The Big Clock (1948): Beware the Boss from HELL!

This post is part of the Sleuthathon,  hosted by Fritzi Kramer of Movies, Silently, from March 16th through March 17th, 2014.  Don your deerstalkers and have a great time!

Ironically, this is NOT a scene from The Lost Weekend!

Paramount’s 1948 thriller The Big Clock (TBC), based on poet/novelist Kenneth Fearing’s 1946 suspense novel, is not only a riveting hunted-man story with a fresh twist, but also a cautionary tale about what can happen if you let your job dictate your life:

1. You’ll miss your own honeymoon, as well as every family vacation.
2. Your marriage will suffer as your loving, understanding wife and child start to lose faith in you, along with your endless excuses, as your family life erodes.
3. What am I saying?  Family life?  What family life?  Kiss it goodbye!
4. Worst of all, when your obsessive, uber-controlling Boss From Hell kills someone in a fit of rage, you just might find yourself suspected of the crime!

Happily, in real life, TBC was a family affair, with director John Farrow (Five Came Back; His Kind of Woman) working with his real-life wife Maureen O’Sullivan (The Thin Man; Tarzan the Ape Man and its many sequels).  Last but far from least, Farrow cast the real-life husband-and-wife team of Charles Laughton and Elsa Lanchester, who also teamed up for Witness for the Prosecution, the latter earning Oscar nominations for both Charles and Elsa!  It’s even a reunion of sorts for star Ray Milland and composer Victor Young, who brought us the 1944 chiller The Uninvited, also starring Milland; who could forget the beautiful “Stella by Starlight,” as well as the delightful Road to Morocco? 

Poor George!  Maybe he can give his pursuers
the slip by pretending to be a light display! 

Stop the presses!
Overworked George Stroud
tells boss where to get off: Wheeling, West Virginia!

Noel Neill of The Adventures of Superman wishes
she could fly up, up, and away from fresh elevator operators!

Janoth Publication's big clock: The Hands of Fate!

"Georgette, it's not what you think! 
We're singing along with Pauline to "Do-Re-Me!"

Set in NYC (in 1948,that was present-day), TBC introduces us to George Stroud (Milland), letting us in on our anxious hero’s innermost thoughts as he hides in the giant clock in the Janoth Publications lobby at night.  George works for a huge Time-Warner/Henry Luce-style publishing company.  Director of Photography John F.Seitz (Double Indemnity; The Lost Weekend) works superbly in the film’s “docu-noir” style, with Edith Head’s costume design always a pleasure to see.  In flashbacks, we see that despite being married for seven years, George and his lovely and charming wife Georgette (O’Sullivan) have never had a honeymoon. We also learn  that the head man at Janoth Publications, Earl Janoth  (Laughton), hired George after he cracked a major murder case on his old newspaper in Wheeling, WV, and control-freak Janoth hasn’t given George a day off since, always snatching the Stroud family’s vacations from under them at the very last minute.  Adorably enough, George and Georgette have a young son, George Jr.  With the prestige and great salary Crimeways  affords him, George has always been reluctant to say “No” to Janoth, especially since Janoth does NOT take “No!” for an answer.  However, our hero is getting fed up, big-time!  So is Georgette, who sadly notes, “Sometimes I think you married that magazine instead of me…Little George hardly knows you...We’re like two strangers sharing an apartment.”  George and Georgette do their best to get as much family time as possible under the circumstances; perhaps that’s why the Stroud family’s names are all in various versions of the name “George”— papa George, mama Georgette, and son George Jr., sometimes even just calling each other “George” just for the heck of it.  At least it helps the family to keep track of each other!  You have to wonder how George and Georgette even got time to start a family!  

Louise Paterson tries to get her painting back, only to find she's in a bidding war!

Meet Pauline York, Janoth's mistress, an aspiring singer.
 Is she tired of singing for her supper, or does she have a veiled agenda?

Time really is money in Earl Janoth’s tight, suffocating world; for instance, this phone conversation between Janoth’s right-hand man Steve Hagen (George Macready from Gilda; Paths of Glory; My Name is Julia Ross): “On the fourth floor, in the broom closet, a bulb has been burning for several days.  Find the man responsible, dock his pay.”  I know we’re all trying to conserve energy (even back in the 1940s), but Janoth doesn’t have to be a tyrant about it!  In this sharp, twisty manhunt thriller, the renowned mystery writer Jonathan Latimer (The Glass Key; They Won’t Believe Me; TV’s Perry Mason) had ably adapted Fearing’s novel for the silver screen, with its blend of suspense, urban cynicism, and smart, snappy dialogue virtually intact.  I also find it intriguing that everything at Janoth Publications seems to be carved in stone, all cold and unyielding.   George does make big money at Janoth Publications,and it’s always cool to work in the big city, but I’ve also known people like George, who have grueling hours and no time to themselves, to the detriment of their family lives, with some co-workers even getting divorces from the pressure.

