Why did 600 Allied prisoners hate the man they called Von Ryan more than they hated Hitler?

Frank Sinatra is known as an artist of many talents, but usually he is thought of as the classic crooner to end all crooners. Although he won some acclaim as an actor, this most often comes in a deservedly secondary place in his repertoire. Released in a busy year for Sinatra (None But the Brave and Marriage on the Rocks were also released that year)  Von Ryan’s Express as expected showcases the star in a fairly weak cast, with the notable exception of Trevor Howard.

The only other star of note is Trevor Howard, who yet again seems perfectly fine playing second fiddle- albeit a masterful fiddle it is.  Howard is his usual gruff and rather standoffish self as Major Fincham, the senior (and commanding) British officer in the camp on Colonel Ryan’s (Sinatra) capture and subsequent incarceration.

If one looks there is quite a bit of similarity between Fincham and Colonel Nicholson- and actually even Ryan and Nicholson, the key player in 1957’s Bridge on the River Kwai. Both characters are quite stodgy English types who do everything by the book. Thankfully there have been movies beyond these two which depict a less stereotypical view of the British military machine.

The storyline is nothing special and really boils down the the classic POW escape thriller but it is done quite well. The on train setting also lacks in originality but trains have always done well as settings for suspense and action – (From Russia with Love and The Train come to mind first.)

There are a few twists in the story which are a bit unique for the day. Von Ryan actually doesn’t survive the picture. It was quite rare for the lead actor and main character of a film of this time period to go into dirt farming. Even more surprising is that in the book on which the film is based Von Ryan survives.

Technically the film is well done. For the most part actual trains were used and any model shots are pretty hard to discern. There is the usual epidemic of “fainting Germans” during the battle scenes. They just casually fall down without any discernible damage.  Again, this is the mid 1960s, but perhaps better acting or special effects would have helped out a bit.

Again, for the most part nothing new but it is done in a very well- a great film for a rainy afternoon. Just don’t expect any deeper symbolism or hidden messages: it’s just a good potboiler.  It isn’t based on any historical fact, so don’t tie it back that way either.

Not a magic film, but not tragic either. On the cusp of “A list.”

See the separate review of 35 Films 35 Years at Warner Brothers.]

Although the title refers to A crooked man (singular) the overall point is cleary cynically that all have a bit of crookedness in them. And this point is not subtley made. The point is so pervasive throughout the film that it jaundices one’s entire view of the world, for at least a short period.

Douglas himself, in his autobiography The Ragman’s Son, confesses that “the picture was very cynical and did not do well- everybody was crooked, nobody to root for.”  And although he doesn’t come out and plainly state it, Kirk places at least some of the blame on director Joe Mankiewicz, who previously had directed All About Eve and Cleopatra among others.  “He was much more at home with a scene in a library.”  This is immediately followed by high praise for the script.  Reading between the lines is easy here.

The director doesn’t appear to have had much to really work with as the script has a few good pieces but overall, at least from 2010’s perspective, seems trite and predictable.  It’s pretty clear Fonda, although supposedly (initially) the “good” guy, isn’t going to stay that way for long.

The film has some parallels with The Treasure of the Sierra Madre prior and The Shawshank Redemption after. Much like Madre, the “bad guy” meets an untimely end and similar to Shawshank we have a warden of questionable morals. And don’t forget the slight touch of Stalag 17 in the film’s attempts at cynical comedy.  That stated, however, lasting comparisons with 17 aren’t a wise idea.

The story of Crooked isn’t so bad if uninspired. Although it sounds petty, what really makes this one so insufferable is the soundtrack. On the best of days it is like a weak movie of the week. The musical score is tepid, tired, and trite. The opening credits alone are enough to make one’s stomach heave. Although perhaps the production’s idea was to have the insipidly silly score mirror the flippancy with which it handles the few serious issues in the film – criminal behavior and the like- the result is rather more like a Yosemite Sam cartoon.

Douglas and Fonda are both tolerable in this and the supporting cast is adequate.  Douglas brings his usually wry humor and dry smile to the proceedings but it’s never enough to make this really work.  Douglas, the Matthew McConahey of his day (for a time his shirt was off in every film), perhaps should have ended the shirt-free period a film or two early.

Avoid unless you have a fetish for musical butchery.  The other two (or three if you include Stalag 17) are much better views, regardless of how well you know them.

