Edward G. Robinson Movie Reviews: Good Dad, Bad Dad

Edward G. Robinson & Margaret O'Brien.

Our Vines Have Tender Grapes (1945).  A year after receiving a special "outstanding child actress" Oscar for Meet Me in St. Louis, Margaret O'Brien teamed up with Edward G. Robinson in this earnest family film. They portray father and daughter (along with Agnes Moorehead as the mother) who live in a rural Wisconsin town settled by Norwegian immigrants. Like To Kill a Mockingbird, the narrative is a collection of childhood memories: the new progressive teacher who takes over the school, a circus that passes through the town, a youthful lark that turns dangerous, and one family's tragedy that impacts the entire town. The effects of World War II also loom quietly in the background, affecting the farmers' livelihoods and causing one resident to make a life-changing decision. The primary focus is on the close relationship between young Selma (O'Brien), an only child, and her father (Robinson). When the latter is forced to discipline his daughter, you can see the anguish on his face. To make amends, he gets up in the dead of night and takes Selma to see a traveling circus making a rest stop as it passes through the the town. When Selma gets excited at the prospect of seeing a "real, live" elephant, her father pays the animal's trainer to let her pet the majestic creature. It's a lovely scene that's certain to hit home with anyone who has shared a special childhood experience with a parent. A climatic scene, in which Selma makes a personal sacrifice to help a neighbor, is equally potent. The rest of Our Vines Have Tender Grapes cannot replicate the power of those scenes (and Butch Jenkins is mighty annoying as Selma's friend). Still, it's a poignant reflection on another time and place. By the way, the film's title--which is never spoken--is from the same Bible verse that provided the title for Lillian Hellman's The Little Foxes.

Allene Roberts & Edward G. Robinson.

The Red House (1947). When teenager Meg (Allene Roberts) convinces her father to hire a young man to assist with the farm chores, it appears to be a blessing. Her father (Edward G, Robinson), who adopted Meg with his sister, struggles with his wooden leg now and needs the help. Meg also has a crush on the young man, Nath, though he is dating someone else. It looks like a promising situation--until Nath decides to take a shortcut home through the nearby woods. Meg's father tries to stop the lad and warns him of dire consequences. But the more he discourages Nath, the more the young man becomes obsessed with the forest and the old red house that lies within it. One of my favorite filmmakers, Delmer Daves, directed and wrote the screenplay for The Red House. It was his fourth directorial effort and it's clear that Daves was still learning his craft. Running 100 minutes, The Red House feels like a much longer movie and could use some serious editing. That said, there are several brilliant sequences, most notably Nath's initial trek through the woods which foreshadows a later scene in the horror classic Night of the Demon. The cast is solid and features rising stars such as Julie London (as Nath's shallow girlfriend) and Rory Calhoun (a bad boy interested in Julie). It also affords Judith Anderson an opportunity to play the antithesis of Mrs. Danvers. Edward G. Robinson overplays his performance as Meg's father, who becomes gradually unhinged as he tries to hide a dark secret from his beloved daughter. It's not his best acting job, but it doesn't damage the film either. It's interesting to note that The Red House as been described as a horror film, a film noir, and a Gothic drama. I'd call it a psychological thriller--a flawed one that is nevertheless worth a look.

Book Review: The Films of Delmer Daves by Douglas Horlock

At long last, the career of Delmer Daves, one of Hollywood's most under-appreciated filmmakers, has received an in-depth, scholarly treatment courtesy of Douglas Horlock's The Films of Delmer Daves: Visions of Progress in Mid-Twentieth Century America (University of Mississippi Press, 248 pages). Horlock examines Daves's films through the lens of political and social values, race and civil rights, and gender. He also provides an overview of Daves's life and career, painting the portrait of a screenwriter and director who crafted his own vision within the confines of the Hollywood studio system.

Daves became interested in acting, writing, and directing theater while studying law at Stanford University. His initial foray into the film industry was as a property assistant on The Covered Wagon in 1924. After graduating from Stanford in 1927, he pursued his interest in movies and received credit for his first screenplay with 1929's So This Is College. Over the next decade, he carved a highly successful career as a screenwriter with films such as Dames (1934), Flirtation Walk (1934), an adaptation of The Petrified Forest (1936), and Love Affair (1939). 

Delmer Daves.

Daves's career took a different turn in 1943 when, after co-writing the screenplay for the World War II drama Destination Tokyo, Warner Bros. executive Jack Warner "ask(ed) an initially reluctant Daves to accept his first directorial assignment." Over the next two decades, Daves became one of the most reliable and successful writer-directors for Warner Bros. Horlock points out that Daves's films Destination Tokyo, Hollywood Canteen, Broken Arrow, 3:10 to Yuma, A Summer Place, and Spencer's Mountain were "among the top-grossing films of their respective years." Daves also showed his versatility by working comfortably in genres such as Westerns, Biblical epics, romances, and family dramas.

Yet, Horlock notes that "Daves has remained largely overlooked in scholarly literature and film retrospectives" and has not achieved the auteur status attributed to directors such as Alfred Hitchcock, John Ford, Samuel Fuller, and even Douglas Sirk (whose glossy 1950s melodramas are comparable to Daves's later films A Summer Place and Parrish). Yet, like Hitchcock, Daves was intimately involved in the screenplays for his films, even those with which he did not receive a writing credit. Horlock traces recurring themes in Daves's films in chapters devoted to political and social values, race and civil rights, and gender. Horlock also includes this insightful comment from actor Glenn Ford, who worked with Daves on 3:10 to Yuma, Jubal, and Cowboy: "Nothing happened in a Delmer Daves film that wasn't intentional, from the camera set-ups to the wardrobe."

Delmer Daves's The Hanging Tree (1959).

Horlock's most engrossing chapter is the one in which he analyzes gender in Daves's films, focusing on the filmmaker's use of strong, independent female characters. Horlock provides a number of excellent examples. In A Summer Place, Molly (Sandra Dee) defies her domineering mother by spending time with Johnny (Troy Donahue). In the 1959 Western The Hanging Tree, one of Daves's finest films, Elizabeth (Maria Schell) seeks independence after being rejected by the man (Gary Cooper) she loves. She forms a partnership with two other men to dig for gold and impresses them with her work ethic. Even in the romantic travelogue Rome Adventure, Suzanne Pleshette plays a young woman who defies a school board and then goes traveling in Italy on her own.

