Friday, November 15, 2013

The Chaney Blogathon: High Noon (1952)



The following essay is Thrilling Days of Yesteryear’s contribution to The Chaney Blogathon: Two Men, Thousands of Faceswhich is currently underway from November 15-18 and sponsored by Movies, Silently & The Last Drive-In.  For a complete list of the participating blogs and the subjects being covered, click here…and for that one person who’s not seen the following film—this is your spoiler warning.


Hadleyville marshal Will Kane (Gary Cooper) has just tied the knot with Quaker bride Amy Fowler (Grace Kelly) when he learns of trouble a-brewing via a telegram.  Five years earlier, Kane was responsible for sending the man who ran the town—outlaw Frank Miller (Ian MacDonald)—to prison for murder…and although Miller was sentenced to be hung, he has instead been paroled and is scheduled to arrive in Hadleyville on the noon train.  Miller’s brother Ben (Sheb Wooley) and two of his associates, Jim Pierce (Robert J. Wilke) and Jack Colby (Lee Van Cleef), are already waiting at the depot for Frank’s return.

Several members of Hadleyville’s town council—including mayor Jonas Henderson (Thomas Mitchell) and Martin Howe (Lon Chaney, Jr.), the man who got Kane his job as marshal—suggest to Will that he beat a hasty retreat…and he and Amy are soon on the first (and fastest) wagon out of Hadleyville.  But Will’s sense of duty won’t let him run like a rabbit; he knows that the town’s new lawman isn’t due to arrive until tomorrow…and what’s more, a man like Miller will come after him wherever he sets down stakes.

The couple returns to town, though Amy informs Will that her pacifism will not allow her to stick around and watch his fool self be killed.  Will’s attempts to solicit help in repelling the eventual danger that is Miller and his gang are rebuffed at every turn: his deputy Harvey Pell (Lloyd Bridges) refuses to pitch in unless Kane lobbies the council to appoint him marshal; many of the townsfolk (particularly those running the saloon and hotel concessions) are actually enthusiastic about the business that will result with Miller’s return; and an endeavor to appeal to several citizens during a church service results in mostly a bunch of speeches filled with sound and fury, signifying nothing.

The hour of noon is at hand, and Amy prepares to leave Hadleyville by train along with Helen Ramirez (Katy Jurado), a Latino businesswoman who once knew Kane very well and in the Biblical sense before Will met Amy.  (Ramirez was also well acquainted with Frank Miller, which is why she’s folded her tent and headed for points unknown.)  The two women board the same train that Miller has just stepped off of, and he joins the other three men strolling into town, preparing to shoot Kane down.  Through grit, determination and a little ingenuity (not to mention a moment where Quaker Amy abandons her principles to gun one of them down through the window of the marshal’s office) Kane comes through his ordeal…and in preparing to leave the town with Amy, throws his badge down in disgust at the townsfolk.

In a recent post at The Classic TV and Film CafĂ©, the topic of director Howard Hawks’ reaction to the 1952 western High Noon was broached…which included the now legendary criticism from Mr. H: “I didn't think a good sheriff was going to go running around town like a chicken with his head off asking for help.  And who saves him? His Quaker wife. That isn't my idea of a good Western.”  The legend then has it that Hawks made Rio Bravo (1959) with John Wayne (who in a 1971 Playboy interview tagged Noon as “the most un-American thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life”) as a conservative response to the movie they both so disliked.

With all due respect to Howie and the Duke—and mostly because I think their remake of Bravo, El Dorado (1967), is a far better film—this is all complete and utter bollocks.  High Noon is a great Western, and rests snugly in my top three movie oaters of all time.  Besides, you don’t get to complain about a lawman (the character of Will Kane is not a sheriff, but a marshal) “asking for help” or depending on assistance from “his Quaker wife” when your movie needs “a game-legged old man and a drunk”—not to mention a lock-jawed Ricky Nelson—to bail out its hero.  (High Noon’s director, the great Fred Zinnemann, dismissed Hawks’ comments by saying: “I admire Hawks very much—I only wish he’d leave my films alone!”)