Olivia de Havilland

Of the four, Olivia de Havilland easily comes the closest to being the innocent, wholesome girl next door, whether in the movies or in real life. Seemingly without effort, she conveys these qualities—in the sparkle of her laugh, the sincerity in her eyes and the clear timbre of her voice, which seems to smile. And numerous films in her career reinforce this image: besides the eight with Errol Flynn, in which she spoke nary a discouraging word, she had many virtuous roles in sometimes sentimental films—Anthony Adverse; Gone with the Wind, her first Oscar nomination (as an almost too-sweet Melanie); Strawberry Blonde, perhaps the epitome of this image, without the concentrated sugar; and Hold Back the Dawn, another Oscar nomination, now as a naïve woman married to a gigolo.

The overt goodness continued in The Male Animal, Princess O’Rourke, To Each His Own—her first Oscar—and the pre-jilted portion of The Heiress. In those scenes with Montgomery Clift in The Heiress, she is the typical goody-goody girl, though plainly made up and acting mousy; after suitor Morris leaves her, going-away luggage and all, abandoned on her father’s doorstep, she turns into an angry, vindictive woman, suddenly mature, the kind of dramatic range Olivia had always wanted—and a second Academy Award she probably also wanted.

Three years earlier, in 1946 in The Dark Mirror, she plays both good and evil twin sisters, a theme Bette Davis later reworked in Dead Ringer. In The Snake Pit—another nomination—Olivia’s versatility was further evident as a mental patient, saved by the compassionate Leo Glenn. Like her sister actress Davis’ struggle for more dramatic fare, Olivia’s was playing off. Hindered by an awkward Richard Burton in his American film début, she was a possible murderess in My Cousin Rachel and the unhappy wife of a willful Robert Mitchum in Not as a Stranger. On the downward slope of her career, The Light in the Piazza and The Proud Rebel are still noteworthy.

But like Davis, when good roles became scarce she went into the horror genre, if not with relish, for that would have been out of character, then out of necessity. This change was suggested in Lady in a Cage, about a woman trapped in the elevator of her home, then threatened by hoodlums.

Olivia and Davis shared a minor triumph in the gothic horror Hush . . . Hush, Sweet Charlotte, recipient of seven Oscar nominations (no wins). Joan Crawford was to play the scheming Miriam Deering, to follow up on the successful Crawford/Davis pairing in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?, but Joan was taken ill and Olivia, after requesting a rewrite to somewhat humanize her role, agreed to do the part.

Far worse things followed. There was the demeaning TV movie The Screaming Woman and the ridiculous The Swarm, with other equally desperate elderly stars: Fred MacMurray, Henry Fonda, Richard Widmark, José Ferrer, Patty Duke Astin, Slim Pickens and some younger actors who should have known better—Michael Caine, Katharine Ross and Richard Chamberlain. A good laugh was had by all, eh?

Presumably the sparkle of Olivia’s laugh remains, but unfortunately for some years now she has affected a somewhat precious delivery, slow and methodical, weighing each word, as if conscious of posterity. Of these four lovely ladies, only Olivia is still living. With her ninety-third birthday coming July 1, 2010, I wish her the very best.

Ingrid Bergman

In 1981, in one of the more outstanding 60 Minutes segments, Harry Reasoner referred to Ingrid Bergman as “licentious and demure.” The Swedish beauty could be either, sometimes both simultaneously, though, more often than not, the viewer is over-persuaded—deceived?—by her beauty. Surely a woman this beautiful wouldn’t, couldn’t—— Yes, there are those moments, but, overall, simply being beautiful and noble seems enough, notably in Casablanca and Spellbound. In Gaslight, innocent and vulnerable.

During the filming of Casablanca, which Ingrid casually regarded as a typical “Hollywood” film, not much more, she was anxious to move on to her next picture, For Whom the Bell Tolls. Here she felt there were more challenges. For one, it was the chance to work with Gary Cooper, and, for another, cutting her hair short for the role of Maria had an appeal, much as Laurence Olivier saw false noses, monocles, wigs, hunchbacks and the like as ways to capture a character’s inner psyche. Similarly, Ingrid wore armor, albeit plastic, in Joan of Arc, and in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde she preferred Lana Turner’s prostitute role to the one originally planned for her, Jekyll’s upper crust fiancée, which anyone could play, Ingrid felt. The parts were reversed and thus, who is better remembered? Why, of course, the prostitute.