As befits its subtitle, The Films of Delmer Daves: Visions of Progress in Mid-Twentieth Century America is a scholarly volume for movie fans interested in thoughtful analyses. Still, that's not to say it isn't filled with fascinating facts (e.g., Warren Beatty was the original choice for the title role in Parrish, Daves's admirers include Humphrey Bogart, Alan Ladd, and Gary Cooper). At one point in his book, Horlock states: "Despite his working within the confines of a restrictive studio system, Daves's films deserve to be examined as the work of a serious artist of the cinema." That is exactly what the author has accomplished with his new book.

Lemmon and Ford: Life as a Cowboy Through the Eyes of a Tenderfoot

Jack Lemmon and Glenn Ford.

The incredibly versatile Delmer Daves directed three of my favorite Westerns from the 1950s, a decade in which the genre flourished. Each film is decidedly different from the other. The Hanging Tree (1959) is a tale about self-forgiveness and the power of love. 3:10 to Yuma shows how a family-oriented rancher and a bitter outlaw can develop respect for one another. The third film--the one we're reviewing today--is another tale of mutual respect. However, Cowboy is also a gritty, colorful portrait of life on the trail in the Old West.

Lemmon as a hotel clerk.

Frank Harris (Jack Lemmon) is a clerk at a posh Chicago hotel who has fallen in love with Maria, the daughter of a wealthy Mexican rancher. Maria's father dismisses Frank's marriage proposal and decides his family will return home to Guadalupe. Frank is heartbroken, but finds a glimmer of hope when cattleman Tom Reese (Glenn Ford) checks into the hotel. Reese knows Maria's father and discusses buying cattle from him. Frank seizes on a plan: If he can convince Reese to hire him as a cowhand on the trail, perhaps Frank can still pursue Maria.

Reese has no interest in taking a tenderfoot on a cattle drive. However, when he loses a large amount of money in a poker game, Frank offers to reimburse Reese's losses. There is one condition: Reese and Frank will become partners on the next cattle drive. Reese, who has been drinking too much, agrees and he wins back most of his money. When he tries to pay off Frank, the latter refuses the cash and insists on joining the cattle drive.

It's a grueling journey in which the two men learn a lot about each other. Frank becomes tougher and more realistic, while the hardened Reese becomes more compassionate about his fellow man.

Lemmon as a cowboy.

Made in 1958, Cowboy was based on the 1930 novel My Reminiscences as a Cowboy by Frank Harris. John Huston originally secured the rights as a vehicle for his father and himself. In the early 1950s, there were plans to adapt it for the screen with Spencer Tracy as Reese and Montgomery Clift as Frank. However, when those plans eventually fell through, Delmer Daves expressed interest in making it with Glenn Ford as Reese. Ford agreed on the condition that Jack Lemmon to be cast as Frank.

According to Peter Ford's biography Glenn Ford: A Life, Lemmon was initially hesitant because of his inexperience with riding a horse. Glenn Ford invited him to cocktails and, during a long evening of drinking, convinced Lemmon to accept the role. Lemmon spent the entire first day of filming on horseback and was so sore that three stuntmen had to lift him down from the saddle. In Peter Ford's book, he recalled: "I had to wear a Kotex every day for two months while I was on that friggin' horse. I was never off the damn thing long enough for (the wounds) to heal."

Richard Jaeckel and Ford.

As a film about Frank's experiences, Cowboy is understandingly episodic. Each subplot is designed to show Frank's evolution from tenderfoot to full-fledged cowboy. He watches a stupid campfire prank result in the death of one of his colleagues (Strother Martin). His rendezvous with Maria ends badly. He watches Reese and the other hands turn their back on a friend (Dick York) who's in trouble. In short, it's not an easy trek for Frank Harris, but one which does indeed toughen and transform him. Reese undergoes a transformation, too, even if it's a far more subtle one.

The two stars are fabulous together, with Ford at his gritty best and Lemmon at his most appealing in one of his first serious film roles. The latter makes it heartbreaking to watch Frank lose his initial joy as his perceptions are shattered one by one by the reality of the dusty trail. My only complaint is that Cowboy does them a disservice by rushing to its conclusion. After the script works hard to drive a wedge between the two men, it throws them into a dangerous situation and suddenly they bond together as the film ends.

Jack Lemmon never made another Western. Delmer Daves directed the excellent The Hanging Tree before transitioning to big screen soap operas. Glenn Ford, though, continued to forge a solid career in the genre, appearing in movies like Cimarron (1960), The Rounders (1965), and Day of the Evil Gun (1968).

The Five Best Western Directors

Stewart in Winchester '73.

1. Anthony Mann - Mann helped define the "Adult Western" of the 1950s with his seminal work Winchester '73. His output included five outstanding Westerns with James Stewart and classics with Gary Cooper (Man of the West) and Henry Fonda (The Tin Star). His heroes were often hard men with a questionable past seeking redemption (e.g., Bend of the River). He painted his tales against a backdrop of an American West in transition, in which budding towns would compete with the cattle empires.

2.  John Ford - Ford was a dominant figure in the Western genre for four decades. He brought prominence to the Western with Stagecoach, paved the way for Adult Westerns with his Cavalry Trilogy, and directed two iconic films late in his career (The Searchers and The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance). Ford's incorporation of Western landscapes (he shot several masterpieces in Monument Valley in Arizona) became his trademark. In fact, a popular lookout was named after him: John Ford Point. I suspect many film fans would have Ford at No. 1.

Eastwood in For a Few Dollars More.

