “The Slime People” this weekend, the same weekend I started reading his 1,000-page opus “Under the Dome”, about a small town in Maine mysteriously cut off from the rest of the world when a massive invisible dome encircles it.

So here I am, by coincidence watching “The Slime People” about a very small group of survivors (the budget for it seemed to be $12.88) in Los Angeles after it has been encircled by a huge dome, and prehistoric slime people emerge from the bowels of the Earth to wreck havoc on the surface.

I don’t know if “Under the Dome” has any slime creatures in it (I’m only 300 pages in), but another famous King situation rears its (slime) head later on in the movie, when the gang of five hold up in a butcher shop and make it their headquarters. Occasional reconnaissance jobs outside leads to fighting slime people, only to cause a mad rush to the back door of the butcher shop, with slime men working their beastly hands through the door as hero Tom Gregory (Robert Hutton) strains to slam the door.

 

One can’t help but flashback to King’s superb novella “The Mist” about a group of people trapped in a small town grocery store beset by all kinds of creepy, crawly creatures, one of which is a tentacled beastie fighting its way through the back door of the store. “The Mist” was made into a pretty good fright flick in 2007, marred mainly by a too cynical for its own good ending.

Stephen King similarities aside, there’s not much to recommend “The Slime People” but that’s not to say it isn’t good. Actually, it isn’t. It’s pretty indefensible. So why did I still enjoy watching it?

 

Well, in the cast as one of the survivors is Susan Hart, one of the prettiest and liveliest 1960s starlets in her film debut, following a couple of TV appearances. She’s a familiar face and, ahem, body in several 1960s beach movies, including the title role in “Ghost in the Invisible Bikini” (1966).  

She plays Lisa Galbraith, who along with sister Bonnie (Judee Norton) and professor father (Robert Burton) team up with Tom Gregory to navigate their way through the empty landscape to seek shelter and find a way to defeat the Slime People.

Star Robert Hutton also directed, and according to a recent review by ace writer DVD Savant (www.dvdsavant.com) talked a relative into letting his cast and crew shoot in his relative’s butcher shop because there was no money for sets. So one has to give him props for ingenuity.

 

But it’s not very well made, and the monster suits are beyond cheesy, but I tend to cut a movie a lot of slack when there’s no budget. Hutton promised his producer/investor a monster movie, a sure winner in the 1950s and 1960s. He made a movie called “The Slime People” and, by golly, we get to see them the very minute the movie opens, coming out of the sewer. This is one movie that delivers what it promises.

But the monsters aren’t very convincing and they move so slowly it’s a marvel they took L.A. as quickly as they do. No doubt to hide the paucity of sets and monster costumes, Hutton shoots everything through a haze of mist.
 
 
So why did I still enjoy the movie? Well, its only 77 minutes long, knows what it’s about, and gets on with it. Character development is non-existent, but so it is in the “Transformers” movies, which run well over two hours, have budgets in the hundreds of millions of dollars, and are supremely headache-inducing. “The Slime People” offers the same entertainment experience at 1/99th the cost,  half the running time and minus the headaches.

 

Robert Hutton had a minor career at Warner Bros. in the 1940s. He’s perhaps most famous for his role as the G.I. in love with Joan Leslie in “Hollywood Canteen” (1944). While watching “The Slime People” I remembered how much I enjoy “Hollywood Canteen”, and how I should watch that again soon. I’ve never thought anything during a “Transformers” movie except how soon it would be over.

Yep, I’ll take “The Slime People” anytime.

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

James Cagney Blogathon: Here Comes the Navy and Devil Dogs of the Air


One of the screen’s greatest partnerships was James Cagney and Pat O’Brien. Best friends for decades off screen (and co-founders of the so-called “Irish Mafia” social group), on screen they were two feisty, stubborn Irishmen who taunted, fought, irritated and generally spent most of their screen time together butting heads until they earned each other’s (grudging) respect.