Notorious, at the height of her career, when she was thirty-one, was very much her kind of picture. Already a woman of easy virtue in the opening, she marries a Nazi (Claude Rains) to learn what’s going on in his house in Rio de Janeiro. The chemistry between leading man Cary Grant and Ingrid is phenomenal, even if they are at odds with one another most of the time, with outward animosities and resentments. She, of course, loves him, and as Grant admits at the end, he was “a guy full of pain,” too confused, too afraid to admit his own love. It’s both my favorite Alfred Hitchcock and my favorite Ingrid film.

As Ingrid wasn’t afraid to cut her hair, so she wasn’t afraid, later in life, to play her age and seemed to enjoy the wanton roles. In A Walk in the Spring Rain she has an extra-marital affair, in Goodbye Again a relationship with a young man, in Jean Renoir’s Paris Does Strange Things affairs with two men. Toward the end of her career in Murder on the Orient Express she is shy, dowdy and affects an accent. In her last screen appearance—in this case the small TV screen—she wears her hair in a bun, and even at 67 had to downgrade her resilient beauty to play Golda Meir in A Woman Called Golda.

She won Best Actress Oscars for Gaslight and Anastasia, a Supporting Actress Oscar for Murder on the Orient Express. The Anastasia award was something of a “welcome back, we forgive you, Ingrid” for her return to the United States after seven years in Europe. She had left husband and daughter to live with and later marry Roberto Rossellini. The initial transgression caused outrage in the U.S., even a denouncement from the floor of the Senate, quite amazing now, when Hollywood infidelity and promiscuity are taken in stride and such scandals are more avidly followed than current wars or national financial woes.

On a return to Europe in 1978, Ingrid made Autumn Sonata for Swedish director Ingmar Bergman. She was Oscar-nominated (unsuccessfully) for what some critics say was the best work of her career, easily better than that in Anastasia.

Ingrid’s intractable, independent nature persisted when she learned she had breast cancer. Both British and American doctors insisted she have an operation immediately, but she declared she had other plans and delayed the procedure. The operation was on her birthday and she died from the disease on her birthday seven years later, age 67.

I believe, a hundred years from now, Notorious and Casablanca will be the two films by which she will be best remembered. As for memories, one image of Ingrid stands out above all others, her introduction in Casablanca. Remember? She has just arrived at Rick’s Café and, seated at a table, she asks Sam the piano-player to perform “As Time Goes By.” Was any actress more beautiful than Ingrid at that moment, or more ideally lighted? It makes my heart skip!

Tomorrow, February 16, Warner Brothers will release perhaps the largest collector’s set of all time; it is definitely the largest ever dedicated to the work of just one celebrity. As the title implies this set is dedicated to the iconic Clint Eastwood and his career. But not his entire career, just that at Warners. And it is a good career but some of his most popular titles are not here, namely the three Italian “Man with No Name” productions which made him a star and his recent Flags of Our Fathers, the sister to the included Letters from Iwo Jima. There are other omissions too but these are the most obvious; and of course they are excluded because they are not Warners’ productions.

So one is left with thirty five films (34 features) spread over nineteen standard DVDs. Some of the features will include commentary and special features, but it looks like in terms of new material the fan isn’t left with much. From all appearances these are not new transfers either but repackaging of previous releases. The set does come with some swag in terms of a 24 page excerpt from the new Richard Schickel Clint: A Retrospective along with letters and photos.

The only new title (of sorts) is the short docufilm The Eastwood Factor which is advertised as an up close and intimate portrait of Clint as he revisits old filming locations, costume departments, and the like. This unfortunately is a large disappointment. Clint’s commentary on some of his early costumes, “Yeah, that was a long time ago. Ok, enough of that.” What could have been really valuable comes off as palp with little in terms of real content. Below Clint discusses the writing process for Unforgiven (1992), which actually is interesting.

If you are a die hard Eastwood fan, you will already have most, if not all of these titles and will already own Schickel’s book, making the $179.99 MSRP a bit pricey ($129.99 on Amazon as of this writing) for duplicitous material. Those who are not die hard fans, but just like some of his work (like me) definitely won’t spend- nor should they – this amount just to get the Dirty Harry films, for example.