3.  Sergio Leone -With Mann, Ford, and Hawks in the twilight of their careers in the '60s, Italian filmmaker Sergio Leone reinvented the Western genre visually and thematically. His protagonists were morally questionable men who usually did the right thing, even while portraying themselves as profiteers (e.g., Clint Eastwood in For a Few Dollars More). He showed the big towns, but also the decrepit shacks amid the dusty, windswept plains--where a bounty hunter or an outlaw could buy a shot of cheap whiskey. Like Mann and later Peckinpah, Leone was intrigued with the last days of the Old West and the men who didn't want to tame it.

4.  Sam Peckinpah - An uneven director, Peckinpah was at his best when working in the Western genre. While his films also took place in the dying days of the Old West, they focused on the relationships among the characters:  two old friends in Ride the High Country, a band of outlaws in The Wild Bunch; and an unlikely businessman, a prostitute, and a would-be preacher in his masterpiece The Ballad of Cable Hogue. In the former two films, most of the characters are unwilling to adapt to the coming of civilization. However, the hero of Cable Hogue embraces it and finds happiness in doing so (though the ending is bittersweet).

Delmer Daves' The Hanging Tree.

5.  Howard Hawks and Delmer Daves (tie) - A tie may be a bit of a cheat, but it was impossible to omit either of these two from our list. Neither director specialized in Westerns, but they made important contributions to the genre. Hawks' Red River (1948) paved the way for Mann's dark Westerns. His Rio Bravo is one of the most fondly remembered Westerns of the 1950s. And after other Western directors had hung up their spurs, Hawks continued to make Westerns with John Wayne up until 1970. Delmer Daves, another versatile director, dabbled in the Western genre often, his films ranging from intriguing (the Shakespearean Jubal) to unique (Cowboy with Jack Lemmon and Glenn Ford). He secured his place on this list, though, with two beautifully-crafted classics: the thriller-like 3:10 to Yuma and The Hanging Tree, a tale of redemption and love.

Honorable Mentions:  Budd Boetticher, John Sturges, Clint Eastwood, and Henry Hathaway.

Parrish: Our Choice for the Classic Comfort Movie Blogathon

Troy Donahue as Parrish.

A "comfort movie" is like a good friend who is always a welcomed visitor, no matter how long it's been since you seen him or her. It's fun to share familiar characters, plots, and settings and remember how one felt when that movie first became your chum. That's certainly the case with Parrish (1961), which I first saw on TNT in the early 1990s.

I think I inherited an enjoyment of big-screen soaps from my mother. Make no mistake, Parrish is unabashedly a soap, but don't let that sway you from watching this opus about young Parrish McLean (Troy Donahue) and the four women in his life. The first of those is his mother Ellen, who has perhaps kept her son too close in the ten years following her husband's death. That changes when Ellen (Claudette Colbert) takes a job as a chaperone for the daughter of Connecticut tobacco farmer Sala Post (Dean Jagger).

Diane McBain as Alison.

Parrish winds up working for Sala and quickly falls for Lucy (Connie Stevens), one of his fellow crop workers. Lucy has the hots for Parrish, too, but is reluctantly seeing someone else. However, what  really cools their passion is the arrival of Sala's debutante daughter Alison (Diane McBain). She wants three things in life: wealth, fun, and Parrish. 

Meanwhile, Ellen is being wooed by Sala's tobacco rival Judd Raike (Karl Malden). Judd is a ruthless, powerful man, but he genuinely cares for Ellen and, as she admits to her son, Judd's fortune is an attraction, too. While the Raike sons, wimpy Wiley and hateful Edgar, make quick enemies of Parrish, Judd's teenage daughter Paige develops a crush on him. 

Who will Parrish end up with? The passionate Lucy, the sultry Alison, or the sweet Paige? Or none of the above?

Troy Donahue and Connie Stevens.

Parrish is a faithful adaptation of Mildred Savage's 1958 bestseller. According to Diane McBain's autobiography, Warner Bros. originally purchased the film rights for director Joshua Logan (Picnic). Logan wanted Vivien Leigh as Ellen and Clark Gable as Judd. He also screen tested Warren Beatty for the lead role. McBain says that Logan rejected the first draft of the screenplay and he was replaced by Delmer Daves. The latter was coming off A Summer Place, a big hit which shared a lot in common with Parrish (e.g., parents experiencing romance as well as the youths, star Troy Donahue).

I can't imagine a more appropriate cast than the one assembled by Daves. Troy Donahue certainly lacks Beatty's dramatic chops, but he brings sincerity and naivety to the lead role. Colbert (in her final film appearance) and Jagger add a nice touch of class.

Malden looking intense as Judd.

But the film belongs to Karl Malden and the young actresses who play Parrish's loves. Malden is delightfully over-the-top as Raike and makes him the most demanding movie boss this side of Everett Sloane in Patterns. Connie Stevens shines as the vulnerable, free-spirited Lucy, her performance earning her the lead in another Daves-Donahue collaboration Susan Slade (1961). Diane McBain smolders as Alison, although she was subsequently typecast as the bad girl in films like Claudelle Inglish (1961). (Interestingly, McBain claims there was a bit of a rift on the set between the young performers and the older ones.)

Actress Susan Hugueny, who played Paige, met producer Robert Evans (Chinatown) while making Parrish. She was 17 and he was 30, but they were married (though it was short-lived). It was the first of seven marriages for Evans, who once described Hugueny as "so pure I felt guilty kissing her."

Susan Hugueny as Paige.

In addition to the cast, Parrish's other virtues are its colorful outdoor photography (a staple of Daves' latter films) and another fabulous score from frequent Daves' collaborator Max Steiner. The famed composer includes separate themes for each of the four female characters, with my favorite being the lilting melody for Paige.

I saved one of the most fascinating facts about Parrish for last. Hampton Fancher, who played Edgar, was relegated to TV guest star roles for much of his career. In 1982, though, he tried his hand as a screenwriter and adapted Blade Runner. He also penned the story and co-wrote the script for Blade Runner 2049 (2017). As always, should this knowledge net you a large cash prize on Jeopardy!, be sure to show your gratitude to the Cafe.


Click here to check out the rest of the awesome schedule the Classic Comfort Movie Blogathon in support of National Classic Movie Day.