Their early films together are formula in the best Warner Bros. tradition. Unlike other screen partnerships, whose early films are often the best, the Cagney/O’Brien teamings only got stronger as they went along. Over the course of eight films between 1934 and 1940, a James Cagney/Pat O’Brien movie meant regular coinage to the Warner Bros. coffers.

(They also appeared together in Milos Forman’s “Ragtime” (1981), but its been so long since I’ve seen that film, I can’t remember if the two shared screen time together).

The two started their partnership paying tribute to the armed services, first in “Here Comes the Navy” (1934), followed the next year by “Devil Dogs of the Air” (1935).

Other films included “The Irish In Us” (1935), an engaging boxing yarn with Cagney paired with a teenage Olivia deHavilland, in one of her first films.

1936 saw the release of the very rare (due to rights issues) aviation drama “Ceiling Zero.” Directed by Howard Hawks, it’s the only James Cagney movie I’ve never seen, and I hope the rights could be cleared so we can all see this title. I’m assuming that Cagney and O’Brien go at it in that one as well, but until I see it, it remains one of my most wanted titles.

The boys out yelled each other in the frantic Hollywood satire “Boy Meets Girl” (1938), and then came the big one, the one that today remains one of the most watchable Warner Bros. melodramas of the decade, “Angels with Dirty Faces” (1938) with Cagney as tough guy Rocky Sullivan and his boyhood friend Jerry Connolly, now Fr. Jerry.

Next was another military drama, “The Fighting 69th” (1940), with Cagney as a cocky recruit Jerry Plunkett and Pat O’Brien as Father Duffy, chaplin to the famed World War I unit who does his best to temper the trouble making Plunkett.

 

Their screen partnership ended on a high note, with the hugely entertaining “Torrid Zone” (1940), a melodrama set in a banana republic, with Ann Sheridan along for the ride.

I will be focusing on their first two films together, “Here Comes the Navy” and “Devil Dogs of the Air”, both directed by Warner Bros. workhorse Lloyd Bacon.

 

 While they’re strictly formula, and both entertaining if not particularly inspiring, they are important for setting the Cagney/O’Brien template. On another note, “Here Comes the Navy” has become an important historical document, in ways the makers never intended.

What’s especially remarkable about them is Cagney himself. Always brash and cocksure, in the early scenes of these two movies he’s often downright unlikable and we want O’Brien to deliver a swift kick to Cagney’s behind. . But Cagney is so dynamic that he makes even these unlikable characters watchable, and that’s no mean feat.

 

In “Here Comes the Navy” Cagney plays Chester “Chesty” O’Connor, an iron worker who works in the naval yard. In typical Cagney fashion, he’s dismissive of the Navy and the men who serve there, including Biff Martin (Pat O’Brien) one of the officers aboard the USS Arizona, in dock for repairs.

Chesty and Biff (am I writing about a Hardy Boys book?) take an instant dislike to each other. Matters aren’t helped when O’Connor takes a liking to Martin’s sister Dorothy, played by Gloria Stuart of “Titanic” (1998) fame.


 

A meeting at a local dance between the two means the welders and the sailors have to separate the two from duking it out. Far more entertaining is a short scene with Cagney showing off a few fancy dance steps. Cagney had surprised audiences with his hoofing in “Footlight Parade” (1933); few knew at the time one of the screen’s premiere tough guys started his show business career as a chorus boy. The scene is far too short, but it’s a great antidote to those of us very familiar with his dancing in his (too few) musicals.
 
O’Connor eventually joins the Navy and of course, he’s assigned to the Arizona, where Martin is his commanding officer. On board also is O’Connor’s pal Droopy Mullins (Frank McHugh) and what 1930s Cagney vehicle would be complete without Frank McHugh. (McHugh was also a member of the Irish Mafia and was also close friends with Cagney and O’Brien off screen).

