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Showing posts with label 30's. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 30's. Show all posts

Monday, May 27, 2013

Book Review: THREE BAD MEN: JOHN FORD, JOHN WAYNE, WARD BOND (2013, Scott Allen Nollen)



I'm a longtime fan of John Ford (who isn't, really?), the patron-saint of Monument Valley, born-again Irishman, and director of some of the best-constructed, most thoughtful films to come out of Hollywood, from THE INFORMER to THE MAN WHO SHOT LIBERTY VALANCE to THE QUIET MAN to THE GRAPES OF WRATH.
John Wayne is, so to speak, John Wayne, though his work frequently transcends the "movie star" mold with a dancer's grace and a touch of madness like in Ford's THE SEARCHERS, Hawks' RED RIVER, and Siegel's THE SHOOTIST.
Then, there's Ward Bond: a character actor extraordinaire who played brutes and cowpokes and priests and boxers across more than two hundred films.  Though his supporting work with Ford and Wayne is why he's included in this trio, my soft spot for him will always be his one and only shot at top-billing in 1942's HITLER: DEAD OR ALIVE, a film that clearly inspired INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS and contains the fabulous spectacle of Ward slapping the shit out of Hitler himself ...before proceeding to force-shave off his mustache! 

Anyway, I just finished reading Scott Allen Nollen's in-depth examination of the lives and work of these three cinematic giants, and I highly recommend it as a fascinating study for burgeoning old-Hollywood aficionados and serious fans of cinema alike.  Chronologically tracing the intertwining lives of these three "good-bad men" who were not unlike the characters in their films (Ford directed Bond and Wayne in nearly thirty pictures each), Nollen is at once objective and affectionate in his analysis, and there's a wealth of source material including documents, letters, telegrams, and plenty of rare photographs.  There are riveting anecdotes (I may now actually be inspired to read Harry Carey, Jr.'s autobiography), some great yarn-spinning (including tales of Ward Bond's brutish, high-flying, indecent-exposing, Wile E. Coyote-style antics and his ruining of a key scene in THE SEARCHERS when he unplugged the camera to plug in his electric razor!), and the work definitely touches on their peccadillos and absurdities, though never salaciously.

It's deftly written and never dry; while many books of this kind become bogged down by academic posturing, Nollen remains true to the spirit of his subjects and opts for a two-fisted, no bullshit approach.  I really appreciate how deeply he throws himself into the work, freely admitting "a meaningful (though a bit one-sided) conversation with a tombstone or two."  He's as a film writer should be– intense, obsessive, and highly-focused; reverent without succumbing to hollow adulation.

The main drive of the work is the examination of the complex personal and working relationship between the three (though large swaths of the book are dedicated to advancing the underrated Ward Bond to his rightful place in the pantheon).  None of these men could really be pinned down or branded with a particular stereotype– each had a volatile mix of id and ego (often sprinkled heavily with alcohol) that fused together to create a kind of perfect storm of filmic art. 
The complex psychology of Ford's relationships with the two men is indeed worthy of an entire volume– you see a strange kind of ownership emerge, resulting from Ford's "discovering" of the two actors.  This ownership was generally expressed in verbal (and often physical) sadism as Ford became master of his "whipping boys," something which may have even tied into his potential bisexuality:
"Ford loved John Wayne and Ward Bond, but his true sexual orientation wasn't something he would have discussed with them, or anyone else.  When it came to his own life and psyche, Pappy [Ford] avoided the truth, exaggerated, lied, or just didn't 'have any goddamn idea.'  The positive emotions he felt for his two favorite actors and whipping boys may have been the underlying cause of his negative, sadistic treatment of them (and himself); but even a lifetime of psychoanalysis may not have 'proved' anything."
Vindictive and controlling, Ford "froze out" Wayne for eight years when he appeared in a rival director's Western (Raoul Walsh's THE BIG TRAIL) and later, when Bond made serious forays into television (WAGON TRAIN) and Wayne tried to direct a picture of his own (THE ALAMO), Ford would sometimes install himself as a presence on set and attempt to undermine/co-opt the work therein.  These behaviors even extended beyond the trio– he punched out Henry Fonda (!) on MISTER ROBERTS and made cruel, deliberate use of alcohol to wring earth-shattering, hungover performances out of the likes of Victor McLaglen in THE INFORMER and Woody Strode in SERGEANT RUTLEDGE.