Maureen O'Hara and Delmer Daves Team Up for Spencer's Mountain and Battle of the Villa Fiorita

Henry Fonda and Maureen O'Hara.

In the twilight of his career, talented writer-director Delmer Daves teamed up with Maureen O’Hara for Spencer’s Mountain (1963) and The Battle of the Villa Fiorita (1965). These two very different films surprisingly share a common theme: the relationship between children and their parents.

The more conventional of the two is Spencer’s Mountain, a family drama set in a rural community in the mountains of Wyoming. Henry Fonda stars as Clay Spencer, the hard-working patriarch who shares a modest home with his practical wife Olivia (Maureen O’Hara), their nine children, and his old-fashioned parents.

MacArthur amid the mountains.

When not laboring at the local quarry, Clay works on the “dream house” he’s been building for years. Finances are always a worry, though, and become more so when a college scholarship falls through for Clay-boy (James MacArthur), the eldest son. Wanting their son to have the education they never did, both parents struggle to figure out how to pay for Clay-boy’s tuition.

If elements of Spencer’s Mountain sound familiar, that’s because it was based on a book written by Earl Hamner, Jr., creator of The Waltons TV series. A key difference is that Maureen O’Hara’s mother is relegated to the background, while Michael Learned figured much more prominently in the TV series. The show also restored the book’s original setting of rural Virginia.

Back when TBS showed older films (and TCM was but a dream), Spencer's Mountain was shown on the latter station two or three times a year (or so it seemed). It’s a well-intentioned movie, but tries too hard to be a heart-warming family drama. When a fired-up Clay goes to see the college dean about Clay-boy’s scholarship, you just know that the dean will be impressed enough with Clay’s gumption to bend the rules a little. It’s that kind of movie.

Rossano Brazzi and Maureen O'Hara as hopeless lovers.

Maureen O’Hara has a much juicer role in The Battle of the Villa Fiorita, in which she plays a middle-aged British woman who falls madly in love with an Italian composer (Rossano Brazzi). The only problem is that she’s married and has two teenage children (who attend boarding schools). The lovers, Moira and Lorenzo, cannot stay apart from one another, so Moira decides to leave her husband. He is shocked, but does not stand in his wife’s way.

Elizabeth Dear as Debby.

However, Moira’s daughter Debby (Elizabeth Dear) and son Michael (Martin Stephens) are displeased with the situation and trek to Italy to “fetch” their mother back. While this may sound like the premise for a comedy, it is not. (Your big clue should be that it was based on a novel by Black Narcissus author Rumer Godden). Moira’s children eventually conspire with Lorenzo’s twelve-year-old daughter (Olivia Hussey) to break up their parents.

Director Daves, who also explored middle-aged love in A Summer Place, opens the film with an inventive sequence in which we “hear” Moira and Lorenzo thinking about how they met. However, the sequence where the kids travel to Italy plays out like a boring travelogue (reminiscent of Daves’ pedestrian Rome Adventure). Fortunately, Battle regains its footing when Debby and Michael meet Lorenzo for the first time.

Olivia Hussey as Donna.

There are no villains in The Battle of the Villa Fiorita, only people with good intentions who make bad decisions. Lorenzo’s initial instincts are good—he wants to send the children home. But that plan goes awry when Michael falls ill and Debby appeals to his paternal emotions. Lorenzo only makes matters worse when he decides to bring the “new family” together by inviting his daughter—whom he barely knows—to visit. It’s easy to paint the children as the bad guys, but their motives are sincere if brutally selfish.

The child actors steal the film from the adults, though Martin Stephens—so good in The Innocents and Village of the Damned—is somewhat wasted. In contrast, Olivia Hussey, in her first film role, and Elizabeth Dear convey both childhood innocence and deviousness in equal measure.

The Battle of the Villa Fiorita was Delmer Daves’ final film. Maureen O’Hara appeared sporadically in a handful of films over the next 35 years. She retired for good after appearing in the 2000 made-for-TV movie The Last Dance.

See What Bogart Sees in "Dark Passage"

Bogart--after we finally see his face.

As regular Cafe readers know, I'm a big fan of writer-director Delmer Daves. My definition of "filmmaker" is one who both writes and directs a film. Frankly, it always irks me when a director--who shoots another person's script--uses the credit "A John Smith Film." Daves wrote or co-wrote almost all of the thirty movies he directed. Ironically, one of the few that he didn't author was To the Victor (1948), which was penned by Richard Brooks--who later became another acclaimed writer-director.

Parry escapes in a barrel; one of the
few opening shots not in first-person.

This lengthy introduction brings us is to one of Daves' best directed films, the 1947 film noir Dark Passage. It opens mid-plot with convict Vincent Parry (Humphrey Bogart) having just escaped from San Quentin prison. Parry eludes the police by hitching a ride with an inquisitive man who quickly figures out the identity of his passenger. When the driver unwisely stops the car, Parry beats the man unconscious and drags the body from the car to hide it. He is spotted by an attractive young woman (Lauren Bacall), who recognizes Parry instantly--and then offers to provide him with safe passage to San Francisco. The perplexed Parry agrees.

Lauren Bacall as Irene.

The escaped convict's mysterious benefactor, Irene Jansen, lets him stay in her luxurious hilltop apartment, buys him new clothes, and gives him $1000. We later learn that she attended his trial everyday (he was accused of killing his wife) and wrote a letter to the newspaper proclaiming his innocence. Is Irene's interest driven solely by the fact that her father was once wrongly accused, too? Has she somehow developed legitimate feelings for Parry? Or does she have an ulterior motive for helping him?

One of the film's few flaws is that its plot, based on David Goodis' novel, depends on a series of happenstances. Irene happens to be driving by when Parry escapes from prison. She happens to be a friend of Madge (Agnes Moorehead) who knew Parry and his wife. A police detective happens to be in the same cafe where Parry stops for breakfast. And the cab driver conveniently knows an unlicensed plastic surgeon that performs operations at 3 a.m. Still, Daves unwinds the plot slowly, so that its unlikely connections somehow seem more believable. 

Bogart in bandages.

