Friday, July 3, 2009

Winsor McCay: Animation Pioneer

According to animation icon Chuck Jones, "The two most important people in animation are Winsor McCay and Walt Disney. I'm not sure who should go first." Although we at the Bijou would also include Max Fleischer, we too would find it difficult to determine who would go first.

Though in his lifetime he enjoyed considerable acclaim for creating the Little Nemo in Slumberland comic strip and the landmark Gertie the Dinosaur animated classic, McCay's work was largely forgotten in the twentieth century. With the recent publication of several biographies and compilations of his works, his life and boundless imagination is at last achieving critical acclaim by modern audiences. Perhaps most amazing is that he began this incredible career not with formalized instruction, but by wowing his teachers and classmates with chalkboard drawings at the age of 13. He found their enthusiastic responses exhilarating, setting the stage for a lifetime of creative accomplishments.

Spring Lake, Michigan didn't offer much opportunity for the gifted young man. At age 19, McCay's father wanted his son to forego his artistic ambitions and pursue a career in business. Though he was sent to Ypsilanti to attend Cleary's Business College, young McCay instead ran off to work at a dime museum in Detroit called Wonderland, a bizarre blend of circus acts, freak shows, vaudeville and museum exhibitions. There he honed his artistic skills by drawing caricatures of patrons and later designing posters amid a creative hodge-podge of clowns, acrobats, bearded ladies, con artists and carnival barkers.

When he was 24 and working at a dime museum in Cincinnati, McCay was smitten by and married a flirtatious 14-year old admirer. During five years they had two children, and the responsibilities of fatherhood motivated a transition from earning little income in the bohemian world to a more substantial income working in the newspaper business.

In 1903 the demand for illustrators and cartoonists at big-city newspapers was on the rise, and McCay earned a staff position at The New York Herald. His early assignments consisted of a mix of reporting, editorial writing and drawing illustrations.

A year later McCay created a popular daily comic strip called Dreams of a Rarebit Fiend, which was published from 1904 to 1913.

The brilliant Canadian journalist Jeet Heer vividly describes this series in The Virginia Quarterly Review: "Each strip followed the same general plot: a dreamer would have some sort of nightmare related to his or her daytime life and wake up at the last panel, inevitably blaming the harsh vision on ill-digested cheese (the rarebit of the title). But the nightmares had decidedly mature content: a man mocks Darwin and then turns into a monkey; a woman receives a leather purse from a male admirer which turns into an alligator eager to consume her; a parson dies but rather than receiving his eternal reward is cast into the fires of hell."

In 1905 McCay created a Sunday comic strip for children called Little Nemo in Slumberland. While Rarebit Fiend told harsh, cynical tales set in a nightmare world, Little Nemo described the adventures of an imaginative child inhabiting a fantasy dream world. The little boy in the new series was inspired by McCay's young son Robert.

There has been a huge resurgence in admiration among comic book fans and artists for Little Nemo and several amazing compilations have recently been published, including "Little Nemo in Slumberland: So Many Splendid Sundays!" and "Winsor McCay: Early Works, Volumes 1-10."

In 1906 vaudeville had become a fashionable tradition in theaters across America, and among the comedians, acrobats, minstrels and magicians was a popular genre called the "chalk-talk artist." These were entertainers who would talk to the audience while drawing images on a chalk board. McCay's talents and the Little Nemo comic strips were ideally suited to this format, and soon McCay found himself sharing the vaudeville stage with the major entertainers of the day. (resonating back to his childhood days entertaining his classmates in much the same way.)

The art of animation was in its infancy at the beginning of the twentieth century, and McCay couldn't resist trying to figure out how to make his characters and stories come to life. An idea was inspired by his son's flip books - and four thousand individual drawings later the animated Little Nemo cartoon was born.

The original title for the animated version of the comic strip is Winsor McCay, the Famous Cartoonist of the NY Herald and His Moving Comics (1911) and in the film McCay boasts to his genteel friends that he can bring to life his famous comic strip characters by making 4000 drawings in one month - and then make them move.

We see McCay enlist the Vitagraph Company to do the filming and when completed he shows off the charming results to his astonished colleagues. The animated sequences were hand-colored frame-by-frame on 35 mm film stock, adding to this amazing accomplishment. The Little Nemo short was first showcased as part of McCay's vaudeville act to enthusiastic acclaim, then subsequently shown in movie theaters.