So it is really a bit of a conundrum for me as to who exactly will purchase this set. The lack of new content seems to deter just those it should be courting. What would have really been powerful would have been either this set on blu-ray or the complete Eastwood catalog across all studios. Unlikely yes, but definitely compelling.

Hard to recommend. There are some great films here and many lesser but good ones, but the cons are simply too high. The price point and quasi-completeness are big challenges.

I’ve never read nor am I familiar with any of the novels of Winston Graham’s on which this is based so honesty to those will have to be left to others.  As it is Poldark is almost tinged with the air of a soap opera.  We have suspense, romance, shipwrecks, a lovely estate, smuggling rings, class struggles and more.

But the term soap opera doesn’t do Poldark justice.  We have a majestically done late 18th Century setting- Cornwall after the Revolutionary War.  A historical setting and bent that this viewer definitely enjoys!   The casting is superb-with typical English subtlety-  and for newcomers the set includes brief filmographies- which is about all that is brief about this set.

We don’t have anything stateside in our television history to really match up well with such a well done story.  Folks who are not familiar with either the books or the mini-series are best to look to Gone with the Wind for a means of comparison.  Both are a bit length for their format but both share much in common in terms of theme and setting.

Both show the effects of war on economy, ways of life, social class, and family structure.  Yes, there are differences.  Copper mining and cotton growing are not the same by any stretch, but the themes are quite alike, just the presentation is altered.

The only flaw with Poldark is also what makes it so engrossing.  It is so long and so immersive that to watch all sixteen episode would take almost 16 hours.  Granted, the time flies by but the investment may throw off some who are more interested in American Idol or other such swill.  And that is fine, just more for the rest of us.

And for fans who have been clamoring for the second batch of the Poldark series, it will street in September of 2010.

Well as they say anything is possible. Downey, whose talents have never been in question gives a masterful performance. Thankfully he appears to have moved beyond his own personal addictions. And Jude Law, himself no stranger to tabloid headlines, at least manages to be tolerable.

It is interesting in that the roles we historically associate with Holmes and Watson are a bit reversed. Watson appears the stable and stolid one here with his own great powers of deduction. Holmes is rather lazy and indolent- perhaps even a bit crazy- with moments of sheer mental brilliance.

And the action pieces are both well done and work well in the context of the story. This isn’t Rambo Holmes as the previews intimated. The picture is visually quite good. We see the filth and dirt of Victorian London, with hints of future greatness- the London Bridge is under construction here. The atmosphere is dark, subdued, and dirty.

It is ironic that the goal of the evil cabal is to reclaim the glory of the Empire, namely by retaking the 13 Colonies. And this at a time in history when England still had a sizeable empire – namely India.

And of course with a gross of $200M as of now we are assured of a sequel.

Highly recommended.

Not hard to find five horrible old movies, especially in these artistically bereft times when “horrible” films come aplenty, whether or not intentionally meant to be in the horror genre. Following the appearance on this site of “Five Westerns,” popular demand has prompted a similar discourse on old horror flicks of note, or, in the case of two, not of much note. These five films, in this case intended as legitimate horror creations, are listed in order of personal preference.

Let’s begin with the weakest of the five. No, one should justify any such judgment as “a matter of taste.” But, no, this is the weakest of the five! Directed by Ford Beebe, Night Monster comes from 1942 when the luster of Universal as the master of the macabre was clearly in decline. Bela Lugosi, well into his own physical and mental collapse, was relegated to the role of butler Rolf, wandering from room to room and announcing dinner most indolently; he was, in fact, one of the least menacing, disturbed or eccentric of the characters.

As in all of these five submitted movies, an old, creepy house is involved to one degree or another; here, along with one of the other four, a house is central to the plot. In Night Monster, there is an abundance of fog around the Ingston Mansion and on the road leading to it. Fog was probably essential to hide a barren set. Croaking frogs are so prevalent that cast credits are almost expected, or, if the film were made in these days, a statement that “No amphibians were injured in the making of this film.” But beware—when the frogs stop croaking, something’s up!

