The Best American Films of 1962

We've reached the end of 2012, so it's high time for me to list my favorite American films from exactly fifty years ago. 1962 was one of the great years in American cinema, remembered by some as the finest since 1939 when works such as Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, The Wizard of Oz, Stagecoach and Gone With the Wind were Hollywood's most celebrated productions. I'll let others argue as to which year was better, but take a look at the films listed below from 1962 - and remember that this is a list of American films from the year, so I'm not including Lawrence of Arabia, the Oscar winner for Best Picture from that year.

1) The Manchurian Candidate - directed by John Frankehheimer - One of two works from Frankenheimer on this list - The Manchurian Candidate, like most great films, stands up to repeated viewings; today the film is as relevant as ever. There are several subplots, each linked to the central theme of brainwashing, as Eleanor Shaw Iselin (brilliantly portrayed by Angela Lansbury) is the American leader of a plot to have her son Raymond Shaw (Laurence Harvey), a Korean war hero, assassinate the leading candidate for President, so her husband, extremist Senator John Iselin (James Gregory) can become leader of the free world and, as one can imagine, lead America down a path of deceit and shame. The brainwashing sequence near the film's beginning where the soldiers have been told they are at a ladies' discussion of gardening, all the while being asked to kill their fellow combatants, is a masterfully directed scene, one that was undeniably chilling in 1962 and still has the power to shock today. A strong message of this film is that the main characters, especially Major Bennett Marco (Frank Sinatra, rarely better) are haunted by their past; given the way that this story plays out, it is clear that they will be haunted for the rest of their lives.

2) To Kill a Mockingbird - directed by Robert Mulligan - One of the most famous and most moving of all American films, Mockingbird is, at its heart, a film about decency, a common theme for Mulligan. The brilliant screenplay, adapted by Horton Foote from Harper Lee's marvelous and wildly successful novel, is a model of efficiency and one filled with emotionally accurate dialogue. While the courtroom sequence in which lawyer Atticus Finch (Gregory Peck in his Oscar-winning role) defends an innocent black man accused of raping a white woman in the Deep South of the 1930s is the most well-known in the film, the scene in which Atticus' children come to his rescue as he is being taunted by his fellow citizens for defending a black man, is just as memorable and as beautifully played out. Especially noteworthy in this scene is how Atticus' young daughter Scout (Mary Badham in one of the greatest child performances ever recorded on film) recognizes the father of one of her classmates and asks, "Don't you remember me?... You brought us some hickory nuts one early morning, remember?" It is this sort of emotional detail combined with Mulligan's sensitive direction and Elmer Bernstein's lyrical and heartfelt score that makes this a classic work of Americana.

3) Advise and Consent - directed by Otto Preminger - Otto Preminger's highly entertaining look at the inside workings of Washington, D.C. politics is a reminder of how little things have changed in our culture (with the exception of the politicians of fifty years ago being a little more polite!) The main story line deals with a nominee for Secretary of State named Robert Leffingwell (Henry Fonda), who is both admired and hated by members of his own party; we follow the process of a congressional hearing and ultimately a Senate vote to learn whether he will be confirmed. Along the way, we marvel at the wonderful characters that populate this story, from the morally strong Majority Leader Robert Munson (Walter Pidgeon) to the cantakerous Seib Cooley, a Southern Democrat who likes to stir the pot to the less than scrupulous Fred Van Acekerman, who is out to see that Leffingwell is confirmed, no matter at what personal harm he may inflict along the way. Following box-office and critical successes with Anatomy of a Murder (1959) and Exodus (1960), Preminger at this time was at a high point in his career; here the use of his camera, floating amidst the Senate chamber is something to marvel at, as is his direction of the final vote, both in terms of space and timing. The outstanding script is by Wendell Mayes, based on the best-selling novel from Allen Drury; Sam Leavitt's black and white photography is documentarian in nature and suits this subject beautifully. Superb ensemble acting as Preminger lets the performers have their moments; thankfully, he sees no need to super charge the film with odd or peculiar images, as the material is strong enough.

4) The Days of Wine and Roses - directed by Blake Edwards - Blake Edwards was most famous for his comedies, as with The Pink Panther films, but this drama is arguably his finest work. The story of how an agreeable businessman Joe Clay (Jack Lemmon) falls heads over heels with an attractive secretary Kirsten Arnesen (Lee Remick) and then turns her on to the lure of alcohol is a descent into hell. Both characters are devastated, but while he admits his problem, she does not. The final scene of the two of them together, as Joe tries to reason with Kirsten into returning to his life, is incredibly heartbreaking and this ending was surely one of the most downbeat in American films up to that time. Both performers are brilliant - Remick was never better - and the scene in the plant nursery where Joe frantically searches for a bottle of bourbon he placed somewhere, is unforgettable in its intensity; it's one of the finest moments for both actor and director. Charles Bickford gives a touching performance as Kirsten's father, another in a long line of great portrayals from this highly underrated performer. Some critics have complained that the troubles of the two main characters are somewhat exaggerated; their reasoning seems to be that instead of just becoming drunks, these two are world-class drunks, teetering on the edge of survival. But honestly, if these two individuals were not as affected as they are, would we really care about them? Would the film be as emotionally shattering? I think not.