Check out the Crimeways Clue Chart!  That'll fix those no-goodniks!

I happen to love both the novel and the Paramount movie version of The Big Clock.  The book is more gritty and complex, but there’s also plenty of wry humor in it, too.  For example, in Kenneth Fearing’s novel, the Strouds actually have a little daughter, Georgia.  My husband Vinnie and I always get a kick out of the scenes with the Stroud family at breakfast; they always crack us up, because they remind us of our own goofy yet loving family life (not to put the whammy on it!  We’re great believers in not taking our happiness for granted).  For instance, here’s the Stroud family at breakfast in the novel, starting with papa George:

“Orange juice,” I said, drinking mine.  “These oranges just told me they came from Florida. 

My daughter gave me a glance of startled faith.  “I didn’t hear anything,” she said.”

“You didn’t?  One of them said they all came from a big ranch near Jacksonville….”

Here’s my own favorite Georgia Breakfast Bit Breakfast scene from the novel, where George regales us with The Adventures of Cynthia!  She’s…

“…about five, I think.  Or maybe it was seven… (she) also had a habit of kicking her feet against  the table whenever she ate.  Day after day, week in and week out, year after year, she kicked it and kicked it.  Then one fine day the table said, ‘I’m getting pretty tired of this, and with that it pulled back its leg, and whango, it booted Cynthia clear out of the window.  Was she surprised.”

This one was a complete success.  Georgia’s feet pounded in double-time, and she upset what was left of her milk…”

Some of the film’s grittier elements were softened a bit in the 1948 film version, probably for the Breen Office’s sake.  For instance, Janoth and Pauline’s fight in the film results from infidelity between Janoth and his mistress and possible aspiring blackmailer Pauline York (played by radio actor-turned-film star Rita Johnson from Here Comes Mr. Jordan; Sleep, My Love; Billy Wilder’s The Major and the Minor.  The film is as gripping as the book, sometimes more so.  In Fearing’s novel, our hero George Stroud talks about the “big clock” which inevitably runs our lives no matter what:

“Sometimes the hands of the clock actually raced, and at other times they hardly moved at all. But that made no difference to the big clock…all other watches have to be set by the big one, which is even more powerful than the calendar, and to which one automatically adjusts his entire life…” 

Keeping in mind that film is, of course, a visual medium, the “big clock” metaphor becomes a literal big clock — a huge clock/globe that can tell you the time anywhere in the world — and lots of little clocks sprinkled all over the headquarters of Janoth Publications, a Henry Luce/Time-Warner style magazine empire whose periodicals include ace editor George’s magazine Crimeways , as well as Airways; Newsways; Sportways; Styleways; etc. in the 1948 film version.  Janoth and Pauline’s fight in the film was the result of infidelity, but in the novel, their affair ends in murder when each accuses the other of being a closeted gay (keep in mind this was 1946).

"Georgette, darling, I was desolate!  Thank goodness
this was the film version so I couldn't get into worse trouble!"

George and Georgette better enjoy his firing while they can,
before George has to clear himself, by George!

Henchman Bill doesn't talk much, but I bet he's thinking:
"Life is too short to massage this jerk! I'm joining the Army"!

What's this? A sundial, used for a shady purpose!