Screenwriter Carl Foreman always claimed that High Noon was essentially an allegory about Hollywood at the time the movie was produced, which I’m convinced is one of the main reasons why I’ve always championed the film, despite criticism that Foreman’s view was a bit narrow.  You see, I have an affinity for westerns…but I love those westerns that challenge the orthodoxy of what has long been a conservative film genre, like Johnny Guitar (1954) and Silver Lode (1954).  I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve watched High Noon, and it seems that each time I do watch it I find something in it I missed on a previous viewing.  There’s an ambiguity to its narrative, and the psychology of the film (a town that knows a psycho killer is arriving soon will do nothing to save itself) has fascinated me since the first time I sat down and watched it with my father.

The script and direction are first-rate, as is the editing (which won an Oscar for Elmo Williams and Harry W. Gerstad)…but what I love most about the film is the pitch-perfect casting.  Gary Cooper was always more movie star than actor but his Best Actor Oscar was richly deserved.  Grace Kelly, as the “Quaker wife,” is also great (she always complained of her stiffness in the role but it’s just what her character needed), as are Katy Jurado (High Noon made me a fan of hers for life), Otto Kruger, Thomas Mitchell and Lloyd Bridges.  The film is virtually larded with character greats…which brings us to the man of the blogathon: Lon Chaney, Jr.

Lon, Jr. has a small but memorable role as Martin Howe, the ex-lawman who was a role model to Will Kane as a kid, inspiring him to follow in his footsteps.  (Howe later reveals the cynicism about his career to Kane, intoning wistfully: “It’s a great life—you risk your skin catchin’ killers and the juries turn ‘em loose so they can come back and shoot at ya again.”)  In the film, Kane believes he can depend on Martin to lend a hand when Miller and Company arrive…but he learns to his dismay that Martin plans to sit this one out:

You know how I feel about you…but I ain’t goin’ with ya… (He looks at his hands) Seems like a man with busted knuckles didn’t need arthritis, too—don’t it?  Naw…I couldn’t do nothin’ for ya…you’d be worried about me…you’d get yourself killed worryin’ about me…it’s too one-sided like it is…

Among the actors considered for the part of Howe were TDOY fave Jay C. Flippen and Victor McLaglen—but Zinnemann wanted Chaney because of the actor’s “flat voice,” which he thought was perfect for the world-weary ex-lawman.  It’s one of Lon’s finest hours onscreen, particularly the wonderful observation (also made by Otto Kruger’s Judge Mettrick in an earlier scene) that “It’s all happenin’ too sudden…people gotta talk themselves into law and order before they do anything about it.  Maybe because down deep…they don’t care…they just don’t care.”  It’s a statement that can be applied to a lot of things (I always hear Lon’s voice in my head when I read something outrageous about politics), and one that answers the question “Why won’t anybody help that guy?” better than anything else in the picture.

“It’s all for nothin’, Will,” remarks Howe sadly as Kane takes leave of his old friend.  “It’s all for nothin’.”  Chaney’s role here and his turn as “Big Sam” in The Defiant Ones (1958) remain two of his very best acting showcases from the twilight of his career.

Sunday, November 10, 2013

Lot(s) of fun


You may recall my mentioning back in May of this year that film historian Richard M. Roberts—a friend of the blog, and the Silent Comedy Mafia capo di tutti capi who keeps me honest whenever I’ve mangled a fact or two—has published a book available through Grapevine Video entitled Smileage Guaranteed: Past Humor, Present Laughter.  The first volume (subtitled Musings on the Comedy Film Industry 1910-1945 Volume One: Hal Roach and published by Practical Press)—part uno of a trilogy to come—deals with the “Lot of Fun,” better known as the Hal Roach Studios…and when I received news of this via e-mail I knew I would eventually have to acquire a copy.

