Monday, October 26, 2015

Better living through Marshall Efron


From 1971 to 1972, PBS was home to a freewheeling ninety-minute variety show (later trimmed to an hour) entitled The Great American Dream Machine.  Dream Machine was a hodgepodge of irreverent sketches, mini-documentaries, musical segments and animated shorts that focused on “the American Dream”; it didn’t command a particularly large audience (which is why its time on air was so brief—this is PBS we’re talking about, after all) but it’s fondly remembered by those who did see it in its original run.  Dream Machine also courted its fair share of controversy at the time; its disdain for the war in Vietnam and the Nixon White House (and its empathy for the counterculture) earned it enmity from conservatives, who were able to use the series as an example of the rampant “leftist bias” prevalent in public broadcasting.  (Some things never change, by the way.)


A professor who taught one of my classes at Marshall University once proclaimed his love for the old PBS logo by musing about how interesting it was that it showed a person (“P”) turning away from “BS.”

A fire at New York’s WNET (Channel 13)—which originally produced the series—decimated The Great American Dream Machine’s original broadcast prints and master tapes; this goes a lot toward explaining why the show had not been released in any kind of home video format (I don’t think the 40th anniversary special that aired on PBS in October of 2011 was released on DVD).  (By the way….if you blinked, you missed it; I just happened to catch it through a set of some extraordinary circumstances.)  But last Tuesday, a four-disc set of material from the show made its way to online and brick-and-mortar stores (available for the SRP of $39.98); my pal Michael Krause at Foundry Communications was generous enough to shoot me a screener copy.

I realize that promotional hyperbole is a necessary evil in moving product…but I had one small objection to the description emblazoned across the top on the front of the DVD box: “Television’s Original Satirical Comedy Series.”  (I kind of chuckled at this, wondering just where That Was the Week That Was fit into this scheme of things.)  Perhaps I’m relying more on the content inside, but The Great American Dream Machine transcended “comedy series” (many critics referred to it as “an intellectual Laugh-In”); it was more of a television news magazine, much in the mold of NPR’s All Things Considered (which premiered the same year)—I like to call it “60 Minutes after a three-martini lunch.”  There were comedy sketches and presentations, of course, but the program also spotlighted informative interviews with people both famous and non-famous.  Dream Machine could take you on a tour of a Florida retirement community nicknamed “Sun City” (not the place Steven Van Zandt and his pals refused to play), then chat with Sidney Poitier and Harry Belafonte on the set of Buck and the Preacher (1972) before visiting with a former Miss North Carolina to learn about the intricacies of a beauty contest.


The Great American Dream Machine animates one of my favorite Stan Freberg parodies: “The Banana Boat Song.” (“It’s too piercing, man…too piercing…”)

An installment that explores the theme of “death” will give you an idea of The Great American Dream Machine was like.  In the course of an hour, Dream Machine profiles Ted Rosenthal, a poet diagnosed with leukemia, and William H. Brode, a deceased individual still held in reverence by his family—they talk about the tremendous influence he had on their lives.  Dick Cavett reads poetry from Carl Sandburg and e.e. cummings, as well Mark Twain’s humorous thoughts on death etiquette (Amy Vanderbilt also throws in her two cents).  Kurt Vonnegut also contributes literary ruminations on The Big Sleep with a passage from his classic Slaughterhouse-Five.  Gordon Connell declares in spirited song that when he goes, he wants to go to Forest Lawn (Alice Playten and Patti Mariano accompany him with terpsichorean choreography) while Dudley Williams does a more somber interpretative dance to the Robert Shaw Chorale’s rendition of I Wanna Be Ready.  There are clips from memorable death scenes in such movies as The Lady from Shanghai and Broken Blossoms, and Viveca Lindfors and Hurd Hatfield top it off by reading verses from sympathy cards.

And so it goes.