It’s not all family fun and games when Earl Janoth’s mistress, Pauline York (Rita Johnson of The Major and the Minor; Sleep, My Love; Susan Slept Here) overhears George justifiably bellyaching to Janoth’s right hand man, Steve Hagen (George Macready from Gilda; Paths of Glory; My Name is Julia Ross) about his treatment at Janoth’s hands. At the Van Barth bar, Pauline tries to involve George in a blackmail scheme targeting Janoth, but George isn’t interested, though he does finally stand up to Janoth, getting himself fired and blackballed, and drowns his sorrows at the bar with Pauline, only to realize too late that he missed his train, with his disappointed family already heading to West Virginia without him. It’s The Lost Weekend time as the tipsy George and Pauline go on a bar crawl all over the East Side of Manhattan, hunting for green clocks to spite Janoth on behalf of a colleague who was fired for wanting to use red ink.  Sheesh, Ray Milland’s characters really need to knock off the booze!  Didn’t Ray Milland learn anything from The Lost Weekend?  George and Pauline drop by Burt’s Place (Frank Orth from; Lady in the Lake; Wonder Man, and of course, The Lost Weekend), where you can find anything from a bubble to a sundial, in keeping with the time theme.  The tipsy George and Pauline keep the sundial as a souvenir.  George is also lucky enough to get a painting by George’s favorite artist, Louise Patterson (Lanchester) .  Of course, she’d probably appreciate it more if George hadn’t taken it from her in an impromptu auction, as she huffs, “It’s a pity the wrong people have money!”

In Fearing’s novel, Janoth’s mistress is Pauline Delos.  Janoth and Pauline have a far more heated quarrel in this version, starting with sex between George and Pauline, which they’d apparently been doing for some time!  For people who are always swamped, they always seem to find time to be frisky!  Anyway, one night,  after a visit to Pauline’s pad, Janoth spots George in the shadows; fortunately, he couldn’t  actually see George clearly.   This time, Janoth and Pauline have a far more heated argument in the novel as they each draw first blood.  Compare and contrast each version:

The Movie Version:
Janoth: “At least this time he wears a clean shirt.”

Pauline: “Are you bringing that up again?  Throwing that cab driver in my face?  You never forget him, do you?”
Janoth: “No.  Do you?”
Pauline:  “No, you cheap imitation Napolean! 
Janoth:  “And you don’t forget the bellboy or the lifeguard  last summer, or the tout at Saratoga, and who knows how many others?  You don’t forget any of them, including the one to come.”

George leads the Crimeways manhunt for "Jefferson Randolph," with ace investigator Bert Finch!
He saved us all from The Thing from Another World, for goodness' sake!

Pauline: “Do you think you could make any woman happy?  Have you  lived this long without knowing that everybody laughs at ya behind your back?  You’d be  You’d be pathetic if you weren’t so disgusting!” (Ouch!)

The Novel’s Version
(Prepare for swear words and adult situations!)

“At least this time, it’s a man.” 

“Are you bringing that thing up again?  Throwing Alice in my face?...You talk.  You, of all people….What about you and Steve Hagen?...Do you think I’m blind?  Did I ever see you two together when you weren’t camping?...As if you weren’t married to that guy, all your life…Go on, you son of a bitch, try to act surprised.”

Well, Pauline is surprised, all right—dead surprised when Janoth loses it, killing  Pauline in a fit of rage!  Whango—was Pauline ever surprised!  Which just goes to show that booze, adultery, and vicious insults are no way to go through life, kids!  In the film version, George and Pauline’s relationship in the film ends as fast as it starts, with him waking up fully-clothed on her couch after their pub crawl.  Seeing Janoth’s car on the street, Pauline hustles the dazed George out the door. Alas, Janoth is outside waiting for his turn with the sly blonde. Though he doesn’t see George’s face as he slips out of sight, Janoth still suspects the worst. He lets Pauline have it, bludgeoning her with the heavy sundial, killing her instantly. The tight close-ups on the quarreling lovers’ angry faces, especially Janoth’s; nobody’s jowls quiver like Charles Laughton’s!   In any case, these scene adds enough intensity to make up for the bowdlerized argument before the murder.

The desperate but wily Janoth gets a brainwave: he’ll have Steve rig the clues to misdirect suspicion, and he’ll recruit the crack staff of Crimeways to track down the culprit, catching a killer and boosting magazine sales at the same time—and who better to lead the manhunt than our own George Stroud!  George can’t turn Janoth down this time; by leading the investigation, he can help to save himself do with some clever misdirection, buying time for our hero to find the real killer as the tension mounts ; George is actually doing double duty as both cat and mouse!  If George doesn’t deserve a huge bonus if he escapes this nightmare, I don’t know who does!  Fans of TV’s Harry Morgan of  M*A*S*H  fame will get a swell change of pace as a superbly sinister henchman!