5) The Miracle Worker - directed by Arthur Penn - Based on the William Gibson play about Anne Sullivan, the woman that taught Helen Keller how to speak and write, this is a highly absorbing film from Arthur Penn, who had sharpened his directorial teeth in television throughout much of the 1950s. Certainly that training explains his powerful staging of the film's most famous scene in which the two principals struggle with each other in a physical battle over table manners; this nine-minute scene is emotionally exhausting to experience. In many other scenes, simple gestures, such as forming an object with one's fingers, are powerful visuals and it's clear that Penn played up the emotional conflict of the two characters, as Keller strongly resists Sullivan's - or anyone's - search to get closer. Both Anne Bancroft as Sullivan and Patty Duke as Keller, repeating their stage performances, won Academy Awards. Penn's identity as a director who specialized in stories about the individual's inner demons was cemented with this film.

6) Birdman of Alcatraz - directed by John Frankenheimer - This story of inmate Robert Stroud and his groundbreaking work with birds during his decades in prison is a gripping and somber film from Frankenheimer, who directs with great ease and assuredness. While we watch first with great joy and then with sheer awe at how Stroud (Burt Lancaster) cares for the birds in his cel, the other storyline of his relationship with warden Harvey Shoemaker (Karl Malden) is just as absorbing, as Shoemaker hates the idea of a convicted murderer doing anything but prison time, while Stroud only wants to better his world. Everyone remembers the stunning performance of Lancaster, which is clearly among his finest, yet few recall the outstanding work of Malden, who is called upon as a strong combatant to Lancaster. While this film tends to drag a bit toward the end in the scenes of a prison riot, there are so many powerful and poignant moments - as when Stroud tells his wife that he cannot see her anymore - that carry this film to great heights. The stark black and white photography of Burnett Guffey is stunning, as we are given a bleak world of hopelessness. At its core, Birdman of Alcatraz is a tribute to the human spirit and the quality of never giving up, no matter how great the odds.

7) Freud (aka Freud: The Secret Passion) - directed by John Huston - John Huston specialized in films about characters who embarked on a far away adventure; with Freud, that journey is one that takes place within the human psyche. The film focuses on Freud's work with patients suffering from hysteria; at first he works with a colleague, Joseph Breuer, who believes in Freud's theories, while the second half of the film is about Freud's work on his own, especially his treatment of a young woman named Cecily (Susannah York). It is during conversations with her that Freud pieces together his principles of childhood sexuality and repression; this neatly culminates with him sorting out incidents from his own youth and how he reacted to his parents. This is a film that demands a great deal of attention from the audience; one doubts that today's filmgoers would sit through this sincere treatment of Freud's work. Huston's direction is intense, as he brings out the overt meanings of the various dream sequences in beautiful visuals. An excellent, brooding performance by Montgomery Clift as Freud is among the film's highlights as is the subtle, edgy score from the great Jerry Goldsmith.

8) The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance - directed by John Ford - While I don't find this film to be the classic that others do, there is much that I admire about this unusual Western, especially in the duality of its themes of law versus violence. The second half of this film, when attorney Ransom Stoddard (Jimmy Stewart) slowly introduces basic schooling and the principles of democracy to the small town of Shinbone, where guns were always the previous way of settling an argument, is especially strong. The performances throughout are excellent - I particularly love Edmond O'Brien's larger-than-life take as Dutton Peabody, the town's newspaper editor - and the scene late in the film when Tom Donovan (John Wayne) tells Stoddard, "you didn't kill Liberty Valance..." is one of Wayne's finest moments on screen. The line from the penultimate scene, "this is the West, sir. When the legend becomes fact, print the legend," is one of the most famous and devastatingly honest of any American film.

9) Lolita - directed by Stanley Kubrick - It's clear that this version of Vladimir Nabokov novel is not the film that Stanley Kubrick wanted to make - studio censors made certain of that - but this is still a notable work, one filled with great subtleties and marvelous irony. Nabokov adapted his own screenplay and contributed many moments of wonderful dialogue for the four main characters, each of whom is a fascinating, three-dimensional individual. There are some great sexual innuendos - the line about the "cherry pies" being the most famous, but my favorite quote is by Professor Humbert (James Mason) when he tells his wife Charlotte (Shelley Winters), "every game has its rules." It's wonderfully ironic at the time, but that line will carry greater weight as the story proceeds with its numerous encounters. Kubrick's direction is subdued and filled with a sharp eye for the droll humor in numerous sequences; his staging of the scene where Charlotte dances with Humbert in her home is supremely enacted and effortlessly carried out. Though a bit stretched at 152 minutes (the scene with Dr. Zemsh seems like a plot contrivance, while the final explanation of why Lolita left Humbert is rather straightforward in its exposition and not as clever as it should have been), overall, this is a fascinating film. First-rate performances by Mason, Winters (was she ever better?) and Sellers as well as exceptional dreamlike black and white photography by Oswald Morris.

