Bogie & Bacall's Chemistry Brings Depth to ‘Dark Passage’ 1947

 

Humphrey Bogart & Lauren Bacall in 1947's "Dark Passage," the duo's third film.

The 1947 WB film noir Dark Passage is highly entertaining, but the whirlwind story is filled with back to back coincidences and chatty supporting characters. The movie will leave you breathless but unbelieving at what has cartoonishly transpired.

Convict Vincent Parry (Bogart) is determined not to rot in San Quentin, and escapes to find the real killer of his wife. From the get go, Parry’s path is filled with the most convenient coincidences. The stacked deck plot specifically comes from nosy people who go way out of their way to aid or deter Bogie’s escapee. 

After escaping in the back of a prison truck, Parry is later picked up by a grinning goon, who gives him the third degree from the moment Parry gets in his car. It doesn’t help that Bogie's wearing only a sleeveless undershirt (he's no Gable), prison work pants, and muddy shoes. After the radio announcer conveniently reveals his identity and the tell-tale details, they tussle from the car and Bogie drags him into the roadside bushes. 

Bogie's convict has the misfortune of being picked up by this goon, in "Dark Passage."

After Bogie takes the driver’s clothes, who comes along but Lauren Bacall? As Irene Jansen, she's an artist who just happened to be out painting landscapes. Jansen just happened to hear about the escape, just happened to be driving by, and just happened to be a champion of Parry, when he was getting raked over the coals by the press during his murder trial. The "just happened" trope is a constant throughout this flick. As stylish and adult as Dark Passage plays, I rolled my eyes more than a few times at the blizzard of coincidences!

Look who happened to be out painting landscapes while a convict escapes?
Lauren Bacall finds Humphrey Bogart in the bushes in "Dark Passage."

Jansen smuggles Parry back to her stylish Deco apartment building (which still stands on San Francisco’s Montgomery Street). It turns out Irene’s interest in his case stems from her own father's murder trial of his wife. While Irene goes out for a new suit for Parry, her nosy friend Madge knocks on the door. Turns out that her testimony is what got Parry imprisoned—small world. Madge, a vision in leopard skin, pounds on the door but gives up, yet is suspicious. In one of several dumb moves, Parry raises the blind to look at her, and she stares back, twice!

All spiffed up courtesy of Irene, Parry decides to get plastic surgery, on a tip from a very gabby cab driver, who takes his cause for no good reason. Parry looks up an old buddy for post-surgery shelter, as he doesn't want to impose further on Irene. George, a musician, knew Parry’s wife, as well as Madge, who he despises. 

Off to the plastic surgeon, who likes to yak as much as the cab driver, and looks like he's been preserved in alcohol! The doc’s a guy who you wouldn't let give you a shave, much less slice your face. Once anesthetized, Parry has a drugged nightmare worthy of a William Castle thriller. Afterward, the doc gives him a list of detailed care instructions. The good news is that the surgeon reassures Bogie he can still drink and smoke.

Would you let this guy give you a shave, much less plastic surgery? "Dark Passage."

Bogie looks quite unflattering in his bandaged state, big woeful eyes, and thin face and lips—kind of like a Chihuahua, post-cosmetic surgery! Parry gets back to his pal's only to find he's been murdered, with the musician’s horn. Natch, Parry handles the instrument, leaves prints, and flees. 

Rumor has it that Jack Warner was unhappy that his top star was only heard the
first third of "Dark Passage," and looked like this for the middle of the film!

Not at all conspicuous climbing up multiple fights of steep stairs in San Francisco, he passes out when he reaches Irene's. Under her tender care, she is totally in love at this point, despite his being the suspect of murder #2. Their lovey-dovey convalescence is interrupted by an unexpected visit by Madge. She's panicked by Parry being on the loose (who's hiding in Irene's bedroom.) Madge shrilly insists that she stay with Irene, who couldn't be less delighted. Then here comes Bob, Irene's sort of boyfriend. Bob is played by Bruce Bennett in his typical glum style. He too was familiar with Parry's case and unfortunately, Madge.