So I went out and collected pop bottles, mowed a few lawns…okay, I’m sort of making this up—but I did manage to save a penny here and there and purchase a copy of the book in the latter part of September.  I need to be upfront about this: I was a ready-made audience for this publication; I have had a lifelong love affair with the shorts and features that emanated from the Roach studio, whose stars included the likes of Harold Lloyd, Our Gang, Stan Laurel & Oliver Hardy and many, many more.

It’s a book that I would recommend without hesitation: comprehensively thorough and meticulously well-researched…with the added benefit of being profusely illustrated to boot (stills, lobby cards and a scrapbook courtesy of Roach employee Marie Mosquini).  (The author jokingly refers to it as “The World’s Longest Footnote.”)  The filmography alone is worth the price of admission, and the first one out there who dismisses this with a wave of the hand and a “Oh, that’s what the IMDb is for” I need to let you know right now we can no longer be seen hanging out together.

I do need to issue a major caveat.  While many of the individuals who starred in these wonderful silent and sound comedies are discussed in rigorous detail in Smileage Guaranteed’s multiple chapters, you’re not going to read long dissertations on the work of major stars like the aforementioned Lloyd, Our Gang or Laurel & Hardy.  The author acknowledges that their contributions to the “Lot of Fun” have already been covered exhaustively by other writers—Randy Skretvedt (Laurel & Hardy), Rob Stone (solo Stan & Ollie), Adam Reilly and Annette D’Agostino Lloyd (both chroniclers of Harold Lloyd)…and especially Leonard Maltin, who detailed the history of Our Gang with Richard Bann (The Little Rascals: The Life and Times of Our Gang), and touched upon Thelma Todd/ZaSu Pitts/Patsy Kelly (Movie Comedy Teams) and The Boy Friends (Selected Short Subjects) in must-have book collections.  (Leonard even contributed a nice rave for Richard’s book, which you can read here.)

While I would have loved to read Roberts’ take on the Boy Friends and Todd-Pitts/Todd-Kelly comedies (to his credit, he does briefly touch upon them in discussing other comics) I can certainly understand the necessary pruning: the present volume (as Maltin observed) is about the size of a large telephone directory, and Richard joked to me in an e-mail that he’ll have to start writing shorter books because of the stamina he needed to haul around copies of Smileage Guaranteed at various film festivals over the summer.  (He is now the most ripped film historian I know.)  The focus of the book is on additional performers employed by Roach, notably Charley Chase…whom Roberts has always emphatically argued should not ever be described with the adjective “neglected,” and I wholeheartedly agree.  Charley’s career at the studio is outlined in loving detail, and he also benefits from a filmography appendix at the end of the book that not only contains his Roach productions but other outside work (like his Columbia short comedies) as well.

Richard also pays attention (for attention must be paid) to ‘Snub’ Pollard and Max Davidson; in fact, after devouring the section on Davidson I knew that I finally had to get off my duff and acquire that Edition Filmmuseum collection that I had been promising myself for ages I’d buy.  (I also bought the Female Comedy Teams discs, because I don’t like to break up a set.)  Other funsters mentioned in book chapters include Beatrice LaPlante, Eddie Boland, Paul Parrott (aka James Parrott, brother of Charley Chase), Will Rogers, Clyde Cook and Glenn Tryon.  I’ve a passing familiarity with some of these comedians’ works (the works that still survived, that is) but reading about them in greater detail might make you sad that their films are not more readily available.  One of my favorite chapters is “A Few Failed Female Funnies,” which mentions the attempt of the studio to make a star of personal favorite Martha Sleeper and a comedy team out of Anita Garvin (another fave) and Marion Byron.  The work of Mabel Normand during her brief stint at the Roach studio is also discussed…and again, I’d love to be able to see some of these films as they sound both fascinating and fun.