Though he reveals these men "warts and all," Nollen also paints a portrait of devoted friends and masterful artists whose lives and creative outlets meshed almost completely.  (For instance, despite the abuse, Ford chose Bond to play his own alter-ego in the deeply personal THE WINGS OF EAGLES.) 

Nollen takes on the accusations of racism in Ford's films, and reveals his struggle to show all sides despite the constraints of the system– especially evident in films like THE SEARCHERS, SERGEANT RUTLEDGE, and CHEYENNE AUTUMN.  He tackles the strange political spectrum of the men, too, with John Ford's patriotic progressivism, Wayne's conservatism, and Ward Bond's ultraconservatism (and yet it was Ford who took his camera overseas into the crucible of World War II while Wayne and Bond remained in Hollywood).  He doesn't shy away from Ward Bond's shameful behavior in the McCarthy era as a supporter of the blacklist:
"The social climbing Bond's ultimate political affront to Ford involved an invitation to a party he was throwing for Senator Joseph McCarthy.  His great mentor [Ford] simply answered, 'You can take your party and shove it.  I wouldn't meet that guy in a whorehouse.  He's a disgrace and a danger to our country.'"
Bond's involvement with the blacklist feels like a moral counterpoint to Ford's extensive work with the U.S. armed forces in World War II and beyond, and much attention here is paid to his military career (I learned that in North Africa a Nazi actually surrendered himself to John Ford!) 

Along the way, Nollen delves into a vast spectrum of material including Ford's relationship with his older brother Francis (mentor, actor, and silent film director), Ford's gleeful propensity for Chaucer/Shakespearean-style low comedy and his hilariously bizarre obsession with highlighting Ward Bond's "horse's ass" in shot compositions ("Although FORT APACHE is a serious examination of the mythology of the American West, it humorously can be branded Ford's 'ass-travaganza'").  Of particular interest to me were Ford's work with Victor McLaglen (whose performance in THE INFORMER is one of the greatest in filmdom), his direction of genius child actor and later genre-movie legend Roddy McDowall in HOW GREEN WAS MY VALLEY,  Bond's artistic process as unofficial show-runner on WAGON TRAIN, and the compelling, touching latter-day friendship between Ford and Woody Strode– and the book certainly has some genuinely emotional, poignant moments as the three "good-bad" men's lives dwindle to a close.

In the end, it definitely gets you amped up to watch some John Ford films– I've probably seen at least two dozen or so at this point, but there's still scores more I need to get my hands on, and there's obviously some big gaps in my knowledge.  For instance, since I've read THREE BAD MEN, MISTER ROBERTS, THEY WERE EXPENDABLE, 3 GODFATHERS, and WAGON MASTER have now leapt to the forefront of my queue.

THREE BAD MEN is published by McFarland (Order line: 800-253-2187), ISBN 978-0-7864-5854-7

Monday, March 25, 2013

Only now does it occur to me... THINGS TO COME

Only now does it occur to me...  what an inspiration THINGS TO COME must have been on everyone from George Lucas to George A. Romero.

A heavy does of H.G. Wells future history that was designed as a sort of retort to the world of METROPOLIS, THINGS TO COME is an enjoyable, extremely well designed piece of classic science fiction.

I knew that it was influential, but I didn't quite realize what an impact its visuals had on everything from LOGAN'S RUN's domed metropolis to THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK's Cloud City.

Then, the most curious thing:  "the wandering sickness."  Wells describes a plague in the latter stages of his Second World War (which stretches into the 1960s), spread by a poison gas dropped from airplanes.  Though it seems to be a vague prediction of the radiation sickness from atomic bombs, it immediately reminded me if the zombie film canon:  the victims wander a post-apocalyptic landscape in a daze, arms outstretched, and are highly contagious.  Infected family members must be killed immediately in order save other survivors; difficult decisions must be made.