Bogie's plastic surgery is such a success that he doesn't even have scars or puffiness when Bacall removes the bandages. It is stressed that the surgeon made Bogie look older, good thing since Bogie looked far older than his 47 years! It’s amusing that Parry’s “before” photos in the newspapers outweighs Bogie by about 30 pounds. That prison grub must have been grueling!

Beefy Vincent Parry, before he becomes the beef jerky that is Humphrey Bogart,
in  1947's "Dark Passage."

He no sooner stops at an all-night diner than a cop's suspicions is instantly raised. A chase ensues and Parry hides out at a hotel. Parry's first ride comes knocking, looking for a blackmail payday. Once again car buddies, they tussle once more, where scrawny Bogart dispatches the lunkhead off a steep cliff. That is now murder number #3, though Bogie claims innocence of the suspicious demises of his wife and friend.

Agnes Moorehead as Madge, the cougar dressed in leopard skin, in "Dark Passage." 

Parry goes back to Madge’s to get the truth out of her. With every minor character on their soap box, musing about life, truth, and happiness, there is little time for Agnes Moorehead's monstrous Madge. She appears briefly at Irene's door, then in the middle to barge in and act incredibly annoying, then in the finale, where she pulls out all the stops. As skillful as Agnes is at acting, this feels like a Carol Burnett spoof, rushing through to the climax. Madge falls through a window to her death, and Bogie flees the scene looking totally suspicious. In the finale, Bogie's Parry decides that it's hopeless to try to clear himself of four deaths—good call. So, it's off to Peru to livin’ life incognito!

Involved with four deaths, Bogie's fugitive is off to Peru, in 1947's "Dark Passage."

In a phone call to Bacall’s Irene, detailing how to find him, Bogie's Parry sounds like Morgan Freeman giving Tim Robbins prison-style GPS The Shawshank Redemption. Bogie sips a cocktail in a swanky nightclub, their song comes up, and there’s smiling Lauren Bacall, and the lovebirds dance off into the Peruvian sunset.

Lauren Bacall is more relaxed than in her earlier film outings. Remember, she made her film debut just three years earlier in To Have and Have Not. Here, Bacall is more a sympathetic character and not as snarky. I never thought Bacall had much versatility as an actress, but within that range, she was quite striking. 

Bacall is also quite lovely at just 23. Apparently a trust fund baby as well as Bogie's Baby, Irene paints and teaches children's art classes, which doesn't account for a lovely pad and stylish wardrobe. I liked that while Bacall was quite glam here, her face doesn't look like a mask and her beautiful hair isn't bleached to the nth degree like most Hollywood blondes. She looked real—and really beautiful.

I always found Lauren Bacall one of the more natural glamour girls of the 1940s.
Except for the winged eyebrows, Bacall's style is very contemporary.

I totally get Bogie's sexual appeal and while he looked rather frail and rough when not lavished with soft close-ups (those weren't given just to the ladies), his very expressive eyes, distinctive voice, and charisma made that very clear why 19-year-old Bacall fell for 25 years older Bogie in To Have and Have Not.

After a couple decades of hard living, Bogie began to settle down to a happy marriage
 with Lauren Bacall. At 47, Bogart required a toupee and soft lighting to disguise
his premature aging. From 1947's "Dark Passage."

A more candid shot of Humphrey Bogart, reading "Dark Passage."

Delmer Daves’ direction and writing try to tie up all the loose ends and contrivances, unlike Howard Hawks’ The Big Sleep. But it all feels like warp speed storytelling! Maybe some of those screenwriter-friendly supporting speeches should have been cut.

Bogie, Bacall, and director/screenwriter Delmer Daves look at some film footage.

Some film fans geek out over certain films' techniques and style. While that stuff is enjoyable, the story and the acting are what matter to me. Robert Montgomery’s Lady in the Lake is virtually unwatchable, with the actors overreacting and the constant camera movement over the top. Or Hitchcock’s Spellbound, because of the mostly-deleted Salvador Dali sequences, ignoring the hokey Hitch psychoanalysis. There’s also Alfred Hitchcock’s Rope, a technically handsome production, with its long takes and handsome set. Unfortunately, the stilted story and acting come off like a filmed ‘40s Broadway play. Of all these movies mentioned, Dark Passage pulls off Bogie’s pre-cosmetic surgery POV and post-surgery camera work the most subtly.