Daves' greatest contribution, though, is his direction--and his brilliant idea to show the first hour through Parry's eyes. A key plot element--Perry's decision to change his looks through surgery--left Daves with few options. Bogart could have played the pre-surgery scenes in make-up to look different. With his distinctive facial features, I can't imagine that working. Daves' other option was to have another actor play Parry and dub Bogart's voice (or have Parry "change" his voice, too). Either of those choices would have been ridiculous. So, there's a clever practicality to Daves' approach.

From a literary standpoint, the first-person perspective limits us to experience only what Parry sees and hears. We harbor the same suspicions about Irene's extreme generosity, even while the camera lingers on her face (Lauren Bacall has never looked lovelier). We also "hear" Parry's thoughts, so we know things that could be conveyed no other way (e.g., that he is undoubtedly innocent of murdering his wife). Other directors have used the first-person perspective to great effect in individual scenes, such as Rouben Mamoulian in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. And, of course, Robert Montgomery famously shot all of The Lady in the Lake (1947) in first-person (though it eventually comes off as a mere gimmick). However, I can think of no director that employed it to greater effect than Delmer Daves in Dark Passage.

Stevenson as the plastic surgeon.

Although the entire cast is first-rate, the supporting players (many of whom I was unfamiliar with) deserve to be highlighted. Journeyman actor Tom D'Andrea has a terrific extended conversation with Bogart in a taxi cab, the latter's face hidden in shadows. As the craggy plastic surgeon, Houseley Stevenson does nothing to initially instill confidence (he confides to Parry: "I perfected my own special technique twelve years ago before I was kicked out of the medical profession."). Finally, there's Rory Mallinson, who hits all the right notes as Parry's none-too-bright, trumpet-playing friend. One could also argue that the city of San Francisco plays a supporting roles as well, as Daves' camera lovingly captures its architecture and streets.

Surprisingly, Dark Passage was not a hit for its two stars. Allegedly, Jack Warner was displeased with it because Bogart's face wasn't shown until an hour into the 106-minute film. Yet, that very "limitation" has contributed significantly to its reputation, Indeed, Dark Passage has aged well and taken its place as one of the finest film noirs and a testament to Delmer Daves' innovative qualities as a filmmaker.

Jubal: Shakespeare and Male Bonding in the Old West

This post is part of the Build-Your-Own Blogathon, hosted by the Classic Film & TV Cafe. To view the full blogathon schedule, click here.

Rod Steiger and Glenn Ford in Jubal.

Glenn Ford and director Delmer Daves collaborated on three Westerns made between 1956 and 1958. A common theme connecting this unofficial trilogy is the formation of mutual respect and trust among men. In 3:10 to Yuma (1957), an outlaw (Ford) grows to respect the rancher (Van Heflin) guarding him as they await a train and a likely deadly shoot-out. In Cowboy (1958), a veteran trail boss (Ford) begrudgingly takes on a tenderfoot (Jack Lemmon) during a hard cattle drive. During the arduous trek, the two men grow to admire each other and an unlikely friendship forms. That brings us to the first Ford-Daves Western Jubal (1956), which may be the most complex of their collaborations.

I love how director Daves visually conveys
 the divide between Pinky and Jubal.

Ford plays Jubal Troop, a drifter rescued on a mountain road by kind-hearted rancher Shep Horgan (Ernest Borgnine). Shep offers Jubal a job as one of his ranch hands. That doesn’t sit well with disgruntled employee "Pinky" Pinkum (Rod Steiger), who tells Jubal: “Let’s get this straight, mister. As far as I’m concerned, you still stink.”

Pinky isn’t Jubal’s only problem. Shep’s beautiful wife Mae (Valerie French) takes an immediate interest in the drifter. When she confronts him during a moment alone, Jubal informs her that “we’re ending this before it begins.” She replies provocatively: “Are we?”

Pinky's dislike of Jubal turns into hatred when Shep selects the newcomer to be his new foreman. Rejected by Shep and Mae--who both prefer Jubal--Pinky seeks revenge by suggesting to Shep that Jubal and Mae are sleeping together. That lie festers into an ugly situation that eventually results in three deaths.

Jubal is loosely based on Paul I. Wellman's 1939 novel Jubal Troop. Described in The Saturday Review as "Anthony Adverse all over again," Wellman's sprawling tale traces the exploits of a man who killed his mistress' husband at age 18, romanced many women, sold stolen cattle, and made and lost a fortune in Oklahoma oil. 

Borgnine as Othello...I mean, Shep.

Drawing on a plot thread involving Shep and Mae, Daves and co-screenwriter Russell S. Hughes transform the film version into a Western variation of Othello. Shep represents the Moor general Othello, who promotes Cassio (Jubal) over Iago (Pinky). The angry Iago retaliates by suggesting to Othello that Cassio slept with Othello's new bride Desdemona (Mae). This lie leads to tragedy, just as it does in Jubal. There are significant differences, of course. Mae wants to be unfaithful with Jubal, Pinky has previously slept with Mae, and Shep doesn't kill Mae. Still, the basic elements of Othello are clearly present in Jubal--a fact which has contributed to the film's cult status among the adult Westerns of the 1950s.

Although Jubal falls in love with Naomi (Felicia Farr), a young pioneer woman, the key relationship in the film is between Jubal and Shep. As Jubal confides to Naomi, Shep is the first person since his father to show him any kindness. Shep, for his part, admires Jubal for his intelligence, but values most his trustworthiness. Indeed, when explaining why he chose Jubal over the more experienced Pinky, Shep states flatly it was because he could trust Jubal. The extent of Shep's trust becomes evident when he reveals to Jubal that he senses Mae has become distant. This is a topic the rancher would never broach with any of his other employees (least of all Pinky). So, it's no wonder that Shep goes into a blind rage when he believes that Jubal--the one person he trusted--betrayed him. 

Valerie French looking seductive as Mae.