 

Hijinks ensue, mainly with Chesty on leave to woo Dorothy or breaking rules to sneak off the ship to meet with her. One of these scenes involves O’Connor putting on blackface to mix with the black mess cooks leaving for liberty. I suspect this scene is one reason why the film isn’t shown as often as other Cagney vehicles.

Despite almost 75 minutes of non-stop antagonism, when Martin is caught on a rope dangling from a Navy airship, who else but O’Connor climbs down the rope to save him.

 

There’s not a whole lot to read into “Here Comes the Navy” except that it’s very entertaining and fast moving. What’s most interesting about the film today is not as a dramatic vehicle but as a historic one.

Warner Bros. received permission from the U.S. Navy to film aboard the USS Arizona, both on the sea and in dock.  Yes, that’s the same Arizona that was sunk at Pearl Harbor and is now a memorial. It’s a beautiful ship and the footage of the ship sailing through the ocean, and men loading its enormous guns, is something to see. Many of the crew members served as extras. One wonders how many of those sailors we see in the background re-enlisted for duty and were aboard the Arizona on December 7, 1941.

Not only the Arizona, but the airship shown in the film’s climax is the USS Macon, the Navy’s last dirigible airship. The Macon also met a tragic end, crashing into the Pacific Ocean a year later, fortunately with only minimal loss of life - two crew members out of 100. The footage showing the operation and flight of the Macon is very impressive. Again, actual crew members served as extras and because the Macon crashed a year later, I’m sure the men we are seeing on the screen are the same ones who experienced that horror.

“Here Comes the Navy” was such a rousing success, even earning a Best Picture nomination that year, that Warner Bros., seeing gold in the Cagney/O’Brien match up, put into production the next year “Devil Dogs of the Air”. Again securing cooperation from the Navy and the Marines, Warner Bros. had another hit on their hands.

Both films run about 10-15 minutes longer than other Cagney films of the era and I suspect that it’s the excess footage of those airplanes, ships, training facilities, etc. The studio got access to all this military equipment, and the armed forces got an entertaining live action recruiting poster. A win win situation for everybody

 
 
“Devil Dogs of the Air” is the weaker of the two films, and Cagney’s character is even more obnoxious than his Chesty O’Connor. A slight twist is that new Army Air Corps training recruit Tommy O’Toole (Cagney) and Lieut. Bill Brannigan (O’Brien) start off the film as friends before Cagney’s hijinks put his unit, and Brannigan’s command, in jeopardy.  (At least this time their character names are normal).

O’Toole crashes his plane near a restaurant owned by Betty Roberts (Margaret Lindsay). He steals a kiss from her and is completely unrepentant when he finds out Betty is Brannigan’s girl. There never seem to be enough  girls to go around in these movies.

 

Oh, and Frank McHugh is back again as Cagney’s pal, Crash Kelly.

Brannigan gets fed up with O’Toole, requests a transfer, O’Toole continues to buck authority (after all, he knows all the answers) and things look to come to a head when O’Toole and Brannigan are teamed during a war games practice.

This sequence is visually the best in the movie and it required the full cooperation of the U.S. Navy and the Army Air Corps to make it work. Part of the war games scenario concerns the planes trying to find the ships through massive smoke screens generated by the ships to camouflage them from the air. To me it looks like a vast array of cruisers, battleships and destroyers sailing through the ocean hurling vast plumes of smoke while the Army’s bi-planes soar over them looking for their targets. Nothing filmed in a tank on the backlot here.

Their plane catches fire and they both look to be goners, but O’Toole climbs on the wing of the bi-plane to put out the fire, saving both of them.

 

“Devil Dogs of the Air” was written by John Monk Saunders, a specialist in aviation stories. It’s serviceable enough, but the characters don’t have the depth of some of  his other scripts, such as the 1930 and 1938 versions of “The Dawn Patrol” “Wings” (1927) and the exceptionally intriguing “The Last Flight.” Saunders was married to Fay Wray in the 1930s, but committed suicide in 1940.