Dark Passage is really an exercise in style, with a strong production and cast. If only the film’s story was as authentic as its two iconic stars.

Here's Bogie with another sultry blonde from the same year, my look at Dead Reckoning, with Lizabeth Scott: https://ricksrealreel.blogspot.com/2024/10/bogie-lizabeth-scott-in-derivative-dead.html

 

Bogie and Baby, going in for the clinch, in 1947's "Dark Passage."

 

How Joan Crawford Became ‘Mildred Pierce’

Joan Crawford in her Oscar-winning role as "Mildred Pierce."

Mildred Pierce is still Joan Crawford's signature film. Like all long-time stars, Crawford is revered for several key roles, but this is the one most associated with Joan, personally and professionally. Mildred Pierce was Joan Crawford's great comeback, though Joan thought of it as a career Oscar. That didn't hurt Crawford’s chances either, with a then-20 year stint in show biz. 

Crawford's back story was one of the most famous in Hollywood, much like the later Marilyn Monroe. Everyone knew that Joan had a tough upbringing, pulled herself up by her trademark ankle straps, and by the dint of hard work and self-belief, became a star. Even more impressively, Crawford STAYED a star!

In rags-to-riches stories like Mildred Pierce, I'm always a sucker for the climb to the top.

Mildred Pierce is a mother and wife whose working class marriage is over. Determined to give her two daughters, Veda and May, a better life, driven Mildred goes from baking pies at home to a hardworking waitress. Pierce’s dream of opening her own restaurant comes true and she is on a winning streak. Unfortunately, her luck with men hasn’t changed. Mildred goes from boring Bert Pierce to cads with designs on her and/or her money. Then there’s oldest daughter Veda, for whom no amount of money seems enough. Mildred gets in over her head financially and emotionally.

***Spoilers ahead for the few who haven't seen what Mildred Pierce did!***

Though the movie differs from the book in how it handles scoundrel Monty in the mother-daughter triangle, it doesn't take away from the story. It’s rather ingenious how the film deals with a stepfather dallying with his stepdaughter, back in the crushing censorship era. Otherwise, it's a streamlined version of the James M. Cain novel. To compare the '45 WB film with the 2011 HBO mini-series is apples and oranges.

James M. Cain’s three best novels were made into acclaimed films in the mid-1940’s: Double Indemnity, Mildred Pierce, and The Postman Always Rings Twice. Author James M. Cain was pleased enough with Crawford’s performance that he sent a first edition Mildred Pierce to Joan, just prior to her Oscar win: “To Joan Crawford, who brought Mildred to life just as I had always hoped she would be and who has my lifelong gratitude."

Ah, the healing powers of winning an Oscar!

Jerry Wald was prolific, whether as a WB screenwriter, or later as producer. Wald was one of those golden era movie men who genuinely loved movies and their stars. Crawford had a huge cheerleader in Wald, who held out for Joan as Mildred Pierce. Wald and Crawford went on to make a total of five films together.

“Please don’t tell anyone what Mildred Pierce did!” This was a memorable but misleading slogan. Studio publicity departments tried to play up the sex angle for any movie this side of Mary Poppins. WB tried to paint Mildred Pierce as a femme fatale. In the trailer, the narrator pronounces: “Mildred, who left her mark on every man!” Husbands Bert and Monty attest to her wiles, with would-be suitor Wally wryly commenting, “Loving her was like shaking hands with the devil.” Given Wally’s treatment of Mildred, I’d say it was the other way around!

Who's the devil? Wally Fay thinks he hears opportunity knocking with newly single Mildred.