Of course, when given the opportunity, Mae chooses not to contradict Pinky's lie. Early in the film, she confesses to Jubal that she married Shep only because she thought he was rich and lived in a "castle." In reality, the "castle" is an impressive ranch and her husband spares no extravagance on his wife. However, Mae's ambivalence toward Shep has grown into disgust fueled by self-pity. She complains to Jubal that the ranch is "ten thousand acres of nothing, ten thousand acres of loneliness." Shep doesn't help matters either. When Mae complains that her husband treats her like property, it's hard to disagree. He playfully calls her his "Canadian heifer" and clearly likes showing her off.

Charles Bronson as Reb.

The standout in the fine cast is Ernest Borgnine, who earned a Best Actor Oscar for the previous year's Marty. His multi-layered portrait of Shep shows all sides of the character: Shep's generosity, his sexist attitude toward women, his insight into the men that work for him, and his rage when he believes he has been betrayed. Glenn Ford is fine as the conflicted hero and Valerie French sizzles as Mae. Charles Bronson lends solid support in one his first major roles as another drifter that befriends Jubal.

Surprisingly, Rod Steiger seems content to repeat his performance as Jud from Oklahoma! (1955). In the biography Glenn Ford: A Life, written by the actor's son, Ford downplays the "method school of acting" made famous by Steiger, Marlon Brando, James Dean, and others. Ford said: "'Doing nothing well' is my definition of a good actor. One of the great misconceptions about this business is that you get in front of a camera and 'act.' That's the very thing you should not do. Be yourself--people need to identify with you. If they're not able to, you're in trouble."

Jubal is not the best of the Glenn Ford-Delmer Daves Westerns. That distinction belongs to the thoughtful, tense 3:10 to Yuma, which is universally recognized as one of the best Westerns of the 1950s. However, with its Shakespearean slant and its focus on the frailty of human relationships, Jubal justly deserves reevaluation and greater recognition.


The fine music score in Jubal was composed by David Raksin, who is best known for his theme from Laura. Mr. Raksin is the connection to the next film in this blogathon: The Bad and the Beautiful, which is reviewed by one of our favorite classic movie bloggers at The Lady Eve's Reel Life.

Douglas Sirk vs. Delmer Daves for the "King of the Movie Soaps" Title

OK, Douglas Sirk fans, I'm calling you out! It's not that I don't enjoy Douglas Sirk soaps like Imitation of Life and All That Heaven Allows. They're glossy, well-crafted, and entertaining. It's just that Sirk has been anointed as "King of Movie Soaps" (helped in large part by 2002's Far from Heaven, a classy Sirk homage which sparked renewed interest in his films). I'm contending that there's another director with a claim to the Movie Soap crown--and that's versatile writer-director and Stanford law school graduate Delmer Daves. So let's get down to this clash among movie soap titans (ignoring their work in other genres, of course):

Sirk's favorite leading man and Daves' principal star.

Round 1 - Daves did more with less in regard to his stars. For a leading man, Douglas Sirk had Rock Hudson...but Daves had Troy Donahue. While good-looking and likable, one could never confuse Troy with a good actor. Cinema history validated Rock as a genuine star and Troy, well, he pretty much faded after the 1960s. It's not a knockdown, but this round goes to Daves. (Of course, Sirk did use Troy as a bad boy in Imitation, but that doesn't count.)

Round 2 - Delmer Daves did a masterful job of integrating story locations into his films. The most lasting image from A Summer Place is of Troy and Sandra Dee holding each other passionately on the beach... desperately in love, aching to be together, trying to find a secret place to be alone...as the ocean splashes on the shores (OK, it's not From Here to Eternity, but it's still memorable). Likewise, the New England tobacco fields in Parrish and the stunning California coast of Susan Slade enhance these tales of young love. In contrast, it seems like the settings are incidental in Sirk's films, with the possible exception of Written on the Wind (and even then, most of the action takes place indoors).

Susan Slade: An example of Daves' integration of location.

Round 3 - Douglas Sirk used film like a canvas, skilfully employing color, framing, and objects to enhance character traits and themes. In Written on the Wind, Lauren Bacall's conservative character sports a wardrobe of muted colors while the "bad girl" (Dorothy Malone) drives a bright red car. At the end of the film, Malone's character--who has lost Rock to Lauren--clutches a phallic model oil well in her office. Delmer Daves' soaps are lushly photographed, but the nod here goes to Sirk.

Hudson and Bacall in muted colors in Written on the Wind.

Round 4 - No soap director used music better than Delmer, but then he had a great composer come up with great themes: Max Steiner's Theme from A Summer Place is still the best-selling instrumental of the rock'n'roll era and I'll never understand why Steiner's equally melodic love theme from Parrish seems to have been forgotten. Sirk, on the other hand, frequently employed Frank Skinner, whose scores ranged from lush (All That Heaven Allows) to mush (Magnificent Obsession).

Round 5 - Sirk's admirers claim that his soaps are rife with subtext: All That Heaven Allows is an indictment on social conformity; Imitation of Life takes aim at racial inequality, etc. Of course, one could make similar arguments for Daves' films: out-of-wedlock pregnancies play a key role in Parrish, A Summer Place, and Susan Slade. In the latter two films, the teenage mothers become social outcasts (societal conformance is so strong in Susan Slade that the pregnant girl's mother passes the child off as her own!). This is pretty much a draw, but I'll give the edge to Sirk because his films have garnered more documented critical acclaim--and even got the Criterion treatment.

Grant Williams worked for both directors.

Round 6 - Both directors were adept at peppering their films with great supporting actors. Sirk's soaps featured Agnes Moorehead, Juanita Moore, and Dan O'Herily. Delmer Daves had Dean Jagger, Dorothy Maguire, Lloyd Nolan, Dub Taylor, and Constance Ford. This round is a close one; we'll call it a draw. (Interestingly, in addition to Troy Donahue, both directors used Grant Williams. He played Conn White in Susan Slade and Biff Miley in Written on the Wind--gotta love those character names!)