It doesn’t show on the screen, but Cagney must have chafed at the assignments he was given by Warner Bros. He did four films in 1934 and five films in 1935. Tired of the Warners grind, and suing for breach of contract, he left the studio a year later and signed a short-term contract with Poverty Row studio Grand National Pictures for $100,000 a film and 10 percent of the profits. He made two films there and the first film “Great Guy” (1936) wasn’t much different from what he was making at Warner Bros. In that one he plays an inspector with the Bureau of Weights and Measures (!).

His second film was “Something to Sing About” (1937), a musical I assume he enjoyed making as he always had good things to say about his musicals. I remember an interview he gave years ago, where he said he never watched one of his old movies on television, but if one of his musicals was playing, he would stop and watch the numbers.  

Little Grand National couldn’t handle Cagney’s salary and the films returns weren’t what they expected.

In 1938 Cagney was back at Warner Bros. with a new, more favorable contract. He was glad to be starring with Pat O’Brien in his first two films under the new contract, the aforementioned “Boy Meets Girl” and “Angels with Dirty Faces.”

While “Here Comes the Navy” and “Devil Dogs of the Air” will never be listed as Cagney’s greatest achievements, they still entertain today, even though I would list “Devil Dogs of the Air” as the weakest of the eight Cagney/O’Brien films. But Cagney is dynamic in them, the historic footage can’t be beat, and when it comes to delivering the goods, few could do as well as James Cagney. Always timeless, he will never date. 


Visit The Movie Projector for a list of dates and other Cagney titles under discussion during the week-long blogathon at http://themovieprojector.blogspot.com/. There’s also the chance for an  opportunity for a lucky person to win a copy of the special edition of “Yankee Doodle Dandy” (1942), featuring Cagney in his Academy Award-winning portrayal of George M. Cohan.




Sunday, March 24, 2013

Hollywood Bad Boy Behavior: Not as a Stranger

An unexpected burst of writing assignments have kept me busy of late…too busy to blog alas. But I wanted to put something up and having recently read, and enjoyed Lee Server’s superb Robert Mitchum biography “Baby I Don’t Care” (St.Martin’s Press, 2001), I wanted to do something regarding this book. (I also recommend Server’s biography on Ava Gardner titled  “Love Is Nothing.” They’re two of the best movie star biographies I’ve ever read. They come with my highest recommendation).

One excerpt from the Mitchum biography had me shaking my head and laughing for days. I don’t mean to condone drunken behavior here, but this could be my favorite example of Hollywood bad boy drunken behavior I’ve ever read. For sure, it’s a good thing TMZ was not around circa 1955 when Producer/Director Stanley Kramer was filming the medical soap opera drama “Not as a Stranger”. Taken directly from Server’s book, I hope you enjoy it.

 
 
But Mitchum and his colleagues were not quite ready to take the Hippocratic Oath, as they proved soon after the hospital training period ended and filming of Not as a Stranger began. Kramer has unwittingly loaded the picture with a number of Hollywood’s most ferocious drinkers. “Mitchum, Sinatra, Brod Crawford, Lee Marvin – every one a teetotaler!” said Ed Anhalt, gleefully recalling the well-lubricated cast. “Myron McCormick? Broadway actor played the anesthesiologist in the picture? He’d fall asleep during a take, wake up screaming, and fall off the set! I’m very fond of Stanley, but he was a good boy, didn’t drink, and…Stanley had no idea what he was getting into with this mob.”

“It wasn’t a cast so much as a brewery,” said Robert Mitchum. The tipping would begin early, and by late afternoon the sets at the California Studios would become a full-blown bacchanal. Fights with fists and food, erupted at a moment’s notice. One day the gang toppled a trailer. On another occasion they broke through the side of a dressing room. Telephones were ripped from the walls. It reminded Stanley Kramer of that picture he had produced about the motorcycle gang taking over the town, only that time the gang was working from a script and he could count on a happy ending.