I had always heard of I AM LEGEND/THE LAST MAN ON EARTH being the primary influence on NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD, so this came to me as a surprise.  Even the name, "the wandering sickness," evokes latter-day zombie fiction like THE WALKING DEAD.  So:  H.G. Wells predicted (often in roundabout ways) devastating aerial bombing, the Second World War, genetic engineering, automatic sliding doors, cell phones, flat-screen TVs... and the zombie genre!

Monday, October 25, 2010

Film Review: DRACULA (1931, Tod Browning)

Stars: 4.9 of 5.
Running Time: 75 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Béla Lugosi, Dwight Frye (FRANKENSTEIN, BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN), Helen Chandler (DAYBREAK, THE SKY HAWK), Edward van Sloane (THE MUMMY, FRANKENSTEIN, DRACULA'S DAUGHTER), Herbert Bunston (THE MOONSTONE, THE RICHEST GIRL IN THE WORLD), David Manners (THE BLACK CAT, THE MUMMY). Cinematography by Karl Freund (KEY LARGO, METROPOLIS, THE GOLEM, THE LAST LAUGH, I LOVE LUCY; director of THE MUMMY- allegedly uncredited co-director of DRACULA). Directed by Tod Browning (FREAKS, THE UNKNOWN). Makeup by Jack P. Pierce (FRANKENSTEIN, THE WOLF MAN, THE MUMMY, WHITE ZOMBIE, THE MONKEY TALKS). Based on the novel by Bram Stoker (THE LAIR OF THE WHITE WORM).
Tag-line: "The story of the strangest passion the world has ever known!"
Best one-liner: "For one who has not lived even a single lifetime, you're a wise man, Van Helsing."

DRACULA is far from a perfect film: it's more derivative of the theatrical adaptation than the Stoker novel, it suffered persistent budgetary setbacks, the production was plagued by disorganization, and the director (Tod Browning)- despondent over losing his friend and intended Dracula, Lon Chaney- became disinterested and irritable, allegedly handing off the reins to DP Karl Freund on occasion. Despite it all, however, DRACULA is a monster classic, full of fleeting, mystical moments and ethereal majesties. Exceedingly atmospheric and possessing one of the most iconic leading performances in film history, DRACULA is a Halloween fixture and a classic of early sound cinema. Mandatory viewing not only for horror fans, but for cineastes in general, what could I possibly write to add to the critical discourse? Perhaps I'll just write about a few of my favorite moments- those sublime cobwebs of perfection which waft in and out of the nightmarish fantasia...



#1. The Fauna of Castle Dracula.

Some of you may think I'm ragging on the film by bringing this up, but I'm not–there's something so bizarre– almost alien– about the eclectic selection of critters which inhabit Castle Dracula. There're armadillos (Tod Browning spent time in Texas) wandering amongst the dilapidated furniture,

'possums skittering to and fro, and fake bats twirling on strings outside the Palladian windows.
A striped termite (?) wriggles out of its tiny coffin.

As Renfield parts the world's largest spiderweb,

we see its arachnid creator clambering up the wall.

Er, make that dragged upward by a stagehand. But it doesn't matter- in the midst of the awe-inspiring set (more on that in a bit), this strange bit of artificiality only adds to the unsettling grandeur of Castle Dracula.

#2. The sets– more specifically, the sets of Castle Dracula and Carfax Abbey.


The sheer scope is breathtaking. If the production hadn't been underfunded, I can only imagine what constructed Hollywood wizardry could be dazzling us– as it stands, only the beginning and end of the film possess these towering, Cyclopean sets; for the most part, the rest is all drawing rooms and boudoirs. But it doesn't matter- even just one of these two sets could carry the movie.

#3. The Philip Glass score, composed in 1999. Purists prefer the Tchaikovsky and the silence (with a touch of Wagner during the concert scene), but I wish there could be a happy medium– I can't imagine DRACULA without "Swan Lake" playing over the main title, but I absolutely adore the rest of Philip Glass' score. It's swirling and mesmerizing, shadowy and indistinct. It billows and surges relentlessly from the darkest depths of the human soul. It's DRACULA. It often creates the illusion of a silent film (despite all the dialogue) and complements the Browning and Freund imagery perfectly. Now I find that there are moments in the film which I can't imagine without the Glass score.

