'Edmond O'Brien: Everyman of Film Noir' book review & author Q&A

He was the guy who frantically sought his own killer in D.O.A. (1949), the film publicity executive who sweat profusely in The Barefoot Contessa (1954), and the romantic poet Gringoire, who befriended Maureen O'Hara's Esmerelda in The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1939).

I don't remember the first film I saw him in, but after watching his understated brilliance opposite James Cagney in White Heat (1949), Edmond O'Brien (1915-1985) rose quite high on my list of actors I just had to see more of. Luckily, coinciding with my watching more of his films was the publication of a complete study of his career and life, called 'Edmond O'Brien: Everyman of Film Noir'. The bio was written by Derek Sculthorpe and published by McFarland Press last year. I was pleased to be asked by McFarland to review the O'Brien book, and after I finished it, I contacted Sculthorpe to get more of his insights into O'Brien's unique experience in Hollywood, including dealing with a series of disruptive medical issues.

Sculthorpe states his objective is to "shine a light on his overlooked contribution to film and the art of acting." In this, Sculthorpe succeeded, as he dug deep into every film O'Brien made (and several he didn't) and shared the insights he gained for each one, in approximate chronological order. While the book focuses on the noir films made during O'Brien's most fertile period, it really covers his entire career, including glimpses into his stage, radio and TV performances, and his forays into directing (e.g. Shield for Murder, 1954) and producing. The book content is largely factual, and the extensive list of sources and complete credits attests to the depth of the research and credibility of the information. Of course, Sculthorpe injects his opinions of O'Brien's work which never stray too far to one side or the other, allowing the reader validation of their own opinions. Within the long stretches of movie capsules, Sculthorpe keeps your interest by inserting behind-the-scenes stories for each movie when applicable. There is also information about O'Brien's family heritage and early life as reported in government records and press sources during his career. I was surprised to learn that his older brother Liam was a screenwriter of some distinction with whom O'Brien collaborated whenever possible. Overall, the book presents a comprehensive picture of  O'Brien's career that would be of interest to any classic film enthusiast.

In many ways, O'Brien's career arc was similar to other character actors of the golden age, in that his versatility allowed him to work into his old age (he is brilliant, although almost unrecognizable, in the seminal Western The Wild Bunch (1969). He had a particular love of Shakespeare, and even worked on the stage as Marc Antony in an Orson Welles' production of Julius Caesar. In the star-studded 1953 film version directed by Joseph Mankiewicz, his turn as murderous Casca garnered great reviews at the time. (Note to self: I need to see this one!).

O'Brien and Deanna Durbin were paired in The Amazing Mrs. Holliday (1943);
definitely not film noir (photo from deannadurbindevotees.com)

While many actors of the golden era struggled with drug or alcohol addiction, O'Brien had a series of medical issues that could have derailed his career at any time. I was surprised to learn especially that O'Brien dealt with poor eyesight throughout his career, at times so severe that he required considerable assistance to move around on set or learn his lines. The eye problems dated to an accident during his active duty in WWII, and required many surgeries over the years. He also suffered heart attacks, and from his mid-life on, the effects of Alzheimers. Sculthorpe plumbed the records to uncover how these challenges impacted O'Brien, and what emerges is a portrait of an artist who, with help, was determined to give the best performance he could, and collaborators who helped make that possible. Even when severely compromised, he pulled it together on set, as in his small role in Orson Welles' last film The Other Side of the Wind, produced in 1970.

Q&A with author Derek Sculthorpe
Q: It seems O’Brien identified strongly with his Irish heritage (and obviously kept his last name such that his background was known) – can you comment on how his culture informed how he portrayed or adapted himself to his characters, if at all?

Sculthorpe: His Irish heritage was definitely important to him and informed his work, but I am not sure it was so evident as it was with others such as Spencer Tracy and Pat O’Brien. Edmond was frequently cast as a cop of course, but never as a priest, although he almost played one in the Pendergast story (a film called The Kansas City Story about corrupt senator Tom Pendergast) that was never made. He mostly portrayed Irish American characters, but there was a universal truth in his work that transcended all borders. 