10) Experiment in Terror - directed by Blake Edwards - Like John Frankenheimer, Blake Edwards also had a very successful 1962, most famously with The Days of Wine and Roses (#4, above), but also with this cleverly crafted thriller, which unfortunately is not as well known as it should be. Bank teller Kelly Sherwood (Lee Remick) is grabbed by a crazed man named Red Lynch (Ross Martin) late at night in her garage and told she must abscond with $100,000 from the bank and hand it over to him; if she refuses, he will harm her younger sister Toby (Stefanie Powers). Kelly - as well as we the viewer - cannot see this man's face, so the only thing she can tell the FBI agent John Ripley (Glenn Ford) assigned to her case is that the man has asthmatic breathing; indeed we do not see this man's entire face for the first half of the film, adding to the tension. Edwards and his cinematographer Philip Lathrop create a world of light and shadow in which characters move from the relative safety of their brightly lit surroundings into the unknown dangers of the darkness. There is a constant theme of individuals being trapped in a structure, be it a bank teller's desk, a swimming pool (Toby is being watched there, unbeknownst to her) or within one's residence. Set in San Francisco, the opening and closing sequences - a late night drive across the Bay Bridge and a shootout at Candlestick Park - are eerie and beautifully shot. Henry Mancini contributed a wonderfully creepy score; his opening theme is one of the most spine-chilling ever composed for the cinema.

Honorable mention: Cape Fear (dir. J. Lee Thompson); Lonely are the Brave (dir. David Miller)

Political Wheeling and Dealing - Preminger Style

Fifty years ago, Otto Preminger treated us to his look at the inside world of Washington, D.C. politics in his mesmerizing version of Advise and Consent. Based upon the wildly successful novel of Allen Drury, Preminger's film remains today one of the most accomplished studies of the inner workings of American politics at the highest level. Varying between numerous narrative tones, from the reality of a congressional hearing to the melodramatics of a senator's homosexual affair from several years in the past, the director assembles all of this material in a highly entertaining film that refuses to take the easy way out.

That should come as no surprise to anyone who admires the work of Preminger, who in 1962 was at the height of his fame as well as directorial powers, fresh off the triumphs of Anatomy of a Murder (1959) and Exodus (1960). While the latter film was a beautifully balanced look at the struggles of a group of individuals surrounding the creation of the state of Israel in 1948, it is the former work that in my mind is Preminger's finest film; a courtroom drama that leaves us with the ending that we, the audience, wanted to see, yet one that left us wondering if justice had indeed been served.

Preminger enjoyed great critical and box-office success with his film adaptations of the blockbuster novels Anatomy and Exodus, so it was no surprise that he continued in this vein for Advise and Consent, which was a publishing phenomenon upon its release in 1959, as author Drury composed a work that was not only an enthralling look at the everyday deeds of our politicians in Washington, D.C (with the emphasis on the Senate); it also became a bit of an enjoyable pursuit, as the reader could imagine the exact senator Drury was writing about. The author was diligent in not naming which senator belonged to which party; this was a smart move, as there were likable as well as less than upright senators on both sides of the aisle in this work. Of course, while there have always been philosophical differences between the Democrats and Republicans, the venom that is spewed forth these days was not so typical in the late 1950s and early '60s.

The device that sets this story in place is a simple one; Robert A. Leffingwell (Henry Fonda), a former head of the Federal Power Commission and now, as this tale begins, the individual in charge of the office of Defense Mobilization, has been nominated by the President (Franchot Tone, in one of the more subuded, self-deflating portrayals of a US president ever put on film) for the job of Secretary of State. We learn of this news in the very first shot, as we see a newsboy holding the morning edition of the local Washington paper with a headline announcing this development (more on newspapers and communication from the early 1960s later in this post).

Senators Seabright Cooley and Robert Munson

We soon meet two of the major protagonists of this tale: Senators Robert Munson (Walter Pidgeon), who is the senior senator of Michigan and also the Majority Leader and Seab (Seabright) Cooley (Charles Laughton), senior senator and self-admitted "curmudgeon" from South Carolina. Munson is a staunch supporter of the President who will do everything in his power to see that Leffingwell is approved. Cooley on the other hand, vehemently opposes Leffingwell and will make speech after speech criticizing the nominee's stand on foreign affairs, claiming he is soft on the threat of communism. Given the political environment in 1962 when this film was released - the Cold War posturing of the governments of the United States and the Soviet Union - this was more than an idle concern. (As a point of reference, this film premiered in June, 1962, only a few months before the Cuban Missile crisis in October of that year).