On a bittersweet note, Rita Johnson didn’t quite live happily ever after.  In a twist of fate, Rita was seriously injured at a beauty parlor when a 40-pound hood which apparently frequently fell to the floor frequently.  Nowadays, she’d lawyer up and sue those dopes!  There were also rumors that Rita’s then-beau, Broderick Crawford (who went on to win an Oscar for All The King’s Men) had roughed her up, but there was no proof.  Rita managed to get supporting roles, but she was never really the same, and she died at the age of 52.To borrow a line from North by Northwest, it’s so horribly sad, how is it I feel like laughing?


https://lareviewofbooks.org/essay/the-booby-trapped-life-of-rita-johnson

R.I.P. to Pauline York, would-be blackmailer.  The cleaning lady isn't gonna like this!

Louise Patterson: "I think I've captured this mood rather successfully, don't you?
(Actual dialogue from the film as George is aided and abbetted by Louise!)

 
Check out The Los Angeles Review of Books for more on “The Booby-Trapped Life of Rita Johnson” by Matt Weinstock (August 13, 2013).” 

Leave it to a radio actor to help George save his bacon!
(Lloyd Corrigan is one of Team Bartilucci's favorite character actors!)

Baby, you're the greatest!  Wheeling, West Virginia,
we're going home, for keeps!

Milland’s superb performance balances suavity, sympathy, and desperation. He and O’Sullivan ring true as a loving couple whose relationship is being sorely tested. Laughton is marvelously odious and sadistic with a pathetic undercurrent. Macready makes a stylishly devious right-hand man. The supporting cast includes a silent, sinister young Harry Morgan as a masseur-cum-henchman.  I was delighted to see one of our favorite character actors, Douglas Spencer of Double Indemnity and The Thing from Another World as Crimeways  reporter Bert Finch (not to be confused with Burt from Burt’s Place, played by Frank Orth); and the ever-jolly Lloyd Corrigan (the Boston Blackie films;  It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World;  The Manchurian Candidate)  played Burt’s pal, a radio actor of a thousand  guises,  including the faux suspect known only as “Jefferson Randolph.”  TBC has been reworked twice, as 1987’s No Way Out and 2003’s Out of Time. They’re both fun movies, but TBC is still my favorite version of the story.




  

X: THE MAN WITH THE X-RAY EYES: I’m Looking Through You

In honor of the Roger Corman Blogathon, created by fellow blogger Nathanael Hood of Forgotten Classics of Yesteryear, Team Bartilucci is blogging about X: The Man with the X-Ray Eyes (1963).

Dorian's View:
The X... DVD includes a great commentary track by the sepulchral-voiced Corman himself, as well as the movie’s trailer and its original prologue, which comes across like a well-done documentary about people and their senses. Vinnie quipped, “This could turn into a nudist flick any minute!” In voice-over, we learn how people compensate when any of their senses no longer function (we see a deaf man using sign language and a blind man with his Braille Reader). Suddenly Ray Milland stumbles onto the screen, and we’re startled to see that his eyeballs are pitch-black—not as freaky as the opening Corman eventually opted for in the theatrical release, a long tight shot on a bloody eyeball, but either way, X… grabs your attention and doesn’t let go!

 

I can see for miles and miles: Ray Milland

Ray Milland had always said that The Lost Weekend and X… were the films that he’d been the most proud of during his long acting career. I can understand why; both movies hit you in the gut, the heart, and the mind. Milland plays Dr. James Xavier, a dedicated doctor and medical researcher. As is often the case in Corman’s movies, Jim’s an outsider, a maverick. His unorthodox but brilliant experiments in ophthalmology attract wary looks and accolades in equal measure. He’s developing an eye-drop formula that could bring human eyesight to another level, one that would enable physicians to help their hospital patients by literally “seeing inside them, as if they were windows…seeing their sicknesses with a clarity that would make X-rays a tool fit only for witch doctors.” Jim and his supportive, attractive colleague Dr. Diane Fairfax (stage actress Diana Van der Vlis) test Jim’s eye-drop formula on a cute little monkey in their lab—but the poor critter dies after getting, um, super-vision. “What did he see? What did he see?” the worried Diane wonders. She and their friend and colleague Dr. Sam Brant (Harold J. Stone) are supportive, but the skittish higher-ups who run their hospital cut off Jim’s funding. Jim decides to eliminate the middleman by experimenting on himself. Didn’t he learn anything from The Invisible Man, Dr. Jekyll, Andre Delambre, and so many other well-meaning but ill-fated scientists who came before him?