O'Brien as undercover detective befriending unstable mob
boss James Cagney in the gangster noir White Heat

Q: Considering the broader culture at the time was not particularly advanced in supporting people with disabilities, was O’Brien an exception in how he was treated or typical of those in the business who found themselves with such struggles?

Sculthorpe: Certainly people with disabilities of any kind seemed to be invisible in that era. My guess is that he tried to hide or get around them somehow. By the time his eye trouble became apparent he was well-established and maybe they made allowances. Perhaps his heart trouble led to him losing more roles, but then again he wanted to keep working and he was still in demand. I wonder about the studio insurance in those days, but often health and safety did not seem to come into it. The actors and stuntmen did things then that I am sure wouldn't happen now. When you think of some of the alarming situations he endured while working on The Last Voyage for instance (blogger note: working in neck-high water with electrical hazards all around). Later, when he began to be afflicted by Alzheimers, it was not a disease that was understood at all. His co-workers just thought he was drunk, as they did with poor Rita Hayworth. Edmond was not diagnosed until long afterwards of course. Even at the end of his career with Black Sunday, the director was fully prepared to go out of his way to accommodate him even though he realised there would be times when he went blank and there might be lots of delays. In the event of course O’Brien wasn’t able to go through with it. But that’s a great testament to his ability and to the high regard in which directors and producers held him. 

Edmond O'Brien in his first film role The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1939)
 and one of his last The Wild Bunch (1969).

Q: It was interesting to me that so many greater stars and/or show business people with broad influence had such great regard for O’Brien’s abilities. Why do you think he didn’t become a bigger star? Did you get a sense he regretted not rising to the ‘A’ ranks?

Sculthorpe: It’s an interesting question. He said he was satisfied as a supporting actor because he got the more interesting roles. However, in his early career I feel that he wanted to be a star. He was concerned about billing and status. The turning point was the Oscar. I think that meant everything to him, to have the approval of his peers. He seemed to relax after that in a sense, and by then he was becoming more and more a character actor anyway. Personally, I think it’s a shame he didn’t get more chances in Shakespeare, because he clearly loved that and seemed to come to life in his works.

Thank you to Derek Sculthorpe for the insights.

Read my review of the Western Warpath, with Edmond O'Brien in the leading role, here.

Outlaws hiding out in Custer's cavalry in Warpath (1951)

If you're looking for a quintessential 1950s Western that has just about everything, look no further than Paramount's Warpath (1951). Sure, there are more profound and certainly more iconic Westerns...but hey, why not expand your horizons?

This film review is my contribution to the Classic Movie Blog Association's fall blogathon on the topic of movie outlaws. Go here, if you dare, to read all the great entries.

Warpath boasts a solid cast, starring Edmond O'Brien, Dean Jagger, Polly Bergen, Harry Carey Jr., and Wallace Ford. As I've been digging into the career of Edmond O'Brien via the recently published biography, Edmond O'Brien, Everyman of Film Noir (to be reviewed in an upcoming post), this one grabbed my attention because it's the first Western that O'Brien headlined. In fact, this film emerged when O'Brien, who specialized in film noir, was arguably in his prime-- just two years after D.O.A. and White Heat and two years before The Hitch-hiker.

Producer Nat Holt helmed Warpath for Paramount Studios. Westerns were his specialty, as he free-lanced during the 1940s and 50s for Paramount, 20th Century Fox, and RKO.  Writer Frank Gruber also specialized in Westerns, having written novels and short stories in the genre. In the director's chair was Byron Haskin, who also helmed Too Late For Tears, a fantastic noir that has recently been restored by the Film Noir Foundation and has played to the delights of 21st-century audiences on Turner Classic Movies and at festivals. Ray Rennahan, the cinematographer, had a long career from silents to television, and many Westerns in the 1950s--of note he was the DP for the epic Western Duel in the Sun starring Jennifer Jones, Gregory Peck, and Joseph Cotten.