The “death” program also features a humorous monologue at the opening on “famous last words” by comedian Marshall Efron.  Efron was one of the co-creators of The Great American Dream Machine (along with writer Alfa-Betty Olsen and producers Jack Willis and Al Perlmutter), and while in some sources he’s designated as the host, Dream Machine really had no host in the traditional sense.  But Marshall was undeniably the series’ breakout star, spoofing commercialized mass culture by dissecting everything from children’s dolls to tires to olives, and this memorable sketch which is probably my favorite of his contributions (well, this and the “Trash Masher” bit: “The machine that turns 20 pounds of trash…into 20 pounds of trash!”):


I also thought it amusing that one of Efron’s monologues—“Is There Sex After Death?”—is the title of a 1971 feature film that features him and Buck Henry (Marshall plays an adult movie producer).  (In case you’re wondering…the answer is “no.”)

Not all of Dream Machine’s comedy sketches have aged well.  That’s James Naughton on the left, and on the right: Henry Winkler in the “get-a-damn-haircut-ya-hippie” phase of his career.

Used to be sad…used to be shy.  Linda Lavin was a frequent performer in the sketches on Dream Machine; sadly, this one comes across as a bad improv from a drama workshop despite the presence of Ron “Kaz” Liebman.

This segment with Lavin playing the goddess Circe is not included on the set—only as a “Coming Attractions” bit—but I wanted to include it here just in case someone was Googling “Linda Lavin as Circe.”
The Great American Dream Machine is often called a precursor to Saturday Night Live—though the only real similarities between the two shows is that both featured short, funny filmed inserts (one of Dream Machine’s best-remembered bits is “Albert Brooks’ Famous School for Comedians,” which is a blueprint for Brooks’ SNL contributions in the show’s first season) and Chevy Chase (also in the first season).  Here’s the extent of Chase’s participation on Dream Machine:


That’s him on the left (and his “Groove Tube” colleague Ken Shapiro on the right) as one of the “Singing Faces,” a Kovacs-esque creation that often introduced the Dream Machine every week with the pair miming to classical music pieces.  The Groove Tube (1974) also borrowed a few bits that had originally been performed on Dream Machine, notably the “Heritage Loaf” commercial (included in this collection) featuring “Kramp Easy Lube” shortening.

Albert Brooks doing his memorable “Famous School for Comedians” sketch…

…which also features future director and Laverne & Shirley star Penny Marshall as a secretary…

…and Marshall’s L&S co-star David L. “Squiggy” Lander.

Another recurring segment on The Great American Dream Machine was “Great American Hero,” in which individuals from various walks of life were profiled: from custom car creator Ed “Big Daddy” Roth to roller derby legend Ann Calvello to the incomparable (and recently passed) Blaze Starr (born Fannie Belle Fleming in Wayne County, WV –saaalute!).  These features spotlighted rib-tickling songs composed by future Fernwood 2-Night star Martin Mull (billed as Martin Mull and His Midget Band), and the one he did for daredevil Evel Knievel is pretty hooty:

Then up in the sky
We saw Evel fly by
We thought his success was complete
But as Sir Isaac found
What goes up must come down
And sometimes it's down on concrete

The husband-and-wife team of Joseph Bologna and Renee Taylor wrote many of Dream Machine’s sketches; my favorite is a parody of pretentious French films with Bob Dishy and Salome Jens.

Others might enjoy this one with Taylor and Charles Grodin as a guy who’s really freaked out by his girlfriend’s past sexual history.  (Both of these were also directed by Bologna.)
The Great American Dream Machine was a one-of-a-kind television program.  Its legacy lives on not in The Daily Show, as the promotional material suggests, but more like NPR’s This American Life; furthermore, memory is a strange animal, and I was surprised to see from the material on this must-have set that it’s a lot gentler than essays written about the show suggest.  I’d like to see a modern-day revival of Dream Machine (though I realize that the odious phenomenon known as “reality television” would nip that in the bud)—but I don’t know if there are any Andy Rooneys or Studs Terkels still around (Studs was a frequent contributor to the show with a feature entitled “Talking to Terkel”) to make it a worthwhile endeavor.  So it’s best to savor what’s still around for us to enjoy; I thoroughly enjoyed this collection, and would recommend without hesitation a purchase for those who know “nostalgia ain’t what it used to be.”