It’s all fun and games when Jim is able to see through party guests’ clothing thanks to the magic of Spectarama, a photographic gimmick that makes Jim’s X-ray viewpoint look kinda like those colorful crystal prism suncatchers you find in New Age novelty shops. Kudos to Diane for having a sense of humor about this wacky episode! (I got a kick out of the doctor guests using syringes to mix their cocktails.) Milland and Van Der Vlis have a charming, sophisticated chemistry together, making them a delightfully urbane couple. But when a fatal accident propels Jim into the life of a fugitive (director of photography Floyd Crosby does a great job here, especially with the suspenseful, claustrophobic scene where Jim flees down flights of stairs), X… becomes increasingly tense and thought-provoking. Jim doesn’t have a moment’s peace one way or another; he can’t even close his eyes to sleep because of his X-ray vision (note the progressively larger, darker, clunkier sunglasses he wears over the course of the film). When Jim snaps, “Get out of my sight,” you don’t know whether to laugh or cry, because that’s literally impossible for him now! The peril of playing God is a time-honored trope, but Corman and screenwriters Robert Dillon and Ray Russell do a great job of blending parables, suspense, and science fiction. Les Baxter’s quicksilver musical score ably covers the many moods of X… In addition to being a box-office hit, X… won the 1963 Best Film Award, The Silver Spaceship, at the First International Festival of Science Fiction Films.

This tight, tense, thought-provoking science fiction thriller packs a wallop, with excellent performances all around. Don Rickles was a revelation in a rare dramatic role as Crane, a sleazy carnival barker who makes the most of our beleaguered hero’s X-ray vision by casting him as “Mentallo” in a mind-reading act. Keep an eye out for Corman regulars Dick Miller and Jonathan Haze in the Mentallo scene, as well as an earlier scene with uncredited bits by character actors Morris Ankrum (I Wake up Screaming, Lady in the Lake) and John Hoyt, the most angular man in show business (My Favorite Brunette, When Worlds Collide, The Bribe, TV’s Gimme a Break).

How Dr. X. sees the world: This is Spectarama!

Vinnie's View:
This is rather an interesting change for us, 'cause it's the first time The Wife and I are writing about the same film. While her milieu is more the noir films, tongue-in-cheek thrillers, and other more respectable genres of film, I lean more towards the science fiction and fantasy areas, with a sub-major in comedy. So upon hearing about the Corman-a-thon, I took the initiative and suggested this film. I knew there'd be a dogfight for Little Shop, but X had always held a place in my heart for being a great example of what can be done under the guise of a simple B-picture.

After quite a bit of television work, Ray Milland made three films in rapid succession over two years for American International: The Premature Burial, one of Corman's Poe adaptations; Panic in the Year Zero, a classic Cold War thriller in which the bomb drops on L.A. and the people must do the best they can afterwards (which Milland also directed, and another film which I could go on about for quite a while) and the film we're discussing today, X: The Man With X-Ray Eyes. Milland took to the fast-paced world of independent film-making easily; Corman describes him as a good man to work with, and utterly professional.

Co-writer Ray Russell came out of the gate with a first script that was also a far better film than it's remembered being, William Castle's Mr. Sardonicus, based on Russell's own novella. He followed this up with The Premature Burial, and another all-but-forgotten madcap classic for Castle, Zotz! So he came onto X with a short but solid resume. Corman's initial concept was for a jazz musician to gain the titular powers after excessive illegal drug use; the final idea of a research scientist experimenting on himself gave them the ability to examine the question without being forced to portray the drug as "evil".

Milland does not play Dr. Xavier as a "mad scientist." His experiments are solely for the benefit of mankind, as he displays early in the film, where he corrects John Hoyt's diagnosis of a young girl's heart ailment by looking into her and finding a tumor that escaped being caught on x-rays. The implication is that continued use of the drops may cause mental instability, which seems the case when in a fit of anger he knocks his friend and fellow Doctor Sam Brant (played by character actor Harold J. Stone) out a window.