Three medical doctors are summoned to the old house by their patient, the legless, wheelchair-bound Kurt Ingston (Ralph Morgan, brother of Frank, Professor Marvel in The Wizard of Oz). Lionel Atwill is one of the doctors, though here unusually low-key. Two others arrive at the mansion—psychiatrist Dr. Lynne Harper (Irene Hervey), come to assess the sanity of Ingston’s disturbed daughter (Fay Helm), and Dick Baldwin (Don Porter), in answer to threats against Doctor Harper. A practically live-in guest is Agor Singh (Nils Asther), a Hindu yogi, expert in the mystic ways of Eastern mind therapy. Thrown into this brew is another possible suspect, Laurie (Leif Erickson), the cocky chauffeur who hits on all the women.

“Suspect,” did I say? Yes. One by one, the three medical doctors are being murdered and there are inexplicable blood blotches on the floor. Who? How? For those who haven’t seen the movie, whenever there’s a character in a wheelchair, what are the chances he’s the murderer?— Usually pretty high. But, wait a minute, in this case Ingston has no legs. Maybe an alibi, maybe not. Just something to consider.

A highly prolific composer for many Universal pictures of the period, Hans J. Salter makes the music one of the strongest ingredients in the film, providing a creepy atmosphere behind the main title, which, as in most of Universal’s monster movies, traverses that familiar desolate, fog-enshrouded landscape. Maybe the music is too good, for the film never quite delivers on the ominous anticipation aroused by the main title, though the murderer’s modus operandi is different.

Behind the camera is Charles van Enger, a rather undistinguished cinematographer. So why mention him? Well, his greatest claim to fame is his uncredited work on the 1925 Lon Chaney, Sr. Phantom of the Opera. He spent the last ten years of his career in television—Lassie, The Betty Hutton Show, Gilligan’s Island, etc.

Point of interest: The minor role of the gatekeeper, Torque, is played by Cyril Delevanti, whose best film role is Nonno, the aged poet in The Night of the Iguana.

Lionel Atwill and Bela Lugosi from Night Monster also appear in the next horrible old movie, again from Universal, though a considerable step up. The Son of Frankenstein was made in that same glorious year, 1939, as The Bride of Frankenstein. Rating top billing, in order, are the three “Bs”—Basil Rathbone, Boris Karloff and Bela himself.

The director this time is Rowland V. Lee, also a step up from the mediocre Beebe. Lee did direct, all in the ’30s, The Count of Monte Cristo, The Three Musketeers and Tower of London, and, in 1944, The Bridge of San Luis Rey, among other films. The music is by Frank Skinner, like Salter a stalwart composer for Universal.

Basil Rathbone has taken time off as Sherlock Holmes—20th Century-Fox had released in 1939 both The Hound of the Baskervilles and The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes—to play Baron Wolf von Frankenstein. Yes, Henry Frankenstein’s son has returned with his wife (Josephine Hutchinson) to the scene of his father’s crime, as it were, to claim his inheritance.

Off to what might seem a shaky start, in the opening train ride is that famous tree, which passes outside the window several times! The look of the film, however, is one of the best in the Frankenstein series. The art direction is by Jack Otterson, set direction by the ultra prolific Russell A. Gausman, who seems to have done everything—the Universal Sherlock Holmes films, a few Alfred Hitchcocks and, scattered throughout his long career, Dracula, The Wolf Man, Scarlet Street, The Killers, as well as—small world!—the aforementioned Night Monster. Often in collaboration with Otterson at Universal, Gausman spent his later years in television, but ended his film career with a bang—a shared Oscar for Spartacus in 1960.

The sets are done in that German expressionistic style typical of many Universal films of the period. In the Frankenstein mansion, the suspended, modernistic staircase with its over-bright lighting is perhaps the pièce de résistance, but effective in its own right is the great hall, with the high ceiling and the large window beyond which lightning flashes, often in the same pattern.

Lugosi, in probably his best role as Ygor of the crooked neck, is the “friend” of the Monster. Ygor tricks Wolf Frankenstein into reviving the Monster. Wolf should know better, but he apparently left his Sherlock Holmes brain at 221B Baker Street! The Monster ends up “dying” in a sulphur pit. It was Karloff’s last turn as the Monster, who, re-re-resurrected, would be played by Lon Chaney, Jr. in The Ghost of Frankenstein (1942) and by Glenn Strange in House of Frankenstein (1944).

Point of interest: One of the burghers in the opening scene is none other than Gustav von Seyffertitz, better known as Dr. von Hallor, the psychiatrist with his “high and low” emotion chart in Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936).