We are told upfront that these two senators are from the same party, which of course, adds a great deal of inner friction and tension to the proceedings. It also makes for some highly entertaining scenes between the two with some great exchanges (the first-rate screenplay was adapted by Wendell Mayes, who performed a similarly brilliant job on Anatomy of a Murder). After the first session of the committee hearing with Leffingwell is finished, Munson tells Cooley that he has enough votes lined up to see that the nominee will win approval; he asks him, "What do you think of that, you old buzzard?" Cooley's response is wonderful; "Us old buzzards can see a mouse dying from 10,000 feet up. Us old buzzards have the sharpest eyes in creation. Right now, I'm studying the terrain."

The approval hearing is the centerpiece of this film and these sequences are masterfully directed by Preminger, who uses a documentary approach in this section. I love how he gives us a two-shot of Leffingwell and the stenographer; most directors would have given us close-ups of the nominee, probably sweating a bit, perhaps squirming in his seat. That might have been fine, but it would have been a bit clichéd; with this image, the documentary impact - the witness answering questions while the stenographer records his answers - is strengthened. It's the objective approach that is a trademark of Preminger - we aren't given closeups of Leffingwell except for a couple of key answers, so we're not force fed how important his words are; combine that with the minimalist performance of Fonda and you've got the proper emotions that are called for in the scene. I've always admired Preminger for this directorial philosophy and it's in evidence in several other part of the film as well.

Another key element in the scenes of the committee hearing is the outstanding work turned in by Director of Photography Sam Leavitt. The cinematographer did a marvelous job lighting this interior, as we are given vividly sharp black and white images that also have a good deal of grey to them. This is in keeping with the message of this hearing, especially when a small-time clerk named Herbert Gelman (brilliantly portrayed in a nervous, barely audible manner by Burgess Meredith) announces that he knew Leffingwell years earlier when he was a student in one of Leffingwell's classes. Leffingwell says he did not know Gelman when his name is first brought up in the hearing; later on, he states that he did know him. The witness is taking the time-honored approach that hundreds, if not thousands of individuals in his position also took during their cross-examination - admit to nothing. Thus the facts and the accusations - Gelman claims that Leffingwell is a Communist - are not black and white, but interspersed with a lot of grey. (Note: it is a shame that the luster of Leavitt's photography is not evident in these photos, as his work is particularly luminous in these scenes. Do watch the DVD to appreciate the full visual appeal of this film.)

There are numerous twists and turns in this story, as a particularly cunning senator from Wyoming by the name of Fred Van Ackerman (George Grizzard) is out to discredit the committee chairman, Senator Brigham Anderson from Utah (Don Murray), whom he believes is against Leffingwell's approval. I won't go into the details of this subplot, but the consequences play out in the final 15-minute sequence in the Senate chambers, which is supremely directed, written, edited and acted. Preminger uses his crane-mounted camera to swoop in and out of this room, as we see the inner chaos of the final act come to a resolution, as Munson has asked the Senate to advise and consent to the nomination of Leffingwell. There are speeches given, protests raised, a call for yeas and nays on this issue and finally, a taking of the vote. We are given information a little bit at a time, as we learn that the vote is almost even or perhaps one or two in favor of approval; if there is a tie, the vice-president (Lew Ayres) has the tie-breaking vote and will almost assuredly support the nominee and thus his president.

The vice president (Lew Ayres) overseeing the Senate chamber

This sequence is a great finale to this film as we are thrust into the real time of a Senate confrontation. Will the nominee be approved? Will any senators change their mind due to events that took place earlier in the film regarding Senator Anderson who is being blackmailed? This is highly entertaining stuff and it's even more memorable, given the ending we don't expect.

One additional thing worth noting is the ensemble acting of the veteran performers that Preminger assembled for this performance. The director knew that if he wanted a box-office hit when filming a blockbuster (Preminger was a shrewd producer as well as director; his films never ran over budget), he needed to have stars up on the screen that the public not only wanted to see, but also in this case, ones that could be honestly believed in their performances. Of the stellar cast, Henry Fonda was far and away the top star at the time and his brief portrayal of Leffingwell is another throughly professional job from this great actor. Professional is also the word for the performance of Walter Pidgeon, who is the glue that holds this scenario together as the even-tempered Majority Leader.

Then there are the superb supporting performances of Lew Ayres as the vice president (rarely as good as in this role), veteran Franchot Tone as the President, George Grizzard as Senator Van Ackerman, Don Murray as Sen. Anderson and Burgess Meredith as Gelman. Each performance is first-rate and clearly any one of these actors could have been nominated for an Academy Award as Best Supporting Actor. The fact that none of them were - in fact, the film did not receive a single Oscar nomination - is a shame and a bit of an outrage, based partly on the fact that 1962 was a particularly strong year for cinema with the releases of such works as To Kill A Mockingbird, Lawrence of Arabia, The Manchurian Candidate, Birdman of Alcatraz, The Miracle Worker and The Days of Wine and Roses among others. Yet one wonders if Preminger's reputation as a tyrannical director had left Academy voters out in the cold. Regardless, the number of accomplished performances in this film is highly notable.