How a Mosquito Operates (1912) was McCay's second animated cartoon and one which some may find rather disturbing. Again and again in this brief six minute nightmare we witness a sadistically mischievous mosquito pierce his elongated stinger into various parts of the victim's head, each time expanding the mosquito's blood sack until it finally explodes.

After this film was completed in 1911, McCay made a decision that he would come to regret for the rest of his life. After seven years working for The New York Herald and becoming one of the most celebrated artists of his day penning three immensely popular comic strips, McCay requested a leave of absence. He was eager to take a break and tour Europe for awhile and perform his vaudeville show.

When the request was denied, he waited until his contract expired and then accepted a very lucrative offer from the competition and joined The New York American as a staff cartoonist. The American was published by the notorious newspaper magnate William Randolph Hearst, and McCay had no idea of the demands that would soon follow.

His assignments at The American included creating editorial cartoons, illustrating recruitment posters and continuing with his daily comic strips. In the Hearst papers, "Little Nemo was published under the title "In the Land of Wonderful Dreams," since The Herald owned the Nemo name.

While fulfilling his routine duties at The American, McCay set out to develop what would become his masterpiece accomplishment in the field of animation. He had been frustrated that vaudeville audiences were not convinced his drawings were actually moving, but believed somehow the illusion was accomplished with sticks or strings. McCay came up with the grand idea of integrating his in-person live-action persona with the onscreen animation. This was several years ahead of similar innovations later developed by Max Fleischer and Walt Disney.

Thus was born Gertie the Dinosaur, the first cartoon "star" in animation history with genuine personality and emotions not adapted from a comic strip. Gertie debuted in Chicago in 1914 as part of McCay's vaudeville act to enthralled audiences and critical acclaim.

The premise involved McCay standing off to the right side of the movie screen dressed as an animal trainer holding a whip. First he would talk about the science of animation and how it was projected, then introduce Gertie with the crack of his whip. Audiences were astounded when Gertie "the only dinosaur in captivity" first poked her head out from a cave and then, on command, came lumbering out in all her gigantic prehistoric splendor. McCay would then issue a series of commands that Gertie would obey, such as bowing to the audience, lifting her foot, dancing, and interacting with a sea monster, a flying lizard and a woolly mammoth. For the grand finale, McCay would pretend to throw an apple at Gertie, which Gertie would catch in her mouth. He would then announce that "Gertie will show that she isn't afraid of me and take me for a ride" as McCay appeared to morph into an animated character himself, walk onto Gertie's back, take a bow and exit the frame to wild applause.

The Gertie animated sequences were subsequently reformatted for theatrical release as a short subject, with McCay and other actors performing in a prologue and epilogue with intertitles incorporated into the cartoon sequence communicating the story and McCay's various commands to Gertie.


About the time of Gertie's debut, McCay was told by his employer at The American that he was to cease wasting his time in vaudeville and animation and limit his cartooning and illustrations to the editorial page. This demand was backed by the contract he had signed with the newspaper. Henceforth he was to take his instructions from Editor Arthur Brisbane. Brisbane told his new cartoonist: "you're a serious artist, not a comic cartoonist. I want you to give up [Little Nemo] and draw serious cartoon pictures for my editorials."

Hearst biographer W.A. Swanberg describes Brisbane as "a one-time socialist who had drifted pleasantly into the profit system... in some respects a vest-pocket Hearst -- a personal enigma, a workhorse, a madman for circulation, a liberal who had grown conservative, an investor." (pp. 390-391)

While war was brewing in Europe Hearst and editor Brisbane advocated isolationism and that the States should try to understand Germany's perspective. In hindsight we have a better understanding of the political forces then at work in Europe and the United States, but at that time these views were prevailing American sentiment. McCay had his own ideas about the European conflict, but was trapped by his need to support his family and his extravagant spending.

The sinking of the Lusitania in May 1915 was a turning point for both the American Public and McCay. Three years later, McCay created what some scholars consider his finest animated short called The Sinking of the Lusitania (1918) This was different than anything McCay had produced previously, with graphic animated images of the German U-Boat torpedoes hitting and quickly sinking the giant ocean liner and killing 1200 people.