Roberts’ chapter on Harry Langdon’s stint at the Roach studios is an interesting one (and I learned one or two things of which I was not previously aware, which is always good) but while I love Langdon’s silent comedies and am fond of the occasional Langdon Educational and Columbia two-reeler, I’m probably one of the “haters” to whom Richard refers in that chapter because I just can’t warm up to his Roach comedies.  (I’m hoping that our mutual dislike for the Dippy Do-Dads and the Taxi Boys is enough to paper over this disagreement.)  My high praise for Smileage Guaranteed comes down to this: I like reading Richard’s criticism of the films and how he firmly believes that discussion of the subject of comedy should in itself entertain; it need not be just a dry and dusty film school dissertation.  E.B. White once observed that “humor can be dissected as a frog can, but the thing dies in the process and the innards are discouraging to any but the pure scientific mind.”  With Richard, there’ll be some dissection involved…but there’ll also be some other “cutting up” (if you’ll pardon the pun) when the professor’s not looking.

Mister Roberts is currently at work on a second volume of Past Humor, Present Laughter—which will outline the history of the curiously-named Educational Pictures comedy studio.  Will I purchase a copy of that when it comes out?—you betcha bottom dollar I will.  But for right now, if you’re anxious to find the perfect Christmas gift for that person in your family who adores movie comedy, I cannot stress enough the urgency of running over to Grapevine Video and snatching up a copy.  Smileage Guaranteed firmly occupies a prestigious position on the movie bookshelf here at Rancho Yesteryear…it’s simply a book you can’t be without.

Thursday, November 7, 2013

An additional story in the Naked City

No one is as more surprised as I to see the flurry of activity on the blog this week…but since TDOY’s been on a roll since Monday, I figured I’d continue running the table.  (Particularly since a fallow period is headed for the blog soon, as I have a couple of Radio Spirits projects on my plate.)  But today, I’d like to indulge in a bit of bragging.


Back in May, I mentioned in passing that TVShowsOnDVD.com had posted an announcement in which RLJ Entertainment (formerly Image Entertainment) had plans to release all 138 episodes of the seminal police drama Naked City in a 29-disc set that, at the time of the announcement, had no official street date (it was later announced that the set would be released on November 5) but was available at Amazon for a pre-order tariff of $99.99 (the set itself retails for $179.98).  Even though I painstakingly parted with the wherewithal to buy the previous not-quite-complete collections/sets released by Image…and even though my religion has strict rules against “double-dipping”…I told myself that I would have to have the set, because Naked City is seriously one of my all-time favorite television shows.

My mother and I have a conversation a month or two after this announcement is made.  She asks me if there’s anything I have my eye on for Christmas, and I tell her the only thing I really want is this set.  After groaning about yet another portion of discs making their way into Rancho Yesteryear, she acquiesces and has me pre-order the set…then issues strict instructions that I am to be surprised on Christmas.

Now…here’s where the story takes an amazing turn.  I do not know for what reason I happened to stop by DVDPriceSearch.com that fateful day in October—lately I’ve been trying to avoid the site because I’m weak when it comes to temptation—but I cannot ignore an entry on that site that says the Naked City set I’ve pre-ordered from Amazon is available from Walmart…

…for $25.48.

My eyes leave their sockets for a brief second as if I were in a Tex Avery cartoon.  I could not believe it—it had to be some sort of error.  So I mosey on over to Walmart.com…and sure enough, the set is selling for $25.48.  I even read the description, just to make sure they haven’t misidentified the collection.  Same one they’re selling at Amazon (and by this stage of the game, a few other places as well).

I was convinced that this was a huge mistake, and that Walmart was going to find some way to weasel out of this…but I was also convinced that if I didn’t avail myself of this deal of a lifetime, I would hate myself for the rest of the time I have on Earth.  So I ordered a copy, and set aside enough time to wait until I was sure I would be getting this deal before I canceled the Amazon pre-order.  The last week in October, the Amazon order was cancelled.  I figured, what the hell—if it does turn out to be a boo-boo, I can always re-order…and what’s more, I’ll shop around to see if there’s a better deal (as I said earlier, a few more places had started selling it since my initial order).