Charlotte Rae is everywhere!  Well, she’s in this sketch, anyway—as a wife who watches The Great American Dream Machine with her husband (Michael “Time to make the doughnuts” Vale) in “My, My, More My Lais.”

And I’m probably the only person who would notice this: the female singer in the “Molly” sketch is “Kay Oslin”…later calling herself “K.T. Oslin” and scoring big country music hits like 80s Ladies and Come Next Monday.

Wednesday, October 21, 2015

CMBA 2015 Fall Blogathon – Planes, Trains and Automobiles: The Tall Target (1951)


The following essay is Thrilling Days of Yesteryear’s contribution to the Planes, Trains and Automobiles Blogathon—a Fall 2015 event hosted by the member blogs in the Classic Movie Blog Association.  For a complete list of the participants and the movies/topics discussed, click here.


New York City police sergeant John Kennedy (Dick Powell) is a man on a mission: he has obtained information that Abraham Lincoln, who’s just been elected as the sixteenth President of the United States, is to be assassinated during a speech in Baltimore, MD on his way to his Washington, DC inauguration.  Kennedy has contacted both the Secretary of War and the newly elected Lincoln about what he’s learned…but his superior on the police force, Simon Stroud (Tom Powers), dismisses his concerns.  Unable to persuade either Stroud or militia colonel Caleb Jeffers (Adolphe Menjou) of the danger Honest Abe is facing, Kennedy resigns from the police force, determined to go it alone.

Kennedy’s throwing down of his badge in disgust is probably not the smartest move he could have made in this situation.  Since he’s no longer a cop, he technically has little authority in his intention to arrest the conspirator(s) involved in the plot.  Furthermore, a confederate in the form of Tim Riley (Regis Toomey), who was enlisted to secure Kennedy a ticket on the “Midnight Flyer” to Baltimore, has disappeared.  As the Flyer pulls out of the station toward its destination, Kennedy locates Riley…he’s been murdered.  And when Kennedy returns to his seat on the train, it’s now occupied by a stranger (Leif Erickson) who’s co-opted Kennedy’s identity and credentials.

By the 1950s, director Anthony Mann was starting to embark on his successful career in movie westerns; Mann would borrow elements from the series of gritty film noirs he had previously directed to use in these oaters…but he hadn’t completely abandoned noir at this time.  He helmed 1950’s Side Street, a taut little suspenser that featured the stars of They Live by Night (1948)—Farley Granger and Cathy O’Donnell—and a year later rode herd on an interesting vehicle that introduced elements of noir and suspense in a period piece: The Tall Target (1951).  (Mann had performed the same task two years earlier with Reign of Terror [1949—a.k.a. The Black Book], an offbeat entry that features the background of the French Revolution as a film noir.)

The idea for Target was inspired by an incident known as “the Baltimore Plot”—Allan Pinkerton, the founder of the Pinkerton Detective Agency (“We never sleep”) purportedly learned of an attempt on Lincoln’s life as Abe traveled to D.C. for his first inauguration in 1861.  Scholars to this day argue as to the validity of the plot—and even Lincoln felt sheepish about “sneaking” into the Nation’s capital; his line about attending his inauguration “like a thief in the night” is present in Target—but whether or not the details are true, you can’t deny that it makes for a crackerjack movie plot…particularly in light of that whole unpleasantness at Ford’s Theatre four years later.  (The movie’s title, The Tall Target, comes from a line in the film spoken by one of the conspirators: “Mr. Lincoln’s a tall target…there’ll be another day.”)

