The Great White Hope (1970, directed by Martin Ritt)


The year is 1910 and the sports world is in a panic.  For the first time, a black man has won the title of the heavyweight champion of the world.  Jack Jefferson (James Earl Jones) had to go to Australia because no American city would agree to host the fight but he came out of it victorious.  The proud and outspoken Jefferson finds himself targeted by both the white establishment and black activists who claim that Jefferson has not done enough for his community.

It’s not just Jefferson’s success as a boxer that people find scandalous.  It’s also that the married Jefferson has a white mistress, a socialite named Eleanor Brachman (Jane Alexander, in her film debut).  While boxing promoters search for a “great white hope” who can take the title from Jefferson, the legal authorities attempt to arrest Jefferson for violating the Mann Act by supposedly taking Eleanor across state lines for “immoral purposes.”  Jefferson and Eleanor end up fleeing abroad but even then, their relationship is as doomed as Jefferson’s reign as the heavyweight champ.

Based on a Pulitzer-winning stage play by Howard Sackler, The Great White Hope features Jones and Alexander recreating the roles for which they both won Tonys.  Both Jones and Alexander would go on to receive Oscar nominations for their work in the film version.  It was the first nomination for Alexander and, amazingly, it was the only nomination that Jones would receive over the course of his career.  (It surprises me that he wasn’t even nominated for his work in Field Of Dreams.)  Both Jones and Alexander give powerful performances, with Jones dominating every scene as the proud, defiant, and often very funny Jack Jefferson.  Jones may not have had a boxer’s physique but he captured the attitude of a man who knew he was the best and who mistakenly believed that would be enough to overcome a racist culture.  (Speaking of racist, legendary recluse Howard Hughes reportedly caught the film on television and was so offended by the sight of Jones kissing Alexander that he thought about buying NBC to make sure that the movie would never be aired again.)  Hal Holbrook, Chester Morris, Moses Gunn, Marcel Dalio, and R.G. Armstrong all do good work in small roles.

Unfortunately, The Great White Hope still feels like a filmed stage play, despite the attempts made to open up the action.  Martin Ritt was a good director of actors but the boxing scenes are never feel authentic and the middle section of the film drags.  Jones and Alexander keep the film watchable but The Great White Hope is never packs as strong of a punch as its main character.

Horror Film Review: The She-Creature (dir by Edward L. Cahn)


In the 1956 film, The She-Creature, bodies are being discovered on the beach.  The murderer appears to be a bizarre, humanoid creature with gills and scaly skin.  It commits its dastardly crimes and then it disappears back into the ocean!  What could it be?  Is it a genuine monster?  Is it a psycho diver in a rubber suit?  Is it just some random murderer that hides in the shadows and stalks the night like a cat searching for mouse?

While bodies are showing up on the beach, Dr. Carlo Lombardi (Chester Morris), is trying to convince the world that his theories about reincarnation and the occult are correct.  Usually clad in a tuxedo and accompanied by his assistant, Andrea (Marla English), Dr. Lombardi swears that everyone has lived a past life and that, when under hypnosis, people are capable of reliving all of their past lives.  Dr. Lombardi theorizes that reincarnation has been going on since the beginning of time and, as a result, a hypnotized person could even relive their past life as a cave dweller or, presumably, a single-celled creature floating around in a lake.  Actually, under Lomradi’s theory, I guess it’s possible that someone could have been a dinosaur in a past life.

(It’s probably best not to give that too much thought because most people would probably be disappointed to discover that they weren’t one of the cool dinosaurs but instead, they were one of those goofy green lizards that was always running out of the way of the cool dinosaurs.  No matter how many times someone bangs a gong, not everyone can be a T-rex, sorry.  Everyone wants to be the dinosaur that eats but no one wants to be the one that got eaten.)