#4. The first appearance of Count Dracula.



The power of this scene perhaps lies in its simplicity. The slow tracking shot. The gnarled hand steadily emerging from the coffin. The torpid mist which lends a general haze to the entire milieu. The peculiar expression upon Dracula's face- it is not one of malevolence, but one of immutable passivity. The cycle begins anew. The blood and the night and the taking of life.

#5. Freund's pencil lighting.

Today, I feel as if the actor's unions would have a problem with the director of photography shining concentrated bursts of small, high-wattage lamps directly into an actor's open eyes, but I don't hear Béla Lugosi complaining. I think he's too connected to his character to think of anything besides the tremendous hypnotic power he wields over mere mortals.


The effect is wonderful, and it proves that you don't require special contact lenses, prosthetics, or CGI to depict a monster's indescribable gaze... all you need is an inventive lighting designer and a really intense Hungarian.

#6. Dwight Frye as Renfield.

Speaking of really intense people- for your consideration, Dwight Frye:


Sort of the 1930's Crispin Glover, Frye tackled roles with a genuine, maniac élan that likely will never be matched. He was a Broadway legend (originating "The Son" in Pirandello's SIX CHARACTERS IN SEARCH OF AN AUTHOR), he played the iconic role in FRANKENSTEIN which many people mistakenly call "Igor" (in actuality, it's "Fritz"); he appeared in THE VAMPIRE BAT and THE BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN, had bit parts in FRANKENSTEIN MEETS THE WOLF MAN and THE INVISIBLE MAN, and was immortalized in song by Alice Cooper (while singing in a straitjacket, to boot!).

It's easy to see why he was later typecast as this parade of lunatics, crazies, and madmen, yet before Renfield gets 'buggy,' so to speak, he skillfully plays it straight as the dandy-solicitor who's in a little over his head.



#7. Helen Chandler's (Mina's) vampire gaze.

I'm not sure I like it as well as Sybille Schmitz's in VAMPYR, but Helen is certainly bringing something to the table– something murderous and childlike.

#8. The scene where Dracula attempts to hypnotize Van Helsing.




There's an ineffable, poetic quality to this that makes it so memorable. A simple enough scene of Dracula failing to exert his will upon Van Helsing, it humanizes both characters considerably. Initially, Van Helsing falls victim to Dracula's powerful trance- he briefly appears as a wobbly, helpless old man. Then he regains his mental footing, and reveals the sheer magnitude of his determination, earning a degree of Dracula's respect and drawing his ire. The two titans have clashed without raising their voices or exchanging blows, they've merely wielded the forces of their respective wills against one another. And it feels real– the weight of tormented centuries, the fortitude of one who fights monsters- it's all made very tangible in this scene.

#9. The scene in the opera box.

It's only a brief dialogue scene, but it's quite possibly my favorite moment in the film. Dracula meets Harker, Lucy, and Mina for the first time. Dracula explains his recent purchase of Carfax Abbey and how it reminds him of the crumbling battlements of his castle in Transylvania. The girls are waxing poetic about death and other such morbidities, and Dracula interjects...


Dracula reveals himself, his true human self, to a trio of oblivious bon vivants and ingenues. Lugosi speaks deliberately- Dracula chooses his words carefully because they carry great import. "There are far worse things awaiting man than death." He breaks eye contact with the girls, because now he's looking into himself. Harker mutters some cheap, hollow sentiment, and Dracula tunes him out... he tunes out the rest of this vapid world, a world full of those who dare to speak of death as if they've experienced it...

The Philip Glass music swells, and it's a pleasure to the point of pain.


-Sean Gill


Side note: Dracula's screams during the staking have been a matter of some controversy. Available on VHS, many were angered by their exclusion on the Universal DVD, but they're actually there if you know where to look. There are three audio tracks– #1, the edited audio (but with the original music) which does not have the screams. #2, the Philip Glass score, does have the screams, but they are very faint because the music is playing rather loudly. Track #3, the commentary by David J. Skal, is with the original, unedited audio, but he's speaking nearly the whole time. So if you really want to hear the screams, choose the audio commentary during the final scene, and he actually pauses as they happen, for your listening pleasure. Why Universal did this is anybody's guess, but at least they're on there somewhere.