The package arrived yesterday—and it’s the same set as the one advertised on Amazon.  I am convinced Baby Jeebus loves me, because I cannot believe my good fortune—even my mother high-fived me, and we all know how she feels about DVDs.  The word on this apparently got out on Facebook—I know Video Watchdog’s Tim Lucas shouted it from the rooftops—and after who-knows-how-many-people capitalized on this deal, the $99 price eventually returned to the listing.  I checked the site the other day and I couldn’t even find the set in the inventory; somebody must have removed it after the company took the bath they did on the discounted sets.  (The imp in me wants to believe that the poor schmendrick responsible was demoted for this fox paw and is now on greeter duty.)

I do feel bad about buying this from Walmart, though…because there’s no love lost between me and a corporation who represents everything I despise about corporations, and I try not to patronize the business as a rule.  But I simply couldn’t pass this up, and I’m sure if I light a few candles and say a few novenas during the holidays that will right the situation.  (I just need to be able to remember where the church is.)

In other DVD news, Barnes & (Ig)Noble are running their annual 50%-off Criterion sale as of this post…and because B&N appears doomed to be crushed under the boot heel of the gigantic behemoth known as Amazon, I figured I’d drop a few shekels (okay, it was more like a lot of shekels) into their coffers and buy a few nice things for myself (including The Uninvited, which Laura has sold me on with her latest ClassicFlix review).  (Brandie proved to be a first-rate saleswoman as well, since I grabbed I Married a Witch while I was at it.) I also pre-ordered the City Lights release, which is being sold as a Blu-ray/DVD combo…so on the off-chance I eventually do acquire a Blu-ray player I’ll have something to play in it.

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

The Duke is Tops: A Double Feature Guest Review


By Philip Schweier


Flying Tigers (1942)

After several years of being featured in Westerns, John Wayne first put on a uniform in the forgettable Seven Sinners (1940), in which he got second billing behind the incomparable Marlene Dietrich. In 1942, he starred in Flying Tigers as Capt. Jim Gordon of the American Volunteer Group, better remembered as the flying Tigers. The AVG was a group of American flyers helping defend the Chinese people against the invading Japanese forces. It’s a fairly standard formulaic war tale, elevated by the presence of the Duke at the peak of his manly charm.

The story begins with battle between Flying Tigers and Japanese bombers, in which the Tigers lose one of their younger members. Gordon journeys to Rangoon to see what kind of enlistees he might be able to scare up. Waiting for him is Blackie Bales (Edmund MacDonald), an experienced flyer trying to live down a questionable past. Gordon isn’t inclined to take him on, until an impassioned plea by Mrs. Bales (Mae Clark) changes his mind. Also along for the ride is Woody Jason (John Carroll), a carefree hot-shot who makes it clear from the get-go he’s only interested in one thing: the $500 bounty for each Japanese pilot shot down.

Jason quickly alienates most of the other men with his grand-standing. He and Blackie lock horns over Jason’s habit of swooping in for the kill at the last minute.  Jason is given a lot to think about when Blackie is forced to bail out in the heat of battle. Without Jason to protect him on the way down, he and his parachute are an easy target for Japanese fighters. To ease his guilt, Jason pays a visit to Mrs. Bales, handing over some money he says belonged to Blackie.


There’s a further softening when Jason tries to make time with Gordon’s girl, Anna Lee (Brooke Elliott), a British nurse stationed at the airfield. She takes him to an orphanage where Jason entertains the children with parlor tricks. Anna Lee, at first a little frosty toward Jason, begins to thaw.

As the war against the Japanese escalates, the squadron is assigned night patrol, requiring each of the men to undergo a physical. Hap Smith (Paul Kelly), Gordon’s second-in-command is grounded following the revelation that his eyesight is failing him. But when Jason and Anna Lee leave the post for a date, Hap takes off in Jason’s plane to cover for him.

Typical of war films, Hap’s handicap in the air costs him his life. Returning to the airfield, Gordon tells Jason and Anna Lee, “I hope you two had a good time. Hap paid the check.”