In 1921 McCay created a sequel to Gertie the Dinosaur, wherein Gertie visits New York City, called Gertie on Tour. Sadly, only a small fragment survives.

In 1924 McCay left The American and returned the The Herald (now The Herald Tribune), attempting to revive the Little Nemo comic strip. However, the public's tastes had changed. It was reported that McCay had been allowed to purchase all rights to Little Nemo for $1. McCay was quoted as saying "I have never been so happy as when I was drawing Little Nemo."

He returned once again to The American in 1926 to the singular task of drawing editorial cartoons for Arthur Brisbane, his glory days of creating comic strips, animated shorts and performing on the vaudeville stage becoming only fond memories that would sustain him until his death due to a cerebral hemorrhage in 1934.

Winsor McCay's rich legacy of original innovation and creative output inspired not only his immediate successors; Fleischer and Disney, but also generations of print and animation artists who have entertained and inspired us since those pioneer years a century ago.

Gertie the Dinosaur was selected for preservation in The National Film Registry, and is listed as #6 in The 50 Greatest Cartoons - a survey of animators and historians conducted in 1994 by animation historian Jerry Beck. Every surviving film that McCay made can be enjoyed on one DVD called Animated Legend: Winsor McCay. Many incredible examples of McCay's editorial political cartoons can be found at Golden Age Comic Book Stories

Here on our Bijou blog screen you can enjoy the original theatrical release version of Gertie the Dinosaur, where McCay communicates with Gertie through onscreen intertitles. We can only imagine what a thrill it must have been for 1912 vaudeville audiences witnessing McCay in person on stage interacting with the huge animated Gertie.


Wednesday, June 3, 2009

Forgotten Hollywood Treasures

Where on television today can you find Betty Boop, Laurel & Hardy, Our Gang or Flash Gordon? Sadly, these and countless other pre-1960 pop culture icons continue to be ignored by cable and network television gatekeepers.

A multitude of classic cartoons, short subjects and serials were last seen on our original Matinee at the Bijou series on PBS during the 1980s. Though not a prime-time show, Matinee was often rated among the top 10 shows on public television, besting such popular public television fare as Masterpiece Theater, Mystery, Frontline and Sneak Previews. Audiences loved the show and came back week after week for more.

While we remain steadfast in our search to secure a broadcast partner for the sequel series, hosted by the magnificent Debbie Reynolds, we continue to discover and secure a growing line-up of fascinating short subjects from the golden age of Hollywood, many not seen by audiences since their original theatrical releases.

The studios stopped producing short subjects altogether in the late 1950s as television became a household fixture, but in their heyday the shorts were the equivalent to what would become the sit-coms, variety shows, sports shows, cartoon series and news programs audiences could enjoy at home on the small screen.

Among our favorite theatrical shorts were the Hollywood behind-the-scenes newsreels produced during the 1930s, like The Star Reporter, Hollywood on Parade, Voice of Hollywood and Broadway Highlights. These little jewels foreshadowed today's Entertainment Tonight, Access Hollywood, American Idol and America's Got Talent TV shows.



The Star Reporter
newsreels were hosted by veteran sports commentator Ted Husing and served to introduce new and evolving talent, some going on to stardom. In one episode, 9-year old Bennie Bartlett sings his own original composition, and in another Ina Ray Hutton and Her All-Girl Orchestra let loose with some hot notes and hot moves, raising the roof until balloons descend to cover the orchestra in a grand finale.

One that was showcased on the original Matinee at the Bijou featured Dorothy Lamour's screen test, long considered lost until it surfaced in this entertaining Hollywood newsreel. The screen test proved a springboard for Lamour's career and landed her the starring role in Paramount's Jungle Princess (1936), opposite co-star Ray Milland. The marketing tagline was Her Exotic Beauty held all the allure of the tropic jungle! In spite of such corny dialogue as "You savage, untamed she-devil! I adore you!" the film made a lot of money for Paramount.


In her screen test Ms. Lamour sings a torch song that today would be considered politically incorrect in the extreme. As she lights up and smokes a cigarette she sings:

Love is like a cigarette.
You know you hold my heart
a glow between your fingertips.