The story for Target was concocted by George Worthing Yates and Geoffrey Homes; Homes, who also went by “Daniel Mainwaring,” is famous for writing the quintessential film noir Out of the Past (1947). Yates, who would wind up writing Target’s screenplay with Art Cohn, had a movie resume that included the original 1938 serial of The Lone Ranger and vehicles like Sinbad, the Sailor (1947) and This Woman is Dangerous (1952).  (Both men would gravitate to science fiction-themed flicks as the fifties wore on: Homes wrote the screenplay for Invasion of the Body Snatchers [1956] and Yates’ sci-fi contributions include Them! [1954] and Earth vs. the Flying Saucers [1956].)  The two scribes do an admirable job of embellishing on the details of “the Baltimore Plot,” turning the proceedings into a first-rate thriller.

The star of The Tall Target is Dick Powell, an actor whose fortunes in the movies changed overnight when he was cast as Raymond Chandler’s literary sleuth Philip Marlowe in RKO’s Murder. My Sweet (1944).  In the 1930s, Dick was Warner Brothers’ resident chorus boy, appearing in scads of that studio’s sprightly musicals…usually alongside Ruby Keeler.  Powell eventually tired of doing what he called “the same stupid story” (the Warner musicals also lost a lot of their zip once the Production Code went into effect) but a job change to Paramount by the 1940s didn’t satisfy him, either.  With the Marlowe role in Murder, Powell refashioned himself as a tough guy in movies like Cornered (1945) and Johnny O’Clock (1947); the actor even showed off his new image on radio, headlining series like Rogue’s Gallery and Richard Diamond, Private Detective.

By the 1950s, Powell would starting to cut back on his appearances in front of the camera (I blame The Reformer and the Redhead [1950], which he made with wife June Allyson) to tackle assignments behind the device, directing movies like Split Second (1953) and The Enemy Below (1957).  (Powell also embraced that newfangled upstart called television, joining with three of his other Hollywood pals to form Four Star Productions while later hosting the successful Dick Powell’s Zane Grey Theater.)  So I’ve always thought it interesting that the actor explored the parameters of his tough guy persona in 1951; first by starring in this interesting thriller and later appearing in You Never Can Tell, a fantasy comedy in which Dick is the human form of a dog returned from the Great Beyond to solve the mystery of his murder.

Powell’s role in Target is one of my favorites…and to be honest, I think it’s one of his best.  His John Kennedy (yes, don’t think that hasn’t caused an eye or two to bug out among those who watch the film for the first time) is an intelligent, resourceful cop who’s not above resorting to fisticuffs when his life is threatened.  Modern day moviemakers could learn a lot from Target in that while the protagonist is frequently placed in tight situations they’re never the kind that induce eye-rolling and cries of “Oh, come on!” like any number of Bruce Willis vehicles I won’t sully this blog by naming.  Kennedy is able to extricate himself from peril several times in the film because he manages to stay one step ahead of his adversaries (though admittedly, luck plays a part in one of his escapes—but not of the implausible kind).

Kennedy’s intense interest in protecting the President stems not from politics, but simply a personal one: Kennedy had been appointed as Lincoln’s bodyguard while Abe campaigned in New York, and after only two days of being in Lincoln’s company, Kennedy walked away believing “I was never so taken with a human man.”   One aspect of The Tall Target that fascinates me is that the politics in the film isn’t the usual cut-and-dried “North good, South bad” dichotomy that permeates movies of this type.  There is spirited discussion, pro and con, on the eve of Lincoln’s inauguration and the events that will result in the War Between the States; one of my favorite minor characters in the movie is played by OTR veteran Will Wright, a Hartford, CT building supplies bidnessman named Thomas Ogden who’s no fan of Lincoln because Ogden’s sussed out his company stands to lose a lot of money if there’s a war.