 

 One day Broderick Crawford went berserk. The scrawny but fearless Frank Sinatra enjoyed needling the huge, powerful Crawford, likening the actor to the retarded character, Lenny, in Of Mice and Men. “He could be mean, Sinatra,” said Anhalt. “Why he was so mean to Brod, I don’t know. And you didn’t want to make Brod lose his temper if you had any sense.” Crawford – Mitchum called him “the Crawdad” – took all the needling her could stand one day and attacked Sinatra, holding him down, tearing off his hairpiece and…eating it. Someone screamed, “My God, Crawford’s eaten Sinatra’s wig!”
“Mitchum tried to pull them apart,” said Anhalt. “He liked Brod, and he liked Sinatra, too. And like the Good Samaritan he ended up getting socked for his troubles. And Sinatra took off, disappeared, having instigated the whole thing. So Mitchum’s fighting with Brod, and Brod throws him through the window onto the balcony outside. Mitchum was big and strong, but Brod was even bigger.”

The Academy Award-winning Crawford began choking on the fake hair he had ingested. Someone ran in with technical adviser Dr. Maxwell, and they attempted to make Crawford vomit the hair clump up. Anhalt said, “I don’t know whether they were trying to save him or save the hairpiece, because it was the only one they had. Anyway, it was mangled and they couldn’t use it, so filming had to be postponed for I don’t know how long, until Sinatra could be fitted for a new toup.”

At the end of one exhausting day – blissfully without incident – Kramer dismissed the cast with a polite request: “Tomorrow morning we shoot one of the most difficult scenes in the picture and I want you all clear-eyed and no hangovers. Please…everybody promise me you’ll go straight home now and get a good night’s sleep.” They promised. Kramer stayed late working with the film editor, then wearily got into his car and headed for home. He stopped at a red light on a seedy corner not far from the LaBrea studio and saw a violent commotion outside a bar. He blinked a few times before he realized what he was looking at. It was three, no, four members of his cast, one of them lying sprawled on the asphalt, two in a ferocious fistfight. The light turned green and so did Kramer, cursing to himself and laughing mirthlessly; he drove on and didn’t look back.

I hope to have another blog up before my participation in the James Cagney blogathon, hosted by the inimitable R.D Finch over at the Movie Projector. You can visit his site at http://themovieprojector.blogspot.com/ for a list of dates and films to be covered. On April 10, I’ll be writing about the first two films in the famed James Cagney and Pat O’Brien screen partnership “Here Comes the Navy” (1934) and “Devil Dogs of the Air” (1935). There will also be an opportunity for a lucky person to win a copy of the special edition of “Yankee Doodle Dandy” (1942), featuring Cagney in his Academy Award-winning portrayal of George M. Cohan. It looks to be a great blogathon toasting one of Hollywood’s greatest legends and I’m honored to be a part of it. 

Wednesday, March 6, 2013

Enjoying the Oscar Broadcast....from 1955



The less said about this year’s Oscar show the better. It was awful. The tribute to Bond was an embarrassment, the sleep-inducing acceptance speeches and the genuine lack of class lay thickly over the entire proceedings.

Several years ago, my local video rental store was getting rid of its VHS stock, with tapes selling for $1 each or three for $2. Since I still have a functioning VHS player, I picked up a few tapes including this genuine oddity – a tape of the 27th Annual Academy Awards broadcast, honoring the best in cinema in 1954.

It’s a fascinating document and interesting to compare and contrast with the Oscar show we know today. I can’t say it was a better show, but it was certainly a more streamlined show. Still, I must say that, for all its faults, I’m glad some changes were introduced over the years.

The 27th Oscar show was hosted by Oldsmobile, and the venerable car company receives several plugs throughout the show. (The tape had all the commercials edited out, and minus those commercials, the show ran exactly 95 minutes. The tape is of variable quality, though it is certainly watchable).

I won’t go into a blow by blow account of the ceremony, or announce the winners in each category. This is more of an overall look at what an Oscar broadcast was like circa 1955, with some (for me) highlights described..