A theme throughout the film are the ways that people would use the ability to see beyond the visible spectrum. Diane has to ask what the practical uses would be; Xavier uses them to save the young girl's life. It's only after he's forced to play the fugitive that he explores the more mercenary advantages of the power. He hides out in a carnival, hiding in plain sight as a mentalist; people naturally assume his ability to see people's secrets is a simple sideshow con. One carny presumes that the power couldn't be real; if it were, such a person could rule the world with it. But Don Rickles (who damn near steals the film as the carnival barker Crane) realizes that the trick is no trick at all, and has an idea on how to exploit it. He opens up an office in the Skid Row area and lets the word spread that Xavier is a "healer", and doesn't charge for a consultation, but will happily take "Donations." It's an interesting scenario; he's taking advantage of the poor people's simplicity and fear of hospitals, but Xavier is giving them solid medical info. Dr. Fairfax tracks him down after a number of people come to her practice with exactingly correct diagnoses for their ailments. As he grows more desperate, only then does he use his abilities where everyone else would have gone first: Las Vegas. By this point the pressure is getting to him, and he grows swaggering and arrogant as he wins hand after hand. Bad move, as when they challenge him on his skills, he loses his protective goggles and reveals his transformation, shown through a pair of Sclera lenses that must have hurt like hell.

This film was shot in a mere 15 days of principal photography, a schedule Corman describes as luxurious for him, as most of the time he would shoot in 10. But even there, he had the time to make the film look bigger than it had a right to be. He drove to Vegas and the Long Beach carnival pier with his cameraman to get enough B-roll footage to make the end of the film look like the cast were there as well. To show the way Xavier saw the city, Corman got second-unit footage of buildings still under construction, cutting them together to make it look like the doctor was seeing the facades vanish, revealing the girders beneath.

Corman is legendary for his work, and for the people he's mentored into Hollywood's upper echelon. Ron Howard got to talk about him when he got his honorary Oscar in 2009. I include the speech here as a testament to a man who can squeeze a nickel and get two dimes, and take an idea about a guy that can see naked people and get a classic.


2009 Governors Awards - Ron Howard toasts Roger... by dreadcentral

THE LOST WEEKEND Goes COLD TURKEY: “One’s Too Many and A Hundred’s Not Enough” by Team Bartilucci

This week, we of Team Bartilucci will take a look at substance abuse on film—the serious side and the satirical side, in that order!

Dorian’s Pick: The Lost Weekend (1945)

Films about people in the throes of substance abuse and all that goes with it usually depress and/or annoy me, especially since we’ve known alcoholics and other addicts of various stripes over the years. Sadly, some of these people were unable or unwilling to kick the habit until they became sick or dead, in spite of getting every possible form of treatment to overcome their demons (granted, treatment options have evolved over the years). But the frank, uncompromising 1945 movie adaptation of Charles R. Jackson’s searing novel The Lost Weekend (TLW) got under my skin because I’ve always found the story of protagonist Don Birnam’s painful lack of confidence (softened from the novel’s bisexuality) to be so movingly rendered in the screenplay by director Billy Wilder (one of my favorite directors) and Charles Brackett, and powerfully acted by Ray Milland in the performance of his career. Unlike cute, funny movie drunks like Dudley Moore as Arthur, or William Powell and Myrna Loy as The Thin Man’s hard-drinking yet endearing and high-functioning Nick and Nora Charles, Don is no lovable lush. The film follows Don as he’s nearing his lowest point, having been an alcoholic for the past six years and been on the wagon for the past ten days—until today. Don’s younger brother Wick (Phillip Terry) and his devoted girlfriend Helen (Jane Wyman, three years before she won her own Oscar for Johnny Belinda), have been trying to be supportive in every possible way, including tough love, but despite his good intentions, Don falls off the wagon hard every time, and alas, this day is no exception. One thing leads to another, and Wick leaves town for the weekend without Don, with Helen only sporadically available thanks to her job at Time (not that it stops her from hanging around his door, worrying). Now the real story begins as Don hits rock bottom at the start of a long weekend in New York City—really a long, dark four days and nights of the soul, running the gamut from petty larceny to a terrifying night in Bellevue and an escape to home with only the DTs for company. The Lost Weekend is as dark and intense as a film noir. John F. Seitz’s moody Oscar-nominated cinematography captures the signs of Don’s addiction in quietly chilling images: wet glass rings multiplying on a bar surface over time; unsold liquor bottles in store windows, silently taunting him; the shadow of a hidden bottle in a light fixture in his apartment, which Don treats as no less than a miracle. Great cast, too, including Howard da Silva, Frank Faylen, Doris Dowling in her film debut, and in a small but crucial role, one of my fave character actors, Douglas Spencer  (Double Indemnity, The Thing…, Diary of Anne Frank, etc.). Despite the downbeat subject matter, the film was a hit with critics and moviegoers alike—and actually inspired some damn funny TLW spoofing, such as the chandelier gag near the end of My Favorite Brunette and the 1947 Bugs Bunny cartoon Slick Hare, where Milland pays for his drink with a typewriter and gets several tiny typewriters as change. TLW’s many awards included 4 Oscars, including Best Picture, Best Adapted Screenplay, Best Director for Wilder and Best Actor for Milland, with nominations also going to editor Doane Harrison and the haunting theremin music of one of my favorite composers, Miklós Rózsa. TLW balances tragedy, terror, and gallows humor so beautifully, I can’t take my eyes off it whenever it’s on TV. Despite being released in 1945, TLW still packs an emotional wallop today.