And, just like a cigarette,
Love seemed to fade away
and leave behind ashes of regret.

Then with a flick of your fingertips,
it was easy for you to forget.
Oh love is like a cigarette.


On the blog screen below you can watch Ms. Lamour launch her career in this rarely-seen short from the Bijou cinematic time machine.


The Voice of Hollywood celebrity newsreels were independently produced on a shoestring budget by Louis Lewyn for Tiffany Pictures. Each of the 26 shorts produced between 1930 and 1931 is a bizarre visual amalgamation of radio and film technologies. Each has a different celebrity host filmed talking to celebrities on the telephone or in the studio from fictitious Hollywood radio station S.T.A.R. The celebrities were often filmed paparazzi-style at a social event, sports event or movie premiere with footage then integrated into the newsreel.

These vintage treasures feature Hollywood and Broadway stars from the silent and early sound era, like Gary Cooper, Marie Dressler, Buster Keaton, Mack Sennett, Tom Mix, Thelma Todd, Johnny Mack Brown, Lupe Velez and novelty acts like Webber & Fields and Ukele Ike.

In one Voice of Hollywood, two original members of Hal Roach's Our Gang (Little Rascals) series, Mary Daniels and Mickey Kornman, do a slapstick comedy routine wherein Mary proves she's a young feminist ahead of her time. Tom Mix drops by and actress Lupe Velez sings a song that just happens to promote her latest MGM studio release Cuban Love Song (1931).

In another, a very young John Wayne makes a cameo appearance fresh from starring in The Big Trail (1930), which was the first 70 mm widescreen movie ever made.


Twenty-six Hollywood on Parade shorts were produced between 1932 and 1934 and have much in common with the more primitive Voice of Hollywood series. Louis Lewyn graduated from producing the "Voice" shorts for independent Tiffany Pictures to producing and directing the "Parade" series for major studio Paramount Pictures. Television did not yet exist, so there was no Tonight Show or Entertainment Tonight where studios could otherwise cinematically promote their new big-budget releases.

Lewyn could now access Hollywood's grandest stars and biggest productions in creating his celebrity newsreels, including such luminaries as Charlie Chaplin, Jackie Cooper, Paulette Goddard, Mae West, Cary Grant, Rudy Vallee, Jean Harlow, Ginger Rogers, Jimmy Durante, Greta Garbo, Gloria Swanson, Fay Wray, Fredric March, George Burns & Gracie Allen and countless others.

In one delightful Parade entry, Helen Kane, as everyone's favorite vamp Betty Boop, visits a wax museum where she encounters Bela Lugosi as Dracula, who comes to life.

One of our favorite Hollywood on Parades was inspired by Congress ratifying the repeal of Prohibition in December 1933. For one thing, it featured Bijou benefactor Rudy Vallee, who warbled our original Matinee at the Bijou theme song. A nightclub setting on a Paramount soundstage is the locale for a mingling of celebrities and song. Cross-eyed bartender Ben Turpin is on hand to serve Jimmy Durante, Rudy Vallee and various other celebrities appearing in brief vignettes while sipping beer.

Durante needs to see a man about a dog, and his typical shtick is followed by the antics of Ted Healy and the original Three Stooges: Larry, Moe and Curly Joe. Next, Rudy Vallee arrives to mix it up and sing with songwriters Harry Revel and Mack Gordon. Revel & Mack wrote the song "Did You Ever See a Dream Walking?" and Revel gives us a taste. The songwriters perform a medley of their famous music.

Film historian and critic Leonard Maltin regards the Hollywood on Parade series to be the best of the inside-Hollywood celebrity newsreels. In his book "Selected Short Subjects: From Spanky to The Three Stooges" he writes: "Every studio at one time or another produced behind-the-scenes shorts. The most successful were Columbia's 'Screen Snapshots,' but the best were Paramount's 'Hollywood on Parade.' Paramount's shorts stand out from the others because they are the only ones that actually seemed to shoot good, fresh material, especially for the shorts, with their top stars."


Paramount shifted focus from Hollywood to Broadway to deliver to audiences "Intimate News of the Gay White Way." Adolph Zukor assumed the helm from Louis Lewyn for the Broadway Highlights pseudo-newsreel series that began as the Hollywood on Parade series ended. Famed sportscaster-turned-showbiz impresario Ted Husing once again hosts and narrates the continuing behind-the-scenes glimpses of pop culture icons with visits to cabarets and famous entertainment landmarks.