Of course, watching the legendary Charles Laughton dominate the scenery here (as he did so often in his career) is a treat unto itself. Moving his hefty frame across the screen (even standing up and sitting down in his chair in the Senate chamber is an effort), Laughton is having the time of his life as Senator Cooley, a proud, cantankerous fellow whose bark is usually worse than his bite. I love the way he carries himself during the opening of the hearing, interrupting questioning and then making speeches designed to have those in attendance admire him more than the nominee. At times jovial and at times brooding, Laughton is his last film role is brilliant.

Watching this film some 50 years later is a fascinating experience, not only as the film holds up beautifully, but also because of the difference in technology today versus 1962. Thus we watch events in real time, as a Senator has to call someone from his office or hotel room to gain the latest news; he couldn't just take out his cel phone and get in touch on the spot. Newspapers and not electronic media were the main sources for information, so one's opinions were largely based on what a reporter wrote for the public to read the following day. This allows more complexities in the story line and more doubt to creep in among the characters, as everything is not decided in an instant. Preminger lets the action play out in a slightly charged atmosphere; this is a bit of a potboiler, especially in the final sequence, but it's remarkable in its look at both the rules as well as the wrong doings of the game, the game being politics, the biggest in the town of Washington, D.C.

Porgy and Bess

A few days ago, I watched Porgy and Bess, the 1959 film directed by Otto Preminger. Just the fact that I was able to see this film is something worth mentioning, as it was pulled out of the marketplace in 1967 by the Gerhswin family and has (to the best of my knowledge) received only one public showing since (this took place in New York City in 1998; after the film, author Foster Hirsch who wrote a biography of Preminger, commented on this work before an appreciative audience).

The history of this film is quite remarkable, as several producers in the 1940s and '50s wanted to acquire the rights to the famed opera, written in 1935 by George and Ira Gershwin, with a libretto by DuBose Heyward; the opera itself was based on Heyward's 1925 novel Porgy as well as a subsequent 1927 play written by Heyward and his wife Dorothy. In 1957, Ira Gershwin sold the rights to famed producer Samuel Goldwyn, who had produced such celebrated films as The Best Years of Our Lives and Wuthering Heights.

Goldwyn hired Rouben Mamoulian as director, after previous individuals turned down the assignment. Mamoulian had directed the original stage production as well as the opera, so this seemed like an inspired choice. But after personal differences between the producer and director, Goldwyn fired him and hired Otto Preminger, who early on had expressed interest in making this film. Having Preminger replace Mamoulian was highly ironic, as the same thing happened on the film Laura (1944), which turned out to be one of Preminger's most critically acclaimed works.

I cannot tell you where or how I saw the movie, but I was enthralled with the opportunity, not only because of its "lost" status, but because I am also a big fan of Preminger's work. Throughout most of his career, he displayed a solid hand in his direction, elegantly blocking out scenes and using graceful camera movements. He favored medium shots that would show several characters; thus the viewer could watch the part of the screen he or she wanted to - Preminger in my mind, greatly respected the audience. Overly dramatic closeups were not his thing; this led some critics to complain that Preminger's visual style was objective and without emotion. I disagree and am on the side of many critics who saw in the director's work a subtle quality attained only by the very best craftsmen of the cinema.

I like this film very much, as Preminger once again treated the audience with respect, as we look in on the residents of Catfish Row and see their world with soft brush strokes. If you thought this might be a high energy musical with lots of noise and extravagant production numbers, you would be disappointed (save for "It Ain't Necessarily So", enthusiastically performed by Sammy Davis, Jr. as Sportin' Life). But if you know Preminger's restraint, you would have a better understanding of this film and admire its pace and subtleties.

This is not to say it is a great film; while some performances are very good (such as Brock Peters as Crown) Dorothy Dandridge gives an uneven portrayal of Bess. She is fine in her scenes with Peters, especially displaying the fear of being under his spell. But in other scenes, she seems uncertain and even lacking a bit of focus. The fact that Preminger and she had a tumultuous affair a few years earlier may have had something to do with this, but the fact is she looks uncomfortable at times.

Then there are the sets, which have the look of a talented production designer (in this case, Oliver Smith, who had performed similar duties on Guys and Dolls and Oklahoma among other films). But no matter how handsome the sets are, they lend an artificiality to the film and take away from its intimacy. Preminger reportedly complained, as he wished to film most of the movie on location, but producer Goldwyn overruled him. The only exception was the picnic scene which Preminger did shoot on location - it's clearly one of the highlights of this production.

So Preminger did not have the creative freedom he was used to enjoying - he was at this point in his career a tremendously successful independent producer and was about to embark on what would be two of his biggest successes: Anatomy of a Murder (1959) and Exodus (1960). But he does have his moments in Porgy and Bess, especially in the scene in which Porgy (a very earnest Sidney Poitier) takes in Bess; this is simply handled, as Porgy pours her a cup of coffee, which is about all this crippled beggar can give her. Bess smiles - that's it. No big emotions in this scene; we'll see this later when they sing to each other, Porgy with "Bess, You Is My Woman Now" and Bess singing "I Loves You Porgy."