Finally, Jason begins to see the light, and in the aftermath of December 7, 1941, American strikes against the Japanese take on an increased urgency. With Japanese supplies moving by train, Gordon cooks up a plan to use a less-conspicuous cargo plane to drop nitroglycerin on the enemy. He’s instructed to locate a volunteer for what is very likely a one-way mission, but in manly Duke fashion, Gordon isn’t going to ask one of his men to do something he’s not prepared to do himself. But on board the plane he finds Jason waiting for him. He manages to convince Gordon they stand a better chance together than one of them would alone.

Bombing the bridge is successful, but as they attack the train itself, Jason is wounded by flak. Once Gordon bails out, he aims the plane and rides it down in an appropriate kamikaze attack.

The film is easily predictable by anyone who’s seen more than a few war films of the era, thanks to writers Keith Garnet and Barry Trivers. John Wayne is in top form as the hard-as-nails commander of the squadron. David Miller’s direction is superb, the action is fierce, with some top-notch (for the day) special effects. Highly recommended.

Flying Leathernecks (1951)

Nine years later, Wayne would play another squadron commander in another Keith Garnet story. But rather than a formulaic adventure story, Leathernecks is a glimpse inside the lives of Marine pilots during WW II.

Maj. Daniel Xavier Kirby (Wayne) is the new commander of VMF-247 (“Wildcats”); Capt. Carl Griffin (Robert Ryan) is his executive officer. Kirby believes the potential for air support for ground troops, and Griff is more than willing to agree with him. However, he wins no favors from the men when one of the flyers breaks formation in pursuit of an enemy observer plane. He gets the plane but ends up having to ditch his due to lack of fuel. As result, Kirby intends to court martial the pilot.

For much of the film, Griff acts as the peace-maker as more incidents arise to drive a greater wedge between Major Kirby and his men. Death, injury and more death seems to the pilots’ steady diet during the ongoing battle in the Pacific. Kirby drives the men relentlessly, not because he’s a hard-ass, but because there’s a war on, a little sacrifice now just might save more than a few lives later – even if it means sending men to their deaths.


This becomes clear when the two commander’s are faced with two assignments: one is a milk run, manned by rookie pilots, the other more dangerous mission is assigned to the veterans. Griff suggests he command the milk run, and Kirby counters with the idea of one of the new pilots replacing him in the more hazardous mission. Griff balks at the idea of having to choose a flyer whose lack of combat experience will place him at greater risk.

Kirby explains this is why Griff failed to be given the command of the squadron in the first place, and it leads Griff to have to make a tough choice later in the film during a key battle.

In between the moody bravado of both officers, the audience witnesses brief glimpses of typical life in the armed service. MSgt. Clancy (Jay C. Flippen) is a conniving trickster of a sergeant, squirreling away various critical needs for the men and blaming it on others. One of the more amusing scenes is when the pilots write home, and we are shown the recipients of the letters. Several depict families and affection; the last one shows a floozy who seems to be the life of everyone’s party.


Whereas Flying Tigers made use of miniatures for its battle scenes, Leathernecks has the advantage of actual war footage. Legend has it some came from Japanese sources. While it might add a greater sense of realism for some, I found the transition from Hollywood to historical footage a little jarring, but your mileage may vary.

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

DVD Review: Baby Peggy: The Elephant in the Room


On a Monday night in December of 2012 (December 3rd, for those of you keeping strict accounts), The Greatest Cable Channel Known to Mankind™ premiered a documentary on actress-author Diana Serra Cary—who in the 1920s was second in popularity to movie moppet Jackie Coogan as silver screen favorite “Baby Peggy” Montgomery.  Entitled Baby Peggy: The Elephant in the Room (and directed by Vera Iwerebor), the presentation was also accompanied by showings of three of Cary’s "Peggy" short subjects and the 1924 silent feature Captain January.  I mentioned previously in this blog post that I caught most of the doc and two of the three shorts when they aired but that I was disappointed that I wasn’t able to see January (well, my father has a rendezvous with Kindly Doc Maddow weeknights at 9...there's not much I can do about that).