The 27th Annual Academy Awards is remembered primarily for several reasons: the year’s Best Actress competition between favorites Grace Kelly for “The Country Girl” and Judy Garland for “A Star is Born” is recalled by Hollywood watchers as one of the closest and most partisan in Oscar history; Dimitri Tiomkin’s acceptance speech is one of the most famous in Oscardom and made the famous composer even more of a household name, a rarity for a screen composer at the time; and for the genuinely bizarre sight of Bob Hope and Marlon Brando trading jokes and yukking it on the Oscar stage. It’s like a scene from an alternate dimension.

 

The show begins with Robert Cummings introducing the show, being broadcast live from the Pantages Theater in Hollywood. The show was also being broadcast from the NBC Century Theater in New York (because of the “On the Waterfront” connection, perhaps?) with giant screens in the background showing what is going on at each theater. For early television viewers, this must have been mind boggling.

As David Rose conducts the orchestra in the pit, playing a medley of songs from great musicals, including the standards “The Trolley Song” and “Long Ago and Far Away”, the camera pans the audience in Hollywood as all the categories and nominations are superimposed on the screen. Cummings invites the audience to look for familiar faces in the crowd, but the quality of the tape precludes that, though I did spot Jeff Chandler in the audience.

Seeing all the nominations upfront seems like a good idea, but when the awards are ready to be given out, the nominations aren’t read, so we have to remember who is competing with who in each category..

Academy President Charles Brackett comes out to tell the audience that there are 20 acting nominees, and rather than having them sit in the audience and biting their nails, many of them will be acting as presenters and handing out awards throughout the evening.

Brackett then introduces the Master of Ceremonies Bob Hope. Now I say this as a Bob Hope fan, but I’ve always thought a lot of his Oscar hosting duties were pretty corny and some jokes that weren’t particularly funny. Here are a few examples from the evening’s monologue:

“Welcome to You Bet Your Career. The secret word tonight is shucks.”

“There’s a lot of nominees sitting side by side. We’re sitting on an ermine time bomb.”

“Losers will be presented with monogrammed do-it-yourself suicide kits.”

“We’ll be presenting some new awards tonight to producers going above and beyond the call of duty in making a musical in regular screen and black and white. Also to the producer who made a movie without Grace Kelly.”

“The studios are really fighting for storied properties. Sam Goldwyn bought ‘Guys and Dolls’, Leland Hayward bought ‘The Old Man and the Sea’ and Howard Hughes bought ‘The Yalta Papers.’ The only problem is which of the three parts will Jane Russell play.”

Hope then turns around to the giant screen behind him to say hello to the NBC Century Theater in New York, and introduces the evening’s Mistress of Ceremonies Thelma Ritter. The very visibly nervous Thelma looks wonderful all gussied up. She then introduces former Academy President Conrad Nagel, who will be assisting her throughout the evening.

The two gentlemen from Price Waterhouse are introduced, one in Hollywood and one in New York. They remain on stage for the entire broadcast and hand the already opened envelopes to the presenters.

There must have been an exceptionally long commercial break because Hope says, “:Remember me” to loud and sustained applause. He then says, “My clothes went out of style.”

The first award is for Documentary Short and it sets the tone for the rest of the evening. No nominations are read, the opened envelope is handed to the presenter, the winner in the category is announced and the winner comes on stage to accept the award. Often there is no speech, or if there is one, it’s a modest thank you and no laundry list of names unknown to the viewing audience. Even the famous Edith Head, who wins for Best Costume Design Black and White for “Sabina”, doesn’t make a speech, but merely nods her head to acknowledge the applauding audience.

When there is a speech, it’s typically short and gracious. For instance, Grace Kelly announces the next award, for Documentary Feature, to “The Vanishing Prairie.” Walt Disney accepts the award and merely says, “On behalf of all the people who brought this to the screen, I thank you.”