Another memorable scene occurs right after the quiet scene between the two title characters. This is the wake the citizens of Catfish Row have for one of their own workers who has been killed by Crown. They sing, "Gone, Gone, Gone", a marvelously moving dirge that lets us experience the deep emotions of these characters. Finally, there is a quiet scene late in the film where Bess changes the diaper of her daughter under the loving eyes of Porgy; all the while she sings "Summertime" as a lullaby to her offspring. She embraces her baby, Porgy administers a gentle rub and Preminger fades away- it's an elegant, moving scene made more so by the director's light touch.

So I hope some of you will get the chance to see this film, if only for the uniqueness of this production, as well as its mysterious identity. You'll also get to hear the great Gershwin score and be moved by this story that is at times heartbreaking and quite sad, but one that ultimately celebrates the triumph of living, loving and maintaining hope.


Note: The original film as shown in theaters in 1959 was 138 minutes, but the version I saw was 118 minutes. I spent several hours researching this, but was not able to find out what happened to those twenty minutes and what exactly is missing (as well as why it is missing).

Also, Poitier and Dandridge did not sing in this film, their voices were dubbed, respectively by Robert McFerrin (father of Bobby McFerrin) and Adele Addison, who are wonderful. As for Sammy Davis Jr., who sang so brilliantly in the film, his vocals were not on the original soundtrack album; those songs were recorded by Cab Calloway, who ironically had originally been offered the role of Sportin' Life.

André Previn and Ken Darby won the Oscar for Best Adapted Score and the original soundtrack album won the Grammy for Best Film Soundtrack of the Year.

Preminger's "Angels"

There seem to be two major schools of thought regarding the directorial skills of Otto Preminger. Some believe that he made a terrific film in his first effort with Laura (1945), but could never come up with much success after that; these critics feel that Preminger’s style was simple and that he wasted many filmgoers’ time with his adaptations of blockbuster novels during the early part of the 1960s.

Then these are those like myself, who think that Preminger was a great director, offering films of great subtleties as well as especially fluid camera work. There was the scintillating Anatomy of a Murder (1959), a superb courtoom drama that grabbed us from the initial frames. Think about the world of Washington, D.C. that he put on the screen in Advise and Consent (1961), with the lies, secret meetings and backstabbing power plays – no other political film is as clever or as devastating.

There are many other examples I can give of Preminger’s directorial talent, from the inner workings of the Vatican in The Cardinal (1963) to the subtle psychological manners of Bunny Lake is Missing (1965). Preminger was a superb, highly structured filmmaker who succeeded in many different types of genre.

In this post, I will deal with two of his earlier films, Fallen Angel (1945), made at 20th Century Fox when he was under contract to that studio and Angel Face (1952), made for Howard Hughes at RKO. Preminger served as producer as well as director on both of these works; today his critics often praise his skill as a producer (rarely, if ever, going over budget) far more than his directorial skills.

Fallen Angel was Preminger’s followup at Fox to Laura and for this work, he surrounded himself with several of the same crew he used on that film; this included cinematographer Joseph LaShelle, art directors Lyle Wheeler and Leland Fuller, costume designer Bonnie Cashin and composer David Raksin. Perhaps the most famous member of Laura that returned for Fallen Angel was Dana Andrews, cast as the male lead. The director used Andrews, one of his favorite actors, in several more films in the 1940s and ‘50s; this set a tone throughout much of Preminger’s career as he would work with actors and technicians who contributed the type of work that pleased Preminger. The director’s temper tantrums became legendary and unfortunately, have overshadowed his creative efforts in the eyes of his critics; this is regrettable and I believe that studying his works in detail should prove what a talented director he really was.

Fallen Angel is one of the most stylish film noirs ever made. Just look at the introduction in which we view the title credits - written on road signs – from the front windshield of a bus as we hear Raksin’s bustling and tense title theme. This is a supercharged opening to a film that has several other wonderfully creative scenes.

The main character Eric Stanton (Andrews) is a loner who gets off the bus (he is forced off, as he didn’t have enough money for a full ride) in the California town of Walton, some 125 miles from San Francisco. He walks into a run of the mill diner, where we are introduced to Stella (Linda Darnell), a waitress who was missing for a few days. Everyone at the diner, from the kindly old owner, Pop (Percy Kilbride) to the gruff detective, Mark Judd (Charles Bickford) is relieved to see her. Stanton is intrigued by her shapely body and sultry looks; we know immediately that these two will tangle during a good portion of the film.

Darnell, who was Fox’s sexpot at the time, is just great in this role. Her husky voice and no nonsense ways give her a powerful image; she is able to attract men – and toss them aside – with ease. Stanton is obviously attracted, but he doesn’t back down from her ways, while in Stella’s eyes, Eric has a rough edge that appeals to her. He quickly romances her and then tells her he will marry her once he comes up with enough money. She is doubtful, but if he can deliver the cash, she will marry him, as she craves a normal life spent with one man who truly loves her.