 The infamous box office poison list of 1938, created by independent theater owners, included the name Joan Crawford. While Joan’s later ‘30s movies may not have been blockbusters, most of them made near or over the $100 million mark in today’s dollars. Most of Crawford’s films weren’t outright clinkers, like Dietrich and Hepburn, also divas on the d-list. After Joan’s comeback in ‘39’s The Women, Crawford’s films were a mixed bag, but most of them still modestly successful.

Joan was down, but she wasn't washed up!

The real problem, IMO: Joan Crawford was viewed as past her shelf life. MGM’s other two divas, Garbo and Shearer, had both retired and all eyes were now on Crawford. Joan became famous at the height of the silent era, as the epitome of flaming youth, but it was now 1943. As Sharon Stone once quipped, every year in the life of a movie actress is like dog years. Ultimately, Joan had the same longevity as MGM’s Lassie, but she had to leave Metro to prove herself.

I never thought Joan’s Oscar competition for Mildred Pierce was that tough. Of the actresses, 3 of the 5—Ingrid Bergman, Greer Garson, and Jennifer Jones—had just won Oscars, so winning a second so soon was unlikely. Luise Rainer’s back to back Oscar wins—then straight to oblivion—cured the Academy of that impulse. Also, their current nominations were for popular, but not great movies—The Bells of St. Mary’s, The Valley of Decision, and Love Letters. That left Gene Tierney in Leave Her to Heaven. While this movie has been critically elevated over the years, at the time it was wildly popular, but viewed as pulp entertainment. As lovely as Tierney is, her performance ranges from trance-like to childishly petulant. One real contender wasn't even nominated: Dorothy McGuire, for her tough and tender Katie in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. Even Dorothy’s homely cleaning girl in The Enchanted Cottage was more worthy. But Fox threw its votes to home girl Gene. Despite the competition, Joan's performance was a worthy winner on all fronts: a comeback, a career award, and a restrained performance in a fine film noir, smothered with mother love soap opera.

Less was more: toned down, but not de-glamorized. Joan in an early scene of Mildred Pierce.

Joan as Mildred is typically described as de-glamorized. Even by '45 standards, that's a stretch. Crawford was toned down from her typical over the top MGM glamour. Still, even as the pie-making housewife, Joan’s Mildred is wearing red lipstick, mascara, and high heels in the kitchen. For the first half of the film, when the waitress/cook is making her way to the top of the food chain, Joan's clothes, hair, and makeup are simple, and she looks most appealing. Once Mildred makes it big, Joan is suffering nobly in fur and shoulder pads.

This "gardening" outfit was typical over the top MGM gloss,
once Crawford's calling card, but was now considered old hat.

One amusing moment is the scene where devilish daughter Veda makes their maid, Lottie (Butterfly McQueen), wear Mildred's waitress uniform. This is a signal to her mother that Veda knows how Mommie makes the moolah. Just prior, Hattie exclaims how Mildred cooks all night and waits tables all day, and Crawford comments that it keeps her slim. McQueen looks in askance at her own generous waist line, plus, she's half a head shorter than Joan. Yet, there she is, fitting perfectly into Mildred's uniform!

Mildred's uniform on loan to Lottie!

As far as other actresses playing Mildred, it's been widely written that almost all the top WB actresses were considered. How true or how seriously each star was considered is hard to say. It’s also important to note that the script of Mildred Pierce was cycled through numerous screenwriters before Ranald McDougall’s was accepted.

Who wore it best? The same uniform as Lottie's? Ha!

WB’s queen Bette Davis probably had first pick, but her "big" personality was starting to overshadow her performances. Critic James Agee famously pointed this out in his review for Bette's ‘45 vehicle, The Corn is Green. Plus, she and Michael Curtiz didn’t get along.

I think Barbara Stanwyck would have made a more realistic Mildred than Joan and could have had a hit with the role. It’s been said that she wanted Mildred and Curtiz wanted her. But this was producer Jerry Wald’s baby and he wanted Crawford. Would “Missy” have been as iconic as Joan? Hard to say, but remember that Stanwyck is still raved about for her turn in Cain’s Double Indemnity.