Monday, October 18, 2010

Film Review: VAMPYR (1932, Carl Th. Dreyer)

Stars: 4.7 of 5.
Running Time: 75 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Julian West (star and producer, an aristocrat who was never involved with another film project), Sybille Schmitz (DIARY OF A LOST GIRL, HOTEL SACHER, and the real-life inspiration for Fassbinder's VERONIKA VOSS), Maurice Schutz (THE PASSION OF JOAN OF ARC, Gance's NAPOLEON), Rena Mandel, Jan Hieronimko. Directed by Carl Th. Dreyer (THE PASSION OF JOAN OF ARC, ORDET, DAY OF WRATH). Based on work by Irish ghost story writer Sheridan le Fanu. Screenplay by Christen Jul and Dreyer. Cinematography by Rudolph Maté (GILDA, TO BE OR NOT TO BE, THE PASSION OF JOAN OF ARC, director of film noirs like D.O.A.). Music by Wolfgang Zeller (THE ADVENTURES OF PRINCE ACHMED, SERENGETI).
Tag-line: "The strange adventure of Allan Gray."
Best one-liner: Not really that kind of a movie.

Carl Th. Dreyer's stab at expressionistic horror was one which he thought would bring him mainstream success and acclaim– it had marketable young actors, eerie imagery, and vampires- it should've been all the rage, or so Dreyer thought. But it was largely a critical and popular failure (sayeth the New York Times: in many ways [VAMPYR] was one of the worst films I have ever attended" and that "[it] either held the spectators spellbound as in a long nightmare or else moved them to hysterical laughter") which was not recognized as a classic until many decades hence.

As it is, it remains a phantasmagorical spectacular, sharing common ground with latter-day dream ballets like VALERIE AND HER WEEK OF WONDERS and ERASERHEAD. It's not plot-heavy in a traditional sense, but rather builds a wispily tangible mood, one that brushes your shoulders, pricks up the hairs on the back of your neck, and slips between your fingers in frosty, feathery tendrils. VAMPYR embodies the dream state, blurs the lines between nightly rest and eternal rest, and, at its best, places the viewer themselves in a trance-like condition. (Dreyer had his cinematographer, the brilliant Rudolph Maté, shoot most of the film with a thin gauze blocking the lens from a distance of three feet to really drive the haziness home!) With Wolfgang Zeller's softly flowing score, frequent title cards, and long stretches of silence, VAMPYR feels at times like a silent film, but in saying so, I don't wish to downplay the effect of the seriously spooky soundscape, full of screeching birds, howling monkeys (?), metallic grindings, and mysterious echoes.

Though it would be impossible to spoil VAMPYR's myriad secrets with mere words, the remander of this review shall, like the film, take on something of an abstract quality...

Wheels spin, gears crank, shadows turn.


A peasant (or is that the Grim Reaper?) rings a bell incessantly on a fog-enshrouded dock, a scythe ominously slung over his shoulder.

An arrangement of skulls fix their empty-socketed glares upon the camera lens.

Julian West's eyes bulge with mortal dread.

Skeletal fingers clutch a vial of poison. Sybille Schmitz leers with an animal madness that puts today's overproduced, fang-reliant vampires to shame.

Shadows disobey their masters.

In-camera effects rule the day. The staking of a vampire is described quite elegantly as "nailing her horrid soul to the earth." A man chokes on a savage downpour of flour in the most difficult-to-watch asphyxiation scene until BLUE COLLAR.

Our hero is buried alive (or is that really the case?), and we see, via his point-of-view, a series of sights leading up to his interment which comprise, in my opinion, one of the most immersive, tour de force cinematographical sequences in all of filmdom.


For me, anyway, this is horror cinema at its finest. Shadowy, nebulous visions from the pit, a few of which (the burial sequence, for example) resonate as forbidden sights that perhaps the living ought never to see...

Just about five stars.

-Sean Gill