His plan is to marry June Mills, a young woman living in town with her slightly older, domineering sister Clara (Anne Revere). June has a $25,000 inheritance owed her; Stanton plans to marry her, get his share of the cash and then dump June, in order to win back Stella.

The contrast between these two women is especially intrigiung:

Stella – brunette, sultry, rough, dominating, experienced in romance
June – blonde, pretty girl-next-door looks, charming, agreeable, few romantic affairs

But both seek the same thing – the comfort of married life.


Preminger takes this juicy tale and injects great style into it. He uses crane shots remarkably well in this film; the camera is constantly swooping down on the actors or gliding in between them. My favorite shot is when Eric and Stella are dancing cheek to cheek in one of those smoke-filled nightclubs you find in most film noirs. Preminger uses an extreme closeup and LaShelle lights this shot so that their faces alternately go in and out of the light. After a few seconds, Preminger’s camera follows them across the dance floor as they maneuver their way around other couples, finally extiting through the rear door, as their bodies disappear in the thick smoke. It’s a sexy shot and a memorable one.

Another beautifully directed and photographed scene is when we see June and Eric in bed at a hotel in San Francisco shortly after they have married. He falls asleep and she nervously gets up to go to the window. Preminger films this so that only the letters H-O-T of the hotel sign across the way are visible to the audience. As this is their first time in bed (Eric in his plot to please Stella left June’s home the night of the wedding), this is such a delicious moment! The shot is at night and Preminger stays with it through a dissolve to morning. H-O-T, indeed!


In Angel Face, the stylish camera work was not as evident, due to the budget restraints at RKO at the time. But Preminger managed to inject a lot of sexual tension in this film and there are many unforgettable sequences.

Working with a superb script by Frank Nugent and Oscar Millard from a Chester Erskine story, the film deals with ambulance driver Frank Jessup (Robert Mitchum) who becomes obesessed with Diane Tremayne (Jean Simmons), a young woman who lives with the father she adores and the stepmother she detests. The two meet in the first sequence as Frank responds to an emergency at Diane’s house as her mother has been the victim of a not-so-accidental gas leak. After reassuring everyone that things are fine, Frank walks downstairs where he sees Diane playing a lovely romantic theme on the piano (a haunting piece of music by composer Dimitri Tiomkin); the quick cuts between the two of them tell us that their lives will soon intertwine.

They do meet soon afterwards, as Frank cancels dinner with his girlfriend to be with Diane, who has followed him in her car. Diane has the upper hand here and will continue to have it throughout the film, as Frank makes some poor decisions; this is certainly a classic film noir theme. One of my favorite lines from this or any other film noir is when Diane asks Frank if he really loves her; his remark, a beauty: “With a girl like you, how can a man be sure?”

Diane soon does away with her stepmother when she rigs the transmission in her car so that it will only go in reverse once she steps on the accelerator. Unfortunately for Diane, her beloved father gets in the car with her stepmother; she did not plan on this and now must deal with two murders after the car with both of them in it plunges down the hillside of their suburban Los Angeles mansion.

As Frank was recently hired as a chaffeur to the Tremaynes – this was plotted by Diane – he is a prime susupect in the murders, although he had nothing to do with it. For sake of sympathy, a trial lawyer suggests that Frank and Diane marry, reasoning that the jury will be less eager to convict a loving couple.

While the flashy camerawork is more evident with Fallen Angel, the psychological manners of Angel Face are much more complex. Frank knows that Diane is evil yet is constantly drawn back to her, as much for her beauty as for her control. Toward the end of the film, there is a scene when Diane is deep in thought on a future without Frank who has told her he is leaving her. Forseeing her own death, she thinks about how she will take down Frank as well. For this moment, Preminger has her sit slumped in a chair in her now-empty home wearing Frank’s sportcoat. It’s a disturbing image and one that so exquisitely sums up the connection between the two protaganists.

For these two films, Preminger studied the obsessions men and women share when it comes to romance and power; of course, there were no easy answers presented. He injected both films with intelligence and flair combined with a beautiful visual style, a formula he would repeat for another three decades as a director.

Dissecting Film

I’ve just discovered a marvelous new book on film written by David Thomson, one of the most insightful of all film critics. It’s entitled Have You Seen… A Personal Introduction to 1000 Films (published in 2008) and it’s one of the most perceptive, intelligent and astute commentaries on many of the most famous movies ever made.

Wisely, Thomson did not make this a Top 1000 book, merely listing his favorites; instead he made this project into an analysis of films both great as well as disastrous (disastrous in their execution, not necessarily in their performance at the box office) Along the way, he reminds us how often movies carry a particular impact due to the moment they are made. This is both a positive and a negative for the author, as evidenced by his thoughts on how some films have aged beautifully, while others seem today to be only a reminder of the past, while others still reveal new layers not seen at first glance.