Wright’s character, along with many others, serves as a red herring because as in any good suspense thriller, Kennedy’s adversaries are often difficult to spot.  Throughout Target, individuals believed to be allies will turn on the hero, just as those people who are hostile or indifferent to his plight later come through in the clutch.  At the risk of spoiling any of the events in the movie, the one clear villain is the mysterious stranger (Leif Erickson) who tries to pass himself off as Kennedy by appropriating John’s hat and coat (containing his credentials and other personal effects—like his gun).  The character who gives Kennedy a much-needed assist in his investigation is a slave maid named Rachel, played by the amazing Ruby Dee in one of her earliest film roles.  Rachel is not some uncomfortable Butterfly-McQueen-in-Gone-with-the-Wind stereotype, but a three-dimensional individual who admittedly is torn between helping out Kennedy and her loyalty to the mistress she serves, a Southern belle named Ginny Beaufort (Paula Raymond).  Ginny and Rachel are on their way back to their plantation, “Tall Trees,” with Ginny’s brother Lance (Marshall Thompson)—a West Point grad—in tow.

Moviemakers learned early on (beginning with 1903’s The Great Train Robbery) that setting dramatic conflicts against the background of a moving train was a surefire way to generate suspense and excitement.  In Target, there are many nods to one of the granddaddies (or is it grandmammas?) of the genre, The Lady Vanishes (1938), in that the events in the beginning of Target resemble the missing-person plot of Lady (just where did Riley get to?) and later in Target, a vital clue in the assassination plot is scrawled in the soot residue that’s collected on a train window.  Target also acts as a warm-up for The Narrow Margin, released the following year; the claustrophobic atmosphere of Target (thanks to the striking black-and-white cinematography of Paul C. Vogel) is quite reminiscent of that memorable Chicago-to-L.A. train excursion featuring TDOY faves Charles McGraw and Marie Windsor.

The real reason why you watch The Tall Target: that's noir icon Percy Helton in the bottom-right corner as a minor character named "Beamish."
Save for a snatch of The Battle Hymn of the Republic at the closing credits of The Tall Target, there is no music score in the film—something I’m sure was rather innovative at the time, as the soundtrack features nothing but the sounds of the train and the various bells and whistles that accompany such locomotives.  Target does, however, feature a plethora of beloved character actors that’s become a hallmark of this blog: Florence Bates and Katherine Warren are quite good in their roles, and Will Geer and Victor Kilian provide comic relief as the train conductor and engineer, respectively—they’re not all that concerned about rumors of assassination, they just want to make sure the train runs on time.  That’s future Leave it to Beaver mom Barbara Billingsley as the mother of the little brat who makes himself a nuisance on the train, and you’ll also spot the likes of Robert Easton, Jonathan Hale, Frank Sully, and Emmett Lynn.  (I like how the indestructible Regis Toomey continues the tradition of appearing in his pal Powell’s movies, by the way—in this one, he plays the doomed Riley.)  One actor who’s difficult to spot (he appears in the early scene where Powell’s Kennedy is making his case to investigate the assassination rumors) is Ken Christy—but that unmistakable voice gives him away every time.  And yes, Honest Abe even makes an appearance…in the form of actor Leslie Kimmell.

Friday, October 16, 2015

Victory lap

We have a winner in the Thrilling Days of Yesteryear Don Rickles Giveaway…and it is none other than the Hoosier State’s own Tom Stillabower!  Tom had the lucky entry via the Random.org number generator, which means that he is the recipient of both CPO Sharkey: The Complete Second Season and The Don Rickles TV Specials, Volume 1.  I want to thank everyone who entered: I’ll be honest—I got way more entries than I expected, what with my unplanned and extended leave from the blog and all.  I wish I had more of these discs to give out like Tee Ball trophies to everyone who did drop me an e-mail…but sadly, there can be only one.

My long absence from TDOY, by the way (you’ll notice the segueways still work like a charm), will be explained this weekend in a post that will highlight what wackiness has been going on at the new Rancho Yesteryear since our July move.  I also hope to have a few odds and ends up next week, so I thank everyone profusely for their patience.