That disappointment has since disappeared; Milestone Film & Video has released not only the documentary but the supplement shorts and feature to DVD, which is now available as of today, as a matter of fact.  Milestone founder and Facebook chum Dennis Doros was gracious enough to send me what we call in the blog business a “screener,” and I was able to have a look at the entire package this weekend.  I’ve long been a fan of Milestone; several of their releases occupy permanent positions in the dusty Thrilling Days of Yesteryear archives (you may remember me talking up their Charley Chase collection, Cut to the Chase, earlier this year) including a few of their acclaimed Mary Pickford releases.  They’ve also released a number of independent films to DVD (examples include The Exiles and I Am Cuba) not to mention responsibility for a number of documentaries shown on the aforementioned Tee Cee Em (notably Captured on Film: The True Story of Marion Davies).  The Elephant in the Room is a most worthy addition to their first-rate silent film catalog.

Diana Sierra Cary marked her 95th birthday on October 29—both the IMDb and Wikipedia record it as the 26th, which is at odds with what Cary has written…and I think she’s in a better position to know—and along with Mickey Rooney, Jean Darling and Carla Laemmle is one of the last surviving film stars to have worked in the silent era.  She began her motion picture career at the age of 19 months…and was considered a “has-been” by the time she turned 11.  After a second career as a movie extra and a third vocation devoted to the Catholic church as well as a greeting card business, Cary eventually found her niche as a film historian, telling the stories of Hollywood stuntmen (including her father, who used to double for cowboy star Tom Mix) in The Hollywood Posse and other kiddie performers in Hollywood's Children.  The Elephant in the Room chronicles much of her story, which takes turns both tragic and triumphant in its hour-long presentation.

My distaste for child actors has never been a secret here on the blog, though I do have an affection for some (I always liked the Our Gang kids because they were just basically being kids onscreen)—and the first time I watched the Baby Peggy presentation back in December 2012 I had a little difficulty discerning what all the fuss was about.  The shorts that were shown—Carmen, Jr. (1923), Such is Life (1924) and Peg o’the Mounted (1924)—basically feature a cutesy kid mimicking grownup actions, and that sort of thing gets old with me real fast.  Such is Life avoids this some, but commits the cardinal cinematic sin of replacing funny with sticky-sweet.  It also doesn’t help that the shorts (again, Life is the exception) are one-reelers…or what preservationist David Kalat once correctly identified as “the ugly stepchildren of silent comedy.”

But since I was afforded the opportunity to see one of Cary’s feature films, Captain January, I’m getting a better understanding of the Baby Peggy appeal.  It’s probably her best-known movie, owing to the fact that it was remade in 1936 as a musical vehicle with legendary moppet actor Shirley Temple.  I really enjoyed watching the 1924 version; sure, it’s sloppy with sentiment and corny as Kansas in August but there are two factors in its favor at work: 1) the artistry of silent films (it was directed by one-time Buster Keaton crony Eddie Cline), and 2) it does not feature Shirley Temple.  January is an adaptation of the Laura E. Richards book of the same name (published in 1891), and features Peggy as an orphan taken in by lighthouse keeper Jeremiah “Daddy” Judkins (Hobart Bosworth).  Complications ensue when the sister (Irene Rich) of Peggy’s ma (who was lost at sea) has a chance meeting with the child, and identifies her as her niece.  (Quelle coinkydink!)