Ann Sheridan was mentioned and she’s quoted as saying the early script depicted mother and daughter as too tough and the daughter “a horror.” Ann could have brought warmth and humor, and maybe Mildred Pierce could have been that star vehicle she never really got. Again, would Ann be iconic as Mildred?

Ida Lupino could have made a tougher Mildred, but she had just played a role similar in The Hard Way. Catch The Hard Way sometime and you will be surprised at how similar the opening scene is to Mildred Pierce.

My belief is that Joan Crawford offered to appear in Ann Blyth's screen test to show 
she was a team player AND to dispel any doubts about Crawford herself as Mildred. 

One thing that has stuck in my craw about Joan Crawford’s mythology is that she had to screen test for Mildred. It’s been written by reputable people and could very well be true. The anecdote that a great star like Joan had to screen test to get a part, then to win an Oscar for it!—sets my bullshit barometer off. Later stories say WB and/or director Michael Curtiz demanded the test. That, I flatly doubt. I can see where Joan felt confident enough to play Mildred that she offered to screen test for the role to remove any doubt. In recent years, at a Mildred Pierce screening, Ann Blyth said that Crawford was kind enough be in her screen test. Also, in a Hollywood Reporter interview, Blyth commented that it was unheard of for a star of Joan’s stature to screen test. There seems to be no physical evidence, which makes me suspicious. So, who knows?

Director Curtiz accused Crawford of trying to sneak in shoulder pads 
throughout Mildred Pierce. Thankfully, I don't think this pair made it in!

Mildred Pierce was altered to fit Crawford’s talents and image as a star; Pierce is more movie “moral” and less of a hausfrau. Joan’s stoicism and restraint are her hallmark here. Like all great stars, Crawford benefited from a strong director. Crawford excelled when George Cukor kept her “playing the star” in check, with The Women, and especially, A Woman’s Face. The movie Mildred Pierce fits Joan like a glove, and that’s how Joan played her, the steel beneath the velvet glove. 

After Veda gives her mother a wish list for future wealth (a maid, limo, and new house),
Mildred goes for a goodnight kiss, and Veda gives her the kiss-off! "Let's not get sticky about it."

Some have said that Crawford didn’t convey motherly warmth as Mildred, but I disagree. Pierce is so driven to succeed, for her children, that she has a hard time letting her guard down. Crawford conveys Mildred’s feelings toward her children and the men in her life very subtly. Especially when you consider Crawford’s performances in the next decade, Joan is at her most restrained here. Noteworthy, too, is Joan’s narration of the flashbacks. They are well-performed, with little of the grand “MGM English” that she acquired at Metro. Ultimately, all the elements about Joan Crawford, her life and career at this time, are what she put into the role, and helped make Mildred Pierce become so iconic.

Kid sister Kay's moving death scene.  From left: Bruce Bennett as Bruce Pierce,
Lee Patrick as Mrs. Biederhof, Ann Blyth and Joan Crawford as Veda and Mildred Pierce.

Ann Blyth got an Oscar nomination as Veda, yet she mostly stuck to ingénue roles. However, she was equally as nasty in ‘48’s Another Part of the Forest, as little fox Regina Giddens. As the grown up Veda, Ann Blyth reminded me very much of the young adult Gloria Vanderbilt, with her tilted eyes, downturned, toothy smile, and jutting chin. Blyth herself was just 17, the same age as when Veda gets her birthday car and starts growing up too fast. In the early scenes, Blyth looks very much like herself, a teenage girl. It's a tribute to the WB hair, makeup, and costume department that helps Blyth make a convincing young femme fatale. 

Ann Blyth at 17.

Young Gloria Vanderbilt resembles Ann Blyth.

Blyth is amusing when playing up Veda's pretensions. There’s the scene where Mildred tucks Veda into bed, with a promise of a better life, and the venal daughter asks if someday they could have a maid, new house, and maybe a limousine! What every war time teen wants, right? Blyth truly comes alive when she laces into Crawford’s Mildred. The showdown scenes between daughter and mother are electric. When her unusual features twist into a sneer and Veda lets Mommie have it, Ann Blyth is eerily convincing.