Warpath starts rather romantically, planting us squarely in the west of Gen. George Armstrong Custer, who commanded the Seventh Cavalry against the Lakota, Cheyenne, and Arapaho tribes at his 'last stand' in the battle of the Little Bighorn, Montana.

We soon meet O'Brien's character, John Vickers, an officer during the Civil War who now, a decade later, is looking to get revenge against three men who were responsible for the death of his fiancee, but who had evaded justice and were said to be hiding out in the Seventh Cavalry, probably with names changed. With little more than their original names to go on, since he never got a good look at these men, Vickers shows up in a small town in North Dakota and on the street, immediately meets and kills (after being drawn on, of course) the first of the three men (how he knew it was his target was not explained). Shortly after, he meets Molly Quade (Bergen)--who has just arrived to help her long-lost father (Dean Jagger) run his local store--and saves her from some unwanted moves by an officer. The two develop an instant attraction. Strangely, Molly's father seems to not want her to have anything to do with the soldier.

Molly (Polly Bergen) immediate sets her sights on the
handsome stranger.

Vickers, who had been an officer in the Civil War, enlists as a private in the Seventh Cavalry and intends to find the two missing outlaws while continuing to serve his country. Unfortunately, he has to report to O'Hara, the local sergeant (Forrest Tucker) the same officer whom Vickers prevented from assaulting Molly. Also in the group are Pvt. 'Irish' Potts, (a delightful Wallace Ford) and Pvt. Fiore (Paul Fix). Harry Carey, Jr. plays the regimental captain.

At the dance: even cavalrymen get to have fun once in a while.
(l-r Paul Fix, Wallace Ford, Edmond O'Brien)

The revenge story takes a back seat in the middle of the film when trouble brews on the range, and a series of skirmishes with the native tribes break out. Sgt. O'Hara, who is now suspected by Vickers as one of his targets, proves himself to be a coward, while our hero Vickers's skill is noticed by none other than Custer himself. Vickers is rapidly promoted and now is O'Hara's commander.

Gen. Custer (James Millican) promotes John Vickers (O'Brien)

When embarking to meet and warn Custer about an impending attack, his group is ambushed and taken prisoner by an army of Sioux. This time O'Hara is the hero, sacrificing himself to save the others (this after Pvts. Potts and Fiore also get themselves killed at the hands of the natives).  At this point, Vickers has already figured out who the outlaws are but keeps this to himself for a while, as he begins to question whether he wants his legacy to be his private vengeance and simultaneously condemn himself to outlaw status. Complicating the decision is Molly's direct condemnation of his plan. As expected, the plot threads are all tied up in a way that allows Vickers and Molly to get together at the end. (You'll need to watch the film to see who the outlaws are!)

On the positive side, this film boasts well-drawn, three-dimensional characters, has a complex story with a few plot twists, and entertains with exceptional action sequences and strong production values that make me wish I could see it on the big screen. There are scenes with large contingents of soldiers and natives, all filmed on location near Billings, Montana. There are wagon trains, but Paramount did not give director Haskin the budget to use real trains, so he reused film from The Great Missouri Raid early on in the film (from D. Sculthorpe's bio Edmond O'Brien, Everyman of Film Noir, 2018).

Settlers and Cavalry about to be attacked by the Sioux.

On the negative side, Warpath is a bit overlong and suffers from mediocre editing. The film doesn't have a significant point of view on the Western ideology or the plight of the native American, but is, in essence, a somewhat moralistic piece of entertainment solidly of its time.

Edmond O'Brien, ca. 1940s.

O'Brien went on to have quite a career in Westerns, even though I'm never sure if his New York City accent and manners were really right for the genre. Yet, I highly recommend The Big Land, an Alan Ladd vehicle with good friend O'Brien in support. Of course, near the end of his career he had a memorable turn as grizzled gun-fighter Freddie Sykes in Sam Peckinpah's classic The Wild Bunch (1969).


I watched Warpath on Amazon Prime Video.

Fawcett Comics made a comic book from this film in August 1951, which was one of only twenty film adaptations the company made.