For example, when writing about such films as Rocky and Rain Man, he discusses the momentary impact these films had, despite their obvious shortcomings (his comments on the fight from the first film are “it’s not just implausible, it’s not far from slapstick ballet,” while his slings against the latter are more devastating; “it’s little more than a commerical for itself.”)

As for films that look and feel great today, Thomson points to such works as The Godfather, “still as beautiful as it is mysterious”; Bringing Up Baby, “it still feels as if it were made last night,” and Taxi Driver, “I watch the film again and again, unsure where it will take me this time.” He has special praise for such works as The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, “the strength of the film is the unsentimental approach to the three treasure seekers,” as well as Blue Velvet, “(David) Lynch wrote it and directed it with an implaccable assurance that he has never quite matched since.” He includes dozens of foreign films, not only such classics as The Rules of the Game and Open City, but also such lesser-known works as La Ronde (1950) directed by Max Ophuls and Rocco and His Brothers (1960), a Luchino Visconti film that Thomson labels as “a shattering experience” when he saw the film’s premiere.

As for directors, he has his favorites, yet he rarely gives them a free pass. He praises Alfred Hitchcock for Vertigo, “ a masterpiece and an endless mystery,” and for Rear Window, “ a great film and a great entertainment,” but takes Hitchock to task for such works as Marnie and Spellbound (the former “feels contrived” to Thomson, while he labels the latter as “one of the most expensive vanity pictures ever made in America.”) He commends John Ford for his work on such films as The Searchers and The Grapes of Wrath, but has a mixed review for Stagecoach, which he praises for its visuals and message about an outlaw who seeks redemption, but writes that it is “a marinade of cliché.”

Thomson saves some of his greatest praise for the works of Otto Preminger. He finds his best films to be quite intelligent, noting for example, the complexities of the world of Washington, D. C, in Advise and Consent, especially as compared with the similar trappings of Frank Capra’s Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. He considers Preminger’s Laura a “masterpiece” and offers wonderful observations about Anatomy of a Murder, which he labels “perfect”. One quote in particular displays Thomson’s admiration for Preminger’s direction in Anatomy;  “As always in such things, Preminger’s camera style prefers deep space and groups of people, so that we have to decide where to look while clinging on to every word.”

Along the way, Thomson is quick to point out the remarkable work done by cameramen, costume designers, composers, editors, screenwriters et al as well as the efforts of the actors. This isn’t just about famous performances such as Henry Fonda in The Grapes of Wrath or Charles Laughton in Mutiny on the Bounty; Thomson also singles out actors such as Sterling Hayden (The Killing, Dr. Strangelove), Ida Lupino (They Drive by Night) and Joel McCrea (Sullivan’s Travels) for their work. If you didn’t know it before, you know after reading only a few detailed entries (usually about 500 words for each film) that Thomson doesn’t just watch a film, he dissects it.

I do have to fault Thomson regarding a few entries, however. Why does he include The Sopranos in this book? I can understand a distinctive made-for-TV- movie, but why a television series? Another strange topic is the film Sweeney Todd, which he pans. But why include merely a negative review of this film? Thomson takes Oscar-winning Best Pictures such as West Side Story and The Sound of Music to task, but those films were monumental successes at the box office and at awards time. Todd did poorly with the public and while it did win one Oscar (set design), it was not a film bestowed with many honors.

I also fault the editor of this book for not including a table of contents or an index at the end. The films are arranged in alphabetical order, but I’m certain there are many film buffs who would want to check and see how many films in this book were directed by John Ford, Orson Welles or any number of famous directors; still others might want to read about the films from Italy or France. There’s just no way to do that without looking at every entry and it’s a bit frustrating. (Thankfully, there is a chronology at the end of the book so the reader can at least reference films by the year they were created; the oldest film Thomson writes about is from 1895.)

Still, this is a marvelous book thanks to engaging writing and keen observations. Much of Thomson’s best prose is about films that he sees as works that not only entertained, but also held up a mirror to the times, such as 1998s The Truman Show. “No other American film was clearer that the greatest threat to our existence was ourselves, and above all our decision to be cheerful, amiable and pleasant,” he writes.

Growing up in World War ll in England, Thomson equated America with the characters and situations he saw in its films. Now living in San Francisco, he still sees the charms and excesses of America represented in its best (and sometimes worst) films. He writes about the neo-realism of Italian films, the French New Wave and silent films just as creatively. His talent as a chronicler of movies is unquestionable; film enthusiasts can be thankful for the author’s decision to undertake this labor of love.


Have You Seen…?
By David Thomson
Alfred A. Knopf, New York, NY
2008, 1007 pages, $39.95



- On a slightly different note.

Air One has become my favorite new airline. Why? Well, on a recent flight from Chicago to Rome, the airline showed two of the greatest cartoons ever made: What's Opera Doc? (1957) and Duck Dodgers in the 24 1/2th Century (1953). Both were directed by the genius Chuck Jones during his heyday at Warner Brothers. There's no need for me to talk about these amazing cartoons, expect to say they are as enjoyable today as when I first saw them many years ago. Thanks, Air One!