The scientific community scoffs at Dr. Lombardi but when he puts Andrea under hypnosis, it’s enough for Timothy Chappell (Tom Conway) to want to go into business with him.  The scientific community may scoff at Lombardi and his theories but Chappell sees him as the key to a fortune.  Who cares if his powers are real or not?  Well, Lombardi cares and he’s discovered that he can use hypnosis to cause Andrea to turn into a prehistoric monster who will kill his enemies!

(Actually, Dr. Lombardi is such a good hpynotist that he’s even able to convince a dog to kill his owner.  Then again, maybe he just offered the dog a treat for being a good boy.  Who knows how the canine mind works?)

An entertaining B-movie, The She-Creature benefits from the committed performance of veteran tough guy Chester Morris, the other-worldly beauty of Marla English (who was cast because it was correctly felt she resembled Elizabeth Taylor), and the noir-influence direction of Edward L. Cahn.  The plot makes no sense but it hold your interest and the monster is a genuinely impressive creation.

On a personal note, I’ve never bought into reincarnation but if I was anyone in a past life, I was probably either Edie Sedgwick or Alice Roosevelt.

 

Lisa Reviews An Oscar Nominee: Alibi (dir by Roland West)


1929 was a transitional year for Hollywood.

On the one hand, more people were going to the movies than ever.  The studio moguls were getting rich and directors, many of whom were influenced by German expressionism, were experimenting with new ways to visually tell their stories.  The days when an motionless camera would just be planted on the floor so that it could record actors moving in and out of the frame were over.

At the same time, Hollywood was also struggling to adjust to the arrival of sound.  Though many assumed that sound would just be a fad, it quickly turned out that audiences preferred sound pictures to the old silent melodramas.  Films that had been originally conceived as being silent were reshot with sound and the results were often mixed as Hollywood technicians struggled to figure out how to get the best and clearest recording possible.  Even harder hit were the actors, who had spent decades giving silent performances but who were now expected to adapt, overnight, to an entirely new style of acting.  Some actors saw their career abruptly end because their voice didn’t match their appearance or because they simply couldn’t memorize the dialogue that they were now required to actually speak.  Even the actors who could handle delivering their dialogue often struggled to find the right balance between acting too much and acting too little.

Take Alibi, for instance.  This crime film was released in 1929 and visually, it’s often a marvel.  But whenever the actors open their mouths and start to recite their dialogue …. yeesh!

Based on a Broadway play, Alibi tells the story of Chick Williams (Chester Morris, whose brooding good looks go a long way towards making up for his awkward screen presence).  Chick is a career criminal who has just been released from prison.  Because he’s a “jailbird,” (as they used to put it in 1929), Sgt. Pete Manning (Purnell Pratt) is convinced that Chick has hooked back up with his old gang and that he’s responsible for a recent robbery that left one policeman dead.  However, Chick has an alibi.  It turns out that, after getting out of prison, one of the first that Chick did was get married.  Chick’s new wife is Pete’s daughter, Joan (Eleanor Griffith)!  And Joan swears that, on the night of the crime, Chick was with her at the theater.

Despite his alibi, Pete is convinced that Chick had something to do with both the robbery and the murder.  Pete decides to send in an undercover cop, Danny McGann (Regis Toomey).  Pretending to be a permanently drunk businessman, Danny works his way into Chick’s mob.  But can Danny find the proof needed to take Chick down?

So, here’s what’s good about Alibi.  First off, it’s a pre-code film, which means that the characters are allowed to occasionally curse and that the gangsters all spend their time at a nightclub, watching the floor show.  It also means that Joan is allowed to openly discuss why she distrusts the police and the film shows the police being brutal in a way that would never be allowed during the production code years.  Secondly, from the very first scene, director Roland West creates an almost dream-like atmosphere, full of looming shadows and art deco sets and close-ups of menacing faces.  West’s camera prowls through the streets and clubs with a restless energy.