Zachary Scott was so effective as the charming cad that he was typecast forever. Off-screen, Scott was true southern gentleman, and well-liked. Blyth mentions his beautiful dark eyes in one interview and he was probably never more the debonair playboy than here, as Monte Beragon. In The Carol Burnett Show parody, Harvey Korman brilliantly skewers Scott’s snide demeanor. Yet Scott makes you believe there’s a side to Monte who still loved Mildred.

Zachary Scott is superb as scoundrel Monte Beragon,  who is about to take his first tip.

Jack Carson, as Wally Fay, is skilled at walking the fine line of funny and tough. His Wally is a con man, for sure, yet a likeable one. Carson’s Wally is a comic wolf, but has a soft spot for Mildred. Yet, the operator in Wally doesn’t let him forgo any opportunities. Carson has some of the most rat-a-tat-tat dialogue in the movie, with some real zingers, and he bats them out of the park every time. His line of delivery always reminded me of WB’s Looney Tunes Foghorn Leghorn!

Jack Carson as Wally Fay. Carson was wonderful in comedy, but equally adept in drama.

Eve Arden, as Mildred’s sidekick Ida, plays the definitive "Eve Arden" role. Arden is the no-nonsense observer, brittle but with a heart. Plus, she has most of the movie's best lines. Ida’s “femininity” is brought up so often, was this code for being “one of the girls?” Jo Ann Marlowe, as tomboy Kay, is not only believable, but a loveable scene stealer. You're actually crushed when Kay dies of pneumonia. Bruce Bennett has the thankless role of Bert, Mildred's dour hypocrite of a first husband. Yet, other Bennett performances that I've seen are much the same. He reminds me of a cranky Gary Cooper.

Eve Arden as Ida, Mildred's gal Friday. Arden basically created "the Eve Arden role."

Some minor quibbles:  Lee Patrick got short-changed a lot in her movies. It’s a tribute to her talent that she made the most of her screen time. Her Mrs. Biederhof is talked about more than seen... and that’s only at Kay's death scene! Speaking of which, Mildred Pierce has a zingy script by Ranald MacDougall, but Kay’s post-death scene, seems weakly written. Mrs. Biederhof scurries off to make tea and Mildred’s eulogy underwhelms, capped with, “Dear God, please don't anything happen to Veda.”

The most memorable moment of Mildred Pierce? Mother and daughter's big showdown.
Joan Crawford saves her trademark stare for the big scenes!

When Mildred finds Veda performing at a seedy night club, complete with drunken sailors’ catcalls, I’m always reminded of another long-suffering mother. That’s Annie in Imitation of Life, when she tracks down her daughter performing in a nightclub, with raucous old men leering at Sarah Jane. Both scenes follow the mamas’ visits to their daughters’ dressing rooms, shared with crass but good hearted older showgirls, natch. A real hoot for those who hate vain Veda—who once sneered at a dress Mildred scrounged for—is when she goes from a bare midriff costume to excusing herself to change, into a hula skirt! Sadly, the coconut shell bra was not shown.

Veda shakin' what her mother gave her. Mildred is so glad the music lessons paid off!

Like Michael Curtiz' Casablanca, all the elements in his take on Mildred Pierce are aces: the script is razor sharp, the cinematography and setups and sets are a storytelling marvel. The precision here, with all of WB’s top craftsmen on hand, there’s nary a wasted moment, with many subtle touches amongst the melodrama.

There's film noir, soap opera, and rat-a-tat-tat dark humor, all expertly woven. Naturally, WB tried to duplicate the huge success, so they churned a lot of noir soaps out, some named after the female characters, like Nora Prentiss and Flaxy Martin. Joan did several self-titled soaps, like Daisy Kenyon and Harriet Craig. Crawford also played a clutch of mature women from the wrong side of the tracks, clawing their way to the lonely top. Some were successes, some were not. Mildred Pierce is endlessly fascinating, and trying to replicate it was trying to catch lighting in a bottle.