Vinnie’s Pick: Cold Turkey (1971)

In our last collaboration, I went on about the untapped potential of Dick Van Dyke in respect to his titular role (a term I just love saying, and so rarely get the opportunity) in Fitzwilly. In said piece, I quickly mentioned the 1971 satire Cold Turkey, and am pleased to have the opportunity to elaborate on such here. It's an oft-forgotten film, known mostly for being one of Randy Newman's first forays into songs for the films.  But thanks to the growing print-on-demand DVD industry, the film has been made available to the general public again.

It's based on the classic comedy trope that has brought us films like The Producers, The Mouse That Roared, and Bamboozled; that of an outrageous plan intended to fail, and the chaos that erupts when it accidentally succeeds.  Mervin Wren (Bob Newhart) is a PR flack for the Valiant Tobacco company.  He proposes a way to make Owner and CEO Hiram C. Grayson (Edward Everett Horton's last role; he passed before the film's release) as beloved to history as Alfred Nobel: offer a prize of $25 million dollars (a princely sum in 1971) to the first town that can quit smoking en masse for thirty days. The idea was that no town could achieve such a feat, so the money would never be collected, but the offer alone would make him appear a humanitarian.

But the little town of Eagle Rock, Iowa had grown so distressed over the loss of a nearby military base (and its requisite jobs) that they saw this as a godsend, or at least its spiritual leader, Rev. Clayton Brooks (Van Dyke) did.  Usually trying to whip his flock into a frenzy (and succeeding only in barely keeping them awake), he now whips the entire populace into a desire to quit smoking.  He ends up driving one unable-to-quit citizen out of town for the month, and the townspeople get the last holdouts to sign the pledge by hook or by crook.  By the time of the deadline, only Eagle Rock has succeeded in getting everyone to quit.

The town turns to madness quickly, both as a result of the lack of tobacco and the sudden attention of the media their simple act has spurred.  The networks set up camp in town, and advertising opportunities stream in, along with tourists. Brooks becomes an overnight sensation, making the cover of Time.  And all along, Mervin Wren is madly trying to bollix up the town's low-nicotine situation. It ends bittersweetly, with helicopters, the President's cufflinks, and two people lying on the ground shot.  Like many films of the past, it is as topical today as it was upon its release.  The cash amounts are wildly larger now, but nowadays the tobacco companies are forced to finance their own negative campaigns via the multibillion dollar lawsuit that now funds (among many other things) the "Truth" ads you've seen for so long now.  People are still trying to quit, and the companies are still making it look like they want to help while all the while hoping they don't.  The news media has expanded its grasp as well, but they can still transform a town when they descend upon it for a story, and rarely for the better.

The script is simple, the directing capable, both the work of Norman Lear, approximately 18 minutes before All in the Family hit the air, and released shortly after.  The cast is a Who's Who of television soon-to-be stardom, including Jean Stapleton, Vincent Gardenia and Barnard Hughes.  But the film's three tentpoles (OK, technically four) are Van Dyke, Newhart and the comedy team of Bob & Ray. Van Dyke plays Brooks as an unswerving servant of God who slowly gets his head turned by the potential of fame this media circus has spawned.  Newhart is possibly the best Small Angry Man in film history.  His "slow burn" puts Edgar Kennedy on notice, the seething anger that whistles out his ears as his plans gang aft aglay is priceless.  Like Van Dyke and Andy Griffith, the roles he played in film were all but forgotten once he became a star on television, and that's a damn shame.  The dry humor of Bob & Ray threads its way through the film as they play the multiple roles of almost every member of the media we see on film, including parodies of Arthur Godfrey, Paul Harvey and Walter Cronkite. 

It's a vicious little film, filled with performances you never got to see these actors give again as their careers took such different paths.  And while many films look at such addictions with great seriousness, this one found a way to tackle a serious subject with humor, while still making the bad guys look like the bad guys.