If you've followed my scoring of this fight, it's three rounds to Delmer, two to Doug, and one tie. The winner--by decision--is Delmer Daves. He's now the undisputed "King of the Movie Soaps." It's a title he has long deserved. Anyone interested in staging a rematch? If so, I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Connie and Troy Find Love (Eventually) in "Susan Slade"

This third collaboration between writer-director Delmer Daves and teen heartthrob Troy Donahue lacks the youthful passion of A Summer Place and the entertaining subplots of Parrish. Still, it’s a diverting big-screen soap with all the elements of Daves’s polished formula: beautiful scenery (the Monterey coast line), first-time love, affluent people, well-developed relationships between young people and their parents, and a lovely music score by Max Steiner (though it’s not as memorable as the ones he did for the previous two films).

Connie Stevens (graduating from a supporting role in Parrish) plays the title character, a naïve young woman who has spent her teenage years in Chile with her parents. Her father, Roger Slade (Lloyd Nolan), has worked as a chief engineer for a mine company, earning his boss, Stanton Corbett, over $20 million. To show his gratitude, Corbett has bought a home along the Monterey coast for Roger’s family and provided a substantial pension.

Connie Stevens in the title role.

On the ocean cruise to California, Susan falls in love with rich playboy Conn White (Grant Williams), who climbs mountains in lieu of a job. It’s hard to tell initially if Conn (I love that name) truly cares for Susan, but he is physically attracted to her. Believing that she has found her true love, Susan gives in to Conn’s desires. As is inevitable in any good soap, Susan becomes pregnant. When fate intervenes to keep Susan and Conn apart, Susan’s mother devises an unintentionally cruel plan to protect the family from scandal.

Dorothy McGuire as Susan's mother.

A strong cast puts their all into this melodrama, especially Connie Stevens who is winningly vulnerable and believable in her best film role. As her mother, the ever-elegant Dorothy McGuire gets the picture’s juiciest part—her Leah Slade is a well-meaning parent whose motives for helping her daughter ultimately become questionable. Surprisingly, Troy’s role is pretty much a supporting one, a slight variation of the chip-on-his-shoulder young man he played in Parrish. Still, as in that film, he and Connie share a natural chemistry that brings a sweetness to their scenes together.

TV fans can also take delight in seeing Natalie Schafer giving what amounts to a dress rehearsal for her most famous role—as Mrs. Howell on Gilligan’s Island. Almost as rewarding is the opportunity to see future game show host Bert Convy as Wells (another great name), Susan’s snobby, stinking-rich suitor (you just know that he doesn’t have a chance).

After Susan Slade, Delmer Daves and Troy Donahue would pair up one last time. However, the travelogue romance Rome Adventure broke from the successful soap formula and, perhaps as a result, its boxoffice failed to match A Summer Place, Parrish, and Susan Slade. It could also be that—as always happens with teen heartthrobs—Troy’s popularity was beginning to fade. Still, Rome Adventure had one positive result for Troy: It introduced him to his wife Suzanne Pleshette.

A Summer Place: Old Love Rekindled and New Love Set Aflame

Fans of Delmer Dave’s glossy New England soap opera are sharply divided between those who revere it as a classy, nostalgic sudser and those who regard it as camp. I hold the former view, for in spite of occasional plunges into overwrought drama, A Summer Place evokes a genuine warmth with its tale of old love rekindled and young love flaming for the first time.

The plot focuses on two families: the once rich, but now middle-class, Hunters and the once poor, but now wealthy, Jorgensens. The families cross paths when Ken Jorgensen (Richard Egan) takes his family on vacation to posh Pine Island, where Bart Hunter (Arthur Kennedy) has turned his family’s mansion into a hotel. The Maine island holds fond memories for Ken, who worked as a lifeguard there twenty year earlier and—unknown to almost everyone—had a passionate affair with a young socialite. The identity of Ken’s former lover becomes apparent when he exchanges longing glances with Bart’s wife Sylvia (Dorothy McGuire).

During a rainy afternoon in the attic, Ken confesses to Sylvia that his real purpose for returning to the island was to see her again. Trapped in a loveless marriage, he had never forgotten his one true love. His only reason for staying married to his wife Helen (Constance Ford) was that he feared losing custody of teenage daughter Molly (Sandra Dee). Sylvia returns Ken’s affections and admits that she remained with her lazy, alcoholic husband solely because of their teenage son Johnny (Troy Donahue). Cherishing a chance at happiness again, Ken and Sylvia begin a passionate affair.

Meanwhile, Molly and Johnny become interested in each other romantically. When their boat capsizes during a storm, they must spend a night alone on a nearby island. Molly’s sexually-repressed mother accuses her daughter of making love with Johnny. She even has a doctor conduct an examination to ensure that Molly is still a virgin. This act sends Molly into shock, prompting Johnny to threaten to murder Molly’s mother. As both families try to address these problems, secrets are revealed, relationships are fractured, and acceptance triumphs over all.

Thematically, A Summer Place explores forbidden love (Ken and Sylvia) and innocent love (Molly and Johnny) through a subtle form of voyeurism. Everybody seems to be secretly watching everyone else. Johnny first sees Molly with a telescope and she watches him simultaneously with binoculars. Later, Helen spies on Johnny and Molly kissing in the garden. The hotel’s handyman spies on Ken and Sylvia and reports back to Helen. When Molly returns to boarding school, a gossipy classmate fortuitously sees Johnny kissing Molly outside a church. Even when the teens are cuddling in a private spot on the beach, a group of rowdy boys happen by to whistle at them.

Constance Ford as Helen.

The frank discussions about sex undoubtedly shocked audiences of the late 1950s. Peyton Place, released a year earlier, broached the topic of teen sex, but without the bluntness of A Summer Place. Early in the film, Molly confesses to her father how she knowingly undressed in front of her window so the boy next door could watch her. Helen constantly chastises her daughter for her “cheap behavior” (e.g., letting Johnny kiss her). She also tries to dress Molly in childish clothes that hide the girl’s figure. Her worst moment, though, is when she has the physician examine Molly after telling her daughter: “I’m not asking for the truth because I know you’d lie.”

Dorothy McGuire as Sylvia.