Here's my take on the anti-Mildred Pierce, the notorious Mommie Dearest starring Faye Dunaway: https://ricksrealreel.blogspot.com/2021/09/the-making-aftermath-mommie-dearest-1981.html

And here's Zachary Scott as yet another cad, but this one gets a look back at how he became that way, in 1948's Ruthless, backed by an all-star cast: 

https://ricksrealreel.blogspot.com/2025/08/zachary-scott-is-ruthless-to-stellar-co.html

FYI: I put all the movie overflow on my public FB  movie page. 

Check it out & join!  https://www.facebook.com/groups/178488909366865/

Another great scene between Blyth's vicious Veda & Crawford's long-suffering Mildred.

Ann Sheridan's Glamour Brightens Gloomy Noir 'Nora Prentiss' 1947

Ann Sheridan is top-billed and the title character, but plays second fiddle to WB's resident wimp, Kent Smith!

Ann Sheridan, one of the '40s most appealing actresses, had her last hurrah with WB in 1947-48. The Unfaithful was a San Fran transplant of The Letter and Nora Prentiss was a domestic drama turned film noir. Sheridan teamed with Errol Flynn in ’48 for the Raoul Walsh western, Silver River. Ann then appeared in Leo McCarey's Good Sam with Gary Cooper. Though the comedy disappointed critics and audiences, Sheridan and Cooper’s appeal still helped make it a box office success. None of these movies are classics, but overall, were popular at the time.

After leaving WB, Ann starred in Howard Hawks 1949's I Was a Male War Bride with Cary Grant. Sheridan was sparkling in this smash screwball comedy, with Hawks' showcasing Ann’s comic flair as he did with Carole Lombard in Twentieth Century.

Ann Sheridan in a publicity pose as 'Nora Prentiss.' Though hyped as a femme fatale, Ann's singer is sympathetic.

With all this, Sheridan’s box office standing seemed in better shape than most veteran female stars. Yet, the bottom dropped out of Ann Sheridan’s career in 1950. Was it because Sheridan turned 35? Back then, that was the point of no return for an actress. Was it that Sheridan never had a signature movie role? Say, a role or film that could take Ann to the next level, of a Carole Lombard, Jean Arthur, or Rosalind Russell? Even as Randy Monaghan in Kings Row, Sheridan didn’t appear till nearly half way through the picture. Was it because she wasn’t a careerist, like Crawford, Davis, and Hepburn? I think that Sheridan was a bit like Joan Blondell, someone who was considered a great broad that could do a little of everything, but not a so-called great actress, like Norma Shearer or Greer Garson.

What a shame, since Ann Sheridan had one of film’s most distinctive personalities, full of warmth and good humor. Not only was Sheridan a terrific wisecracking comedienne, but also a natural dramatic actress, much like Lombard. Ann also had an appealing singing voice, unlike many dubbed movie divas. Sheridan looked like a more “down to earth” version of Rita Hayworth, and wasn't called 'The Oomph Girl' for nothing! With all of this going for her, why did Ann Sheridan’s star fall so far after 1950?

I preferred the first half of 'Nora Prentiss,' where the good doc is torn between family and Sheridan's sassy singer.

In retrospect, 1947’s Nora Prentiss seems like a sign of things to come. As the title character and top billed star, Ann Sheridan somehow plays second fiddle to Kent Smith. Yes, the Kent Smith. The actor arrived at WB after WWII, and Smith quickly became typecast as the milquetoast male for the leading lady or the bad guy to walk all over. Smith was certainly a capable performer, and after he left WB, became a reliable character actor. Kent Smith just wasn't dynamic enough to become a top rank star. In fact, WB never really had a breakout male superstar after John Garfield. There were middling male stars like Ronald Reagan, Dane Clark, and Harry Guardino—or worse, Steve Cochran and David Brian! How ironic that mild-mannered Kent Smith's big starring role came at the expense of Ann Sheridan, who was about to walk out the WB door, like so many of her fellow stars, over money and scripts.

 Ann Sheridan on the set of 'Nora Prentiss' with co-star Kent Smith. Does he measure up?