Eight editions of Highlights were produced during 1935 and 1936. The series kicked off in May 1935 with a stellar assembly of superstars, including Jack Benny, Fanny Brice, Earl Carroll, Gary Cooper, Jack Dempsey, Al Jolson, Beatrice Lillie, Otis Skinner, Sophie Tucker, Rudy Vallee, Paul Whiteman and Walter Winchell.

One of the Broadway Highlights we featured on the original Matinee at the Bijou included a visit to CBS Radio Playhouse to witness a rehearsal of "Laugh with Ken Murray," featuring a comedy routine with Eve Arden along with some swinging music from the Russ Morgan Band. Then a jaunt around the corner to the New York Winter Garden Theater to witness a tribute to the Schuberts on the 25th anniversary of the famous theater from a young Milton Berle, Bert Lahr, Phil Baker and other luminaries of the 1930s theater world. Then Ted Husing talks us across the George Washington Bridge to one of Broadway's most popular summer night spots, Ben Martin's Riviera. Highlights of the floor show included chorus girls, an incredible acrobatic dancer and some sensational moves from Spanish dancers Estelle & LeRoy.

____________________

Today we've looked at Hollywood celebrity newsreels produced during the 1930s at the outset of the sound era but there were many other notable examples released during the 1940s and 50s that we'll save for another day. In watching these remarkable films we witness the development of American popular culture and visit a world that no longer exists.

Should you or someone you know have access to film prints of celebrity newsreels, classic short subjects or serials in the public domain or for which you own the licensing rights for possible inclusion in the Matinee at the Bijou sequel series, we'd love to hear from you. Please contact Executive Producer Ron Hall: fesfilms@aol.com.

In the process of bringing back Matinee at the Bijou we're developing a network of film collectors, industry professionals and enthusiasts who know this history well and can share their expertise as we recreate together, in context, America's cinematic heritage.

Now, as promised, here is a fanciful example from The Star Reporter series, featuring Ted Husing and that cigarette girl ~~~



Friday, May 15, 2009

Ma and Pa Kettle in Cyberspace

Victoria Balloon described how Betty MacDonald’s novel and Universal Picture’s screen version of The Egg and I inspired the 1950s Ma and Pa Kettle movie series. Victoria picks up where she left off and provides an engaging behind the scenes look at this pop culture phenomenon.

In 1945 Betty Mac Donald’s “The Egg and I” was a wildly successful book, and in 1947 Universal Studios turned it into a successful film starring Claudette Colbert and Fred Mac Murray. While these two veteran actors brought a lighthearted comedic touch to their roles, it was a pair of secondary characters that became the favorites. Although Ma and Pa Kettle were only onscreen for 21 minutes, Marjorie Main’s gravel-voiced hollering and Percy Kilbride’s laconic replies made an indelible impression on urban and rural audiences alike. Main was nominated for Best Supporting Actress; Universal Studios and associate producer Leonard Goldstein sensed a goldmine.

There were eight films that Main and Kilbride made together as Ma and Pa Kettle, including The Egg and I. They were upper-end B films, taking on average three weeks to make for $400,000 or less. The first three films made Universal $8 million, and the entire run made $35 million. Leonard Goldstein produced all but one of the subsequent films. It is said that the Ma and Pa Kettle films along with Francis the talking mule brought Universal back from the brink of ruin, and though the critics panned the Kettle films, audiences in both the city and the country laughed. Goldstein remarked wryly, “Nobody likes my pictures but the public.”

The films built on one another as a sort of feature length serial. In Ma and Pa Kettle (1949) Pa enters a contest to win a free tobacco pouch and instead wins a futuristic Dream House with limitless technological comforts. The laughs center around Ma and Pa trying to figure out all the modern gadgets, while eldest Kettle Tom (Richard Long) has an on again off again romance with reporter Kim Parker (Meg Randall).

Pa no sooner gets the house figured out than he wins the Bubble-Ola Cola jingle contest and a trip to New York City. When Ma and Pa Kettle Go to Town (1950) they visit newlyweds Tom and Kim, who are having a few marital difficulties. A bank robber tries to dupe Pa into delivering stolen money to a gang in the city, but instead learns that there is no force more powerful than the destructive force of the Kettle Children.