But then, as I mentioned earlier, someone will open their mouth and start to speak and the entire film comes to a halt.  The cast — some of whom went on to have long and successful careers — was obviously still struggling to figure out how to act in a sound film and the results are definitely mixed.  Eleanor Griffith delivers all of her lines in the same angry tone while Purnell Pratt stiffly defends the police force.  Regis Toomey, meanwhile, goes so overboard as Danny that you find yourself hoping that he’ll blow his cover and be forced out of the film.  Though he’s occasionally awkward, Chester Morris probably does the best out of the entire cast.  At the very least, he manages to communicate some genuine menace.

Seen today, Alibi is mostly interesting as a historical document.  It represents both the best and the worst of the early sound era.  When it was first released, Alibi was a hit at the box office.  Though no official nominees were announced for the 2nd Academy Awards, notes from the era indicate the Alibi was among the films considered for Best Picture and it’s usually listed as being a nominee.  The award itself was given to Broadway Melody.

Pre-Code Confidential #29: Joan Blondell is BLONDIE JOHNSON (Warner Bros 1933)


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There are many contenders for the crown Queen of Pre-Code – Jean Harlow, Miriam Hopkins, Barbara Stanwyck, Mae West, and a slew of other dames – but there’s only one Joan Blondell! Rose Joan Blondell was “born in a trunk” (as they say) to vaudevillian parents on August 30, 1906, and made her stage debut at the tender age of four months. Little Joanie took to show biz like a duck to water, and worked her way up to Broadway, costarring with a young actor named James Cagney in 1930’s PENNY ARCADE; the pair went to Hollywood for the film version, retitled SINNERS’ HOLIDAY, their first of seven screen teamings.

Our Girl Joanie struck a chord with Depression Era audiences: she was a tough, wisecracking, fast-talking, been-around-the-block tomato whose tough-as-leather veneer cloaked a heart of gold. Joan and Glenda Farrell had ’em rolling in the aisles as a pair…

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Lisa Reviews An Oscar Nominee: The Divorcee (dir by Robert Z. Leonard)


Before I get into reviewing the 1930 best picture nominee, The Divorcee, I want to share something that I recently posted on twitter:

I’m not just sharing this because it’s one of the best things that I’ve ever tweeted.  I’m also sharing it because it’s a beyond perfect description of Jerry (played, in an Oscar-winning performance, by Norma Shearer), the lead character in The Divorcee.  (Whenever you tweet something that is beyond perfect, you’ve earned the right to make sure everyone else knows it.)  The Divorcee came out in 1930 so, needless to say, it’s a bit dated but I totally related to the character of Jerry and that’s perhaps the main reason why I enjoyed this film.

The Divorcee tells the type of story that, today, would probably make for a memorable Lifetime film.  It’s a film that follows four friends over several years.  They are the idle rich, the type who go to parties, dance on tables, and cheerfully ignore the ban on liquor.  Jerry (Norma Shearer) loves Ted (Chester Morris).  Dorothy (Helen Johnson) loves Paul (Conrad Nagel).  However, Paul loves Jerry and when Jerry announces that she and Ted are engaged to be married, Paul doesn’t handle it well.  In fact, Paul gets drunk, Paul drives a car with Dorothy in the passenger’s seat, and eventually Paul crashes the car, leaving Dorothy so disfigured that she spends the rest of the movie wearing a black veil.

The years pass.  In order to make up for horribly disfiguring her, Paul agrees to marry Dorothy.  Jerry marries Ted.  They’re happy until they’re not.  On the day of their third anniversary, Jerry discovers that Ted has been cheating on her.  So, Jerry cheats on Ted.  When Ted gets upset, they file for divorce.

Suddenly, Jerry is …. (dramatic music cue) … THE DIVORCEE!

Ted becomes an alcoholic, the type who makes scenes at parties and destroys ornate wedding cakes.  In the past, I assume Jerry would have been forced to wear a scarlet D and she would have made it work because there’s nothing that Jerry can’t do.  However, since this film takes place in the 1920s, Jerry spends her time flirting and plotting to steal Paul away from Dorothy.