Nora Prentiss is a sassy night club singer who is the catalyst for dull doctor Richard Talbot to leave his wife and family. The first half of the movie is a romantic triangle, with Talbot increasingly drawn to Nora, yet guilt-ridden for wanting to leave his family. Sheridan and Smith’s first scenes together, when Nora is tended to by the doc after a minor accident, showcase Ann’s snappy delivery. Sheridan later sings two numbers, sounding especially lovely on “Who Cares What People Say?”

Ann Sheridan is a more than capable chanteuse as 'Nora Prentiss.' 

Their romance is reaching dead end when an improbable opportunity presents itself. Talbot takes it, and from then on he hijacks the movie to the road of abject misery and absurd twists. The WB ads play up Nora as a femme fatale, which she isn't. None of the events are Nora's fault, and she tries to leave him several times, so he can salvage his life. I won't give away the major plot spoiler, but what happens to make the doctor’s new life possible is so ridiculous, even before the DNA era, is patently phony. Eventually, Talbot pays an extreme price.

Smith's respectable doctor goes on the skids in record time over Sheridan's nightclub chanteuse.

Aside from unbelievable, I found the last half of Nora Prentiss tiresome and depressing. The domestic drama was more real and heartfelt to me. The story seemed familiar, then I read a few comments on how similar Nora Prentiss was to Dreiser's Sister Carrie: A respectable businessman with a solid but dull life and dominating wife, throws it all away for a captivating small-time performer. Bingo! What's strange is that a film version, titled Carrie, was made five years later with Laurence Olivier—and Larry and Kent Smith bear more than a passing resemblance to each other—the basset hound eyes, set jaw line, and pencil mustache. However, unlike Olivier, Kent Smith's doctor declines in record time; it's like watching Dr. Jekyll turn into Mr. Hyde!

Laurence Olivier in 'Carrie.'

Kent Smith in 'Nora Prentiss.'

Nora Prentiss has a stellar supporting WB cast. Yet it is typical how up and coming WB actors got thrown into thankless roles. Just a couple years earlier, Robert Alda made his WB film debut as George Gershwin and he played several starring roles shortly after. Alda was a nasty night club owner in The Man I Love. Here in Nora Prentiss, he's a nice night club owner. It's very hard to believe that tall, dark, and handsome Alda, whose character owns a nightclub and wants to marry singer Nora, would seem like a no-brainer, right? Sheridan’s Nora laments to Smith’s married doctor at the movie’s beginning that she can’t meet a good guy, only bums…yet takes a pass on Alda’s Phil.

Bruce Bennett, who was relegated to one scene in Bette Davis' A Stolen Life in ’46, hadn't made much progress since playing Bert Pierce opposite Joan's title character the year before. In Nora Prentiss, he's Smith’s fellow partner, who's there to pick up the pieces and find clues. Like Kent Smith, Bennett was a rather dull actor, but he was solid enough and attractive, but is stuck in a totally nothing role. It seems like WB filled out the background characters with anybody on the lot who wasn't working!

Vincent Sherman took over the helm from Edmund Goulding and Irving Rapper as WB’s top director of women. Combine all the Bette and Joan movies Sherman helmed, he should have gotten, if not an Oscar, perhaps a Purple Heart! Sherman was a solid, smooth, if not groundbreaking director, and he keeps spinning this tale skillfully before you have enough time to think about it.

Director Vincent Sherman, a bit of a ladies man, seems to be enjoying the charismatic Ann Sheridan.

Film noir fans will probably enjoy Nora Prentiss most, as will Sheridan admirers. I just wished it was truly an Ann Sheridan film.

As for Ann Sheridan’s career, while she is well-liked, you don’t see classic film historians and fans fawning over her or trying to elevate Sheridan’s legacy, like certain other “underrated” actresses who have become overrated by revisionism. Ultimately, a star’s work is their legacy, and as Ann Sheridan tearfully sings as Nora Prentiss, who cares what people say?

Ann Sheridan is the song bird in the gilded hotel cage for the last half of 'Nora Prentiss!'