Diana Serra Cary’s life is briefly sketched out in The Elephant in the Room, and there are some wonderfully poignant moments in the documentary—with my favorite at the beginning, where she opens up her mailbox (in a row of identical boxes, the kind often prevalent in apartment complexes) to find a fistful of fan mail; she wistfully explains how a new generation of classic movie devotees have discovered her work and want to know more about her.  Cary’s tale is a sad if cautionary one; the woman made roughly two fortunes before she turned 11 (one stolen by a family member, the other wiped out in the 1929 stock market crash) and had nothing to show for all the work (and her memoir, Whatever Happened to Baby Peggy?, goes into excruciating detail of how she often toiled for eight hours a day as a child star, frequently working without a stunt person).  Movie fans know that a similar financial fate befell Jackie Coogan (Cary even penned a biography on her rival, Jackie Coogan: The World’s Boy King in 2004) and that steps were taken to ensure that money earned by child actors was squirreled away for their future (legislation that became known as the Coogan Act).  There were ways to get around this (there’s always a loophole, folks) and the law was eventually amended by the efforts of Cary and former Donna Reed Show actor Paul Petersen through the organization A Minor Consideration.

If you missed the TCM showing of Baby Peggy: The Elephant in the Room I’d heartily recommend the purchase of the Milestone DVD—particularly since Captain January and the other three shorts are part of the package, and I’d personally buy the disc for January alone (don’t make the mistake I did in not acquiring Milestone’s Marion Davies DVD release—which is now out-of-print, and so I missed the opportunity to see her feature film Quality Street).  Those of you who’ve been stopping by this ‘umble scrap of the blogosphere are well aware that silent cinema is a passion of mine, and The Elephant in the Room is a mesmerizing and informative chronicle of one of the most popular personalities of that era.

Monday, November 4, 2013

Milestones


Three years ago on the blog, I gave a birthday shout-out to the incomparable OTR actress Shirley Mitchell, who was celebrating her ninety-first natal anniversary.  Well, Ms. Mitchell is still going strong at age ninety-four, and you can get a quick look at her amazing career over at the Radio Spirits blog this a.m.  The screen capture above is from an appearance she made on The Real McCoys in 1957—to my knowledge, that was the only time she was on the program—and she played the wife of Mac Maginnis, a minor character on the program essayed by another OTR vet, Willard Waterman.  I find this episode (“Luke Gets His Freedom”) a delight because Mitchell and Waterman performed together on The Great Gildersleeve, the radio comedy featuring Shirley’s signature turn as flirtatious Southern belle (from Savannah, y’all) Leila Ransom.  (I also don’t think it’s a coincidence that Mrs. Maginnis’ first name is “Lela.”)  The two performers also worked in tandem on Leave it to Joan, a 1949-50 radio sitcom starring Joan Davis, and while Waterman was still alive they attended many an old-time radio convention.

As you’ll read over at Radio Spirits, Shirley worked on a good many sitcoms (the item to your left is an item from an issue of Radio Mirror that mentions she was a regular on a short-lived program, Tales of Willie Piper) where Southern women sort of became her stock-in-trade.  Mitchell is also the last surviving recurring cast member of I Love Lucy; she played one of Lucy Ricardo’s chums, Marion Strong, in three episodes of that iconic sitcom.  Thrilling Days of Yesteryear wishes her much love and luck on her birthday today—she is truly a show business treasure.

And speaking of Thrilling Days of Yesteryear (Gad! These segueways just write themselves!) it was ten years ago on this date when I was hanging out with some of the cool kids in the smoking area in back of the high school and one of them suggested I get myself a blog so that the others wouldn’t knock my cap off or steal my lunch money.  And thus…TDOY was born.  I honestly have difficulty believing sometimes that I’ve been doing this for a decade, and I’ve been enormously fortunate in that it’s not only something I love doing but that it opened up avenues to where I’ve been richly compensated (in a monetary sense), as witnessed by my long association with Radio Spirits (thanks to Mark, Nancy, Karen and the rest of them for all the work and support) and newest gig with ClassicFlix.  Thanks to L.B. for coming up with the idea in the first place; thanks to S.Z. and Scott C. for showing me not only how simple it was but also how I would never be able to compete with World O’Crap (not even after massive humor injections); thanks to Stacia for being my BBFF; thanks to Philip Schweier for the guest reviewery and cub reporters Larry Shell and Tom Stillabower; and thanks to each and every one of you out there who have encouraged my behavior over the past ten years.  Baby, you’re the greatest.