Though not a "woman's picture" along the lines of Douglas Sirk's Imitation of Life (also released in 1959), A Summer Place clearly revolves around strong female characters. Sylvia is obviously the one who runs the hotel--not her self-pitying husband Bart. Once Sylvia leaves the island, the hotel falls into disrepair. Helen may be a sexually-repressed, domineering woman, but perhaps her drive helped transform Ken from a lifeguard into a successful businessman. Molly, meanwhile, displays a more quiet strength--defying her mother when she writes to and secretly meets Johnny. Ultimately, her strength leads to the happy ending that eluded Sylvia and Ken for much of their adult lives.

No review of a Summer Place would be complete without mentioning composer Max Steiner's haunting, lyrical musical score. Steiner interweaves two melodies, one for the Ken and Sylvia and another for Molly and Johnny. The theme for the older lovers also opens the film as the main title. However, it’s the music for the young lovers that Percy Faith recorded in 1960 as The Theme from “A Summer Place.” The instrumental piece became a million-selling record and spent nine weeks at number one on Billboard’s Hot 100 chart.

A beautifully restrained Dorothy McGuire and a wonderfully over-the-top Constance Ford (as perhaps the decade’s bitchiest mother) give the best performances. However, A Summer Place is remembered as the film that launched the careers of Donahue and Dee (both had appeared in supporting roles in Imitation of Life). Director Daves and Donahue would reteam for three more films: Parrish (1961), Susan Slade (1961), and The Rome Adventure (1962). The best of the three was Parrish, an entertaining soap with several similarites to A Summer Place (e.g., it also features an older romance and a younger one).

Dee and Donahue would remain screen fixtures throughout the 1960s, although Dee became a bigger star (Donahue drifted into television, appearing in the series Hawaiian Eye and Surfside Six). Sandra Dee’s abrupt retirement from acting in the early 1970s contributed to her cult status among teen idols of the 1960s. On the other hand, Troy Donahue was relegated to minor roles in major films (The Godfather Part II) as well as direct-to-video features.

Into the West: The Hanging Tree--A Harbinger of Hope

As Marty Robbins sings the foreshadowing lyrics of The Hanging Tree, Joseph “Doc” Frail (Gary Cooper) rides into a small Montana gold mining town, laden with sluices and poor, yet hopeful, townspeople. As Frail stops for a moment to regard a large malformed tree, another settler remarks that a “hanging tree” makes a town seem respectable.

The same could be said for having a real physician in this make-shift town (in lieu of a self-proclaimed healer named Grubb). On the surface, Doc Frail fits the bill. When a young girl’s illness turns out to be nothing but malnutrition, Frail loans the poor family his cow to provide milk. His only payment: a kiss on the check from his young patient.

But there’s a dark side to this quiet physician that wears his holster like a gunfighter. There are rumors about his past involving a man and a woman killed when a house burned to the ground. There’s also his treatment of Rune (Ben Piazza), a young man shot while trying to rob a sluice. Frail saves the embittered young man’s life, only to make him work as his bond-servant for payment—threatening to turn over the bullet he removed as evidence.

When a stagecoach is robbed, the townspeople divide into groups to look for its crew and passengers. They agree to fire two shots if someone has been found dead and three shots if alive. Karl Malden plays the sleazy prospector Frenchy, who finds the only survivor: an attractive young woman named Elizabeth (Maria Schell), who has been badly sunburned and temporarily blinded. Frenchy fires twice, waits for dramatic effect, and then fires a third shot in the air with a sly smirk on his face. This sets the tone for Frenchy’s questionable character, which comes into play again.

As Elizabeth recovers under the care of Doc Frail, she, Rune, and Frail form something of a modern family—complete with the usual frictions. The “father” has trouble expressing his emotions. The “son” thinks he hates his strict father. The “mother” tries to make peace between the two of them. Still, it’s a functional unit until Frail’s stubbornness—and perhaps guilt from the past—breaks up the family.

The Hanging Tree shares many similarities with the great Anthony Mann-James Stewart Westerns like Winchester ’73, The Far Country, and Bend of the River. The hero is a man with a questionable past who is given another chance at life. In the Mann-Stewart films, the heroes are often redeemed by communities (as in Far Country and Bend of the River). In The Hanging Tree, redemption comes in the form of a woman’s love and, to an extent, a boy’s respect for his father figure.

The Hanging Tree is also a well-developed portrait of a community that exists solely because of the gold mines. There are no elaborate saloons with musical performers as in many Westerns. The “town” is littered with make-shift buildings and tents filled with prostitutes and self-serving men like Grubb. As in Mann’s Westerns, the townspeople are an important part of the overall fabric of the film. They are sketched in carefully crafted vignettes where we get to know the kindly storekeeper, his suspicious wife, the vengeful gambler, etc.

Yet, while it plays like an Anthony Mann picture, The Hanging Tree is a testament to its underappreciated director, Delmer Daves. A graduate of Stanford University’s law school, Daves broke into the movie business as a highly-successful screenwriter, working on the scripts of The Petrified Forest, An Affair to Remember, and many others. As a writer and later director, he proved capable of making great films in almost any genre. Who else could take credit for making a war film with Cary Grant and John Garfield, a film noir with Edward G. Robinson, and a big screen soap with Troy Donahue? What Daves brought to all those films—and The Hanging Tree—was strong story-telling and an eye for great visuals. (He also seemed to have a knack for working with great composers like Max Steiner.)

The cast of The Hanging Tree is impeccable, led by Cooper’s simmering restraint and Maria Schell’s understated charm. George C. Scott, in his first film role, makes a strong impression in his brief scenes as Grubb. Karl Malden shows his versatility once again, revealing Frenchy’s sliminess in subtle layers.

There are plenty of Westerns with great title songs, such as Gunfight at the O.K. Corral and 3:10 to Yuma. My favorite, though, is the Oscar-nominated The Hanging Tree, which was written by Jerry Livingston and Mack David. It nicely summarizes the moral of this Western tale: that “to really live, you must almost die” and “when a man is gone, he needs no gold.”

The Hanging Tree is a Western without shootouts at the bar, although guns point the way to life and death. It is a story of survival in challenging times, where sometimes you have to lend a hand, regardless of the cost. And where, in the end, family and love are more important than a lifetime of riches.