And it would have worked too if not for the fact that Dorothy is a complete and total saint…

Drinking, sex, adultery, disfigurement, and Norma Shearer!?  That’s right, this is a pre-code film!  The Divorcee is actually a pretty typical example of a type of film that was very popular during the 1930s and actually remains rather popular today.  This is a film where rich people do stupid things but look good doing it.  When an audience watches a film like this, they can both look down on the rich and vicariously experience their lifestyle.  No wonder these movies are so popular!

Anyway, I liked The Divorcee.  It’s an incredibly silly little film but it’s hard for me not to enjoy something this melodramatic.  Chester Morris and Conrad Nagel are stuck playing heels and Helen Johnson is a bit to saintly but it doesn’t matter because the film is pretty much designed to be a showcase for Norma Shearer, the most underrated of all of the Golden Age actresses.  (Far too often, Shearer is dismissed as simply being Irving Thalberg’s wife.)  Shearer gives a great performance.  She seems to be having the time of her life and it’s fun to watch.

The Divorcee was nominated for best picture but it lost to a far different picture, All Quiet On The Western Front.

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Embracing the Melodrama Part II #3: The Big House (dir by George Hill)


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The 1930 Best Picture nominee The Big House opens with a black Model T car slowly pulling up to the front of a large and imposing prison.  Handcuffed in the back seat of the car is a handsome, nervous-looking young man named Kent (Robert Montgomery).  Kent is led into the prison where he is forced to hand over all of his possessions to a grim-looking guard.  We find out that Kent has been convicted of manslaughter, the result of hitting someone while driving drunk.  For the next ten years, this prison (which, we’re told, was designed to house 1,800 but actually holds 3,000) will be Kent’s home.

Kent finds himself sharing a cell with two lifers.  Butch (Wallace Beery) is a coolly manipulative sociopath who alternatively counsels and abuses Kent.  Meanwhile, Morgan (Chester Morris) tries to protect Kent and even helps him get his cigarettes back from Butch.  These three prisoners represent the three faces of prison: Butch is the unrepentant criminal who is actually more at home in prison than in the “real” world.  Morgan is the former criminal who has changed his ways but who is apparently destined to spend the rest of his life paying for his poor decisions.  And Kent is the young man who has to decide if he’s going to be like Butch or if he’s going to be like Morgan.  The Big House makes the still-relevant argument that the American prison system is more likely to turn Kents into Butches than into Morgans.

When the film began, I assumed that Kent would be the main character but actually, he’s secondary to most of the action.  From the moment he first shows up, Kent is not particularly sympathetic and he becomes steadily less likable as the film progresses.  Instead, the film is more focused on the always-scheming Butch and the regretful Morgan.  While Morgan makes plans to escape from captivity and ends up falling in love with Kent’s sister (Leila Hyams), Butch spends his time plotting ways to take over the prison.  For his performance as Butch, Wallace Beery won an Oscar but, seen today, it’s obvious that the film’s heart and soul belongs to Chester Morris’s Morgan.

Like a lot of films from the period, The Big House feels undeniably creaky when viewed through modern eyes.  The Big House was made at a time when Hollywood was still trying to make the transition from silent to sound films.  As such, the film’s pacing is slower than what contemporary audiences are used to and a few of the performances are undeniably theatrical.  I can honestly say that I’m never been more aware of how much I take for granted nonstop background music than when I watch a movie from the early 30s.

That said, once you’ve adapted to the different aesthetic, The Big House holds up fairly well.  Director George Hill films the prison like a town in a German expressionist horror film and Chester Morris’s performance remains sympathetic and compelling.  If the plot seems familiar, it’s important to remember that The Big House is the film first introduced a lot of the clichés that we now take for granted.

The film’s best moments are the ones that deal not with Kent, Butch, and Morgan but instead just the ones that show hordes of prisoners — all anonymous and forgotten men — going about their daily life.  It’s during those scenes that you realize just how many people have been crammed into one tiny space and why that makes it impossible for prison to reform the Kents of the world.

Gandhi once said that the true value of any society can be determined by how that society treats its prisoners and The Big House certainly makes that case.