Most of the speeches are in that fashion and are about as long.  What’s also interesting about this show is often the banter between Bob Hope and the presenter takes place after the award has been presented.

After Walt Disney exits the stage, Kelly stays behind. Hope says there’s some concern about Judy Garland not being present at the ceremony, and wants to know how she is dong. Kelly says, “She’s fine and regrets not being here tonight.”

Hope says, “We don’t expect her to act out ‘A Star is Born’ here on the stage.”

Hope then introduces the first nominated song, “The High and the Mighty.” Hope says, “I know why they couldn’t land that plane. John Wayne couldn’t find the stirrups.”

Again, not the wittiest of repartee.

Some of the best repartee of the evening comes after Humphrey Bogart presents the Best Black and White Cinematography award. He and Hope are standing at the lectern and Bogart exclaims, almost like a Shakespearean actor, “There isn’t much they can with a face like mine, but yours presents vistas of opportunity. They must gaze on you with all the glee of a child contemplating his first new puppy.”

Hope says they are the two guys in town most grateful to the cameramen and then the two of them begin patting each other on the cheeks and stroking each other’s chins. It’s quite silly and very funny.

Another highlight is when a game Marlon Brando comes on to present the Best Director award. The winner is Elia Kazan, who accepts in New York. And then Brando and Hope go at it, and Brando is surprisingly relaxed trading quips with Hope.

Hope: How do you feel about Elia Kazan winning?

Brando: I’m thrilled to death Bob. He looked pretty nervous.

Hope: First time at the Oscars?

Brando: Yes.

Hope: Everybody got nominated for that movie but the pigeon? Why?

Brando: He’s well-adjusted.

Brando then tells Hope if he wants to get nominated to get a good director and a good script. “Have Tennessee Williams write your next movie.”

Hope: I get Tennessee Ernie.

Brando: Well, it’s a step in the right direction.

If simultaneous broadcasting from both New York and Los Angeles isn’t enough, the broadcast then turns to London, where Audrey Hepburn reads all the nominations- a first and only time for the evening – in the Best Screenplay Adaptation category. She opens the envelope to read the winner, and then we hear Bob Hope announce the winner, George Seaton for “The Country Girl.” Audrey seems surprised that Hope beat her to the punch. Don’t know what happened there.

The next highlight comes courtesy one of the greatest teams in show business history, Bob Hope and Bing Crosby, and one of the most famous speeches in Oscar history. Bing, nominated that year for playing a recovering alcoholic in “The Country Girl”, is on to present the music awards and while their repartee is scripted, they are both so relaxed and in sync with each other that it looks spontaneous and fresh.

 
 
The winner for Best Dramatic Score is Dimitri Tiomkin for “The High and the Mighty.” Poor Dimitri is seated way in the back and it takes him a while to get to the stage, but that’s OK, because we get to hear a lot of the famous theme music as he makes his way to accept the award. Onstage, both Hope and Crosby salaam and bow to Tiomkin as he accepts his award, who then goes into his famous fractured speech:

“Ladies and gentlemen, because I working in this town for 25 years, I like to make some kind of appreciation to very important factor what make me successful to lots of my colleagues in this town. I’d like to thank Johannes Brahms, Johann Strauss, Richard Strauss, Beethoven, Mozart, George Gershwin, Jerome Kern, Wagner, Tchaikovsky, Rimsky-Korsakov. Thank you.”

By the time he gets to the second Strauss, the audience is roaring with laughter and clapping. For many years, many felt that Hollywood’s screen composers were openly copying their classical masters, and here’s Tiomkin pretty much admitting that. He later said he didn’t mean it to sound the way it came out, but the damage was done. (Many of his contemporaries like Franz Waxman and Alfred Newman were furious with him).

Regardless, he leaves the stage and Hope and Crosby stand there stunned, like they can’t believe what they just heard. Hope looks to the wings and says, “You’ll never get on this show again” and Crosby just about loses it.

Other music awards are given and Crosby is about to leave. Hope grabs him by the arm and says, “Look dad, just because you’re nominated you can still talk to old friends, right?”

Crosby says, “I understand you have some very dramatic scenes in (yet-to-be-released) “Seven Little Foys.”

Hope notes, “Yes, and I did it without a drink.”

Crosby quips, “That might be your problem” and walks off stage, twirling once as he enters the wings to a very delighted Hope.

When Grace Kelly’s name is announced as the Best Actress, there’s a loud roar of approval. It’s as if all of Hollywood is breathing a huge sigh of relief that the hotly contested race has finally come to an end.  

 

Bette Davis, wearing a bizarre Dutch cap, but basking in the audience applause for her, announces the Best Actor winner, Marlon Brando, who runs on stage with a huge grin on his face to accept the award. Davis gives him a kiss on the cheek and tells him, “You were just great.”

Brando is very gracious in his speech, saying the statue is heavier than it looks and he forgot what he was going to stay, but does manage, “So many people have been responsible for making me so very glad, and I’m very indebted. It’s a wonderful moment.”

 “On the Waterfront” producer Sam Spiegel accepts the Best Picture award, merely saying, “I’m very grateful to all of you. All of us who worked on ‘On the Waterfront’ are grateful for your acknowledgement.”


 

The last award has been handed out and Hope says the receptions will continue at Romanoffs and Chasens. He then gives a plug to the evening’s sponsors, bidding the audiences good night and telling them to get an Oldsmobile and drive to the movies.

And the show still isn’t over. Hope introduces Academy President Charles Brackett, who takes over hosting duties for the last 15 minutes, where the Scientific and Technical Awards are presented by Lauren Bacall; the Best Foreign Film; a special Oscar to Bausch & Lomb; the award for Best Juvenile Performance (a now defunct category); the Humanitarian Award to Danny Kaye for his work with UNICEF; and a special Honorary Academy Award to Greta Garbo. Garbo obviously didn’t attend the ceremony, but Nancy Kelly, in New York, accepted the award on her behalf.

But the show isn’t over yet. Hope brings on stage Robert Cummings to take a bow, as well as the show’s producer and general director, Jean Negulesco, show, who says a few words of thanks. Hope than asks show coordinator Johnny Green to take a bow from the audience. 

With that, the show is now officially over. Hope walks off the stage to the strains of “That’s Entertainment” and “Three Coins in the Fountain.”

The good points about the show is how fast it moved. Part of that is due to the brevity or non-existence of acceptance speeches. While I like how everyone gets to say something during contemporary Oscar broadcasts, I wish winners would heed the advice of the Academy and say something besides an endless list of people to thank. Hearing a succession of names does not make a good acceptance speech.

One of my favorite Oscar speeches of recent years was when director Steven Soderbergh won Best Director for “Traffic” (2000). He said there were lots of people to thank and he would be doing so to those people in the next couple of weeks. But he really wanted to talk about art and why they make art and to encourage those who make art to continue to do so. That was a great speech.

I also prefer having the nominees be read for each category to remind us of who is competing with each other. And the opening of the envelope on stage adds to the evening’s drama.

I look forward to the Oscars every year and then about an hour into the show I wonder why I anticipate it so much. That happens every year and I have no doubt the same thing will happen next year.

I hope the Oscars returns to a real celebration of film, both past and present. Return the Honorary Oscar to the broadcast itself, so we can hear something resembling a real speech instead of a thank you speech.

And please hire someone who puts real thought into Oscar tributes. As I said earlier, the Bond tribute was atrocious. There’s more to 007 than chases and explosions. How about showing each actor who played the role, some of the famous quips, fabulous scenery, the gadgets, M, Q, Miss Moneypenny, etc. What a wasted opportunity that was.

No doubt next year I’ll be looking forward to the Oscars and then bemoaning the broadcast the next day. It’s the way of the world, I guess.