With the help of Ma and Pa, Tom and Kim solve their differences, and in Ma and Pa Kettle Back on the Farm (1951), the first Kettle grandchild is born! Kim’s parents arrive from Boston to stay at the house, but Mrs. Parker’s controlling ways drive the Kettles back to their old place — which might have untold amounts of uranium on the property! Swindlers are foiled and snooty in-laws are won over by the folksy truths and innate goodness of the Kettle clan. Watch Ma & Pa spin their wheels racing a train in this zany clip.

Having successfully married off the first son, Ma turns to the second child, Rosie, in Ma and Pa Kettle at the Fair (1952). In order to send her to college, Ma hopes to win prize money for her jams and quilt at the fair, but in the kind of mix ups that could only happen to the Kettles, she ends up entering their old horse in a harness race. In order to save the town from the possibility of immense gambling debts, Ma throws the race and… Well, it’s better if the Kettles leave town till things blow over.

As it turns out, some friends of Mr. and Mrs. Parker had to cancel their vacation plans, sending Ma and Pa Kettle on Vacation (1953) to Paris! Pa tries to “borrow” some pipe tobacco and instead gets involved with spies and murder. A true patriot, Pa is willing to help break up the international spy ring, but it’s Ma who shows us how to use an ash tray on the back of someone’s head.

It’s the third son, Elwin, who needs to go to college this time in Ma and Pa Kettle at Home (1954). Elwin writes a marvelous essay about modern farming techniques, and it could land him a scholarship. The problem is, in order to award the final prize, the essay judges have to spend a week on the farm! Pa “borrows” from his neighbors to try to spruce up the place, but it’s the Kettle family’s Christmas spirit that teaches cranky neighbor John Maddocks and the judges what makes a farm a Home.

In Ma and Pa Kettle at Waikiki (1955) we see where Elwin got his talent for embellishment. Pa’s been sending letters to his cousin in Hawaii telling him that he’s a big banking executive, so when Rodney Kettle’s pineapple farm runs into difficulties, it’s only natural that he ask “P.A. Kettle” to come to Waikiki and save the business. It’s possible that Pa has met his match this time — Papa Lotus (Charles Lung) may be even lazier than he is! Fortunately Mama Lotus (Hilo Hattie) and the 12 Lotus children team up with Ma Kettle to save Pa from rival corporate thugs. Pineapple will never taste the same.

During this time Universal cartoons under the direction of Walter Lantz even introduced a brief series of animated “Maw and Paw” cartoons (1953-55). The first is an unabashed knock-off of the Ma and Pa Kettle movie: Milford the Pig (billed as “The Smart One”) oinks the answer to a radio show question and the family wins a modern car. The car’s gadgets give them no end of trouble until they run it into a tree, whereupon it is changed into a broken-down model-T, and the family is content. While the cartoons were never as popular as the films, audiences would have immediately recognized their source material.

The Ma and Pa Kettle films possess continuity in part because several of the supporting characters – Birdie Hicks and her perpetually unwell mother, fast talking salesman Billy Reed and several of the Kettle children — were introduced in The Egg and I and played by the same actors throughout the different films. However, the film depictions of these characters are very different from Betty MacDonald’s original versions. In her novel the Kettles are a composite of families MacDonald met during her time on the Olympic peninsula, and her descriptions are not flattering. On Ma Kettle:

Her whole front was dirty and spotted and she wiped her hands continually on one or other of her stomachs. She had also a disconcerting habit of reaching up under her dress and adjusting something in the vicinity of her navel and of reaching down the front of her dress and adjusting her large breasts. These adjustments were not, I learned later, confined to either the privacy of the house or a female gathering — they were made anywhere — any time. “I itch — so I scratch — so what!” was Mrs. Kettle's motto. (p. 114)

And on Pa Kettle’s method of “borrowing”:

Mr. Kettle broke the silence “Thingth ith putty tough thith year. [We learned the hard way that this was his stock approach to borrowing.] Yeth thir. Tough! The boys WON’T HELP MAW AND ME [his voice seemed to break bounds and rose and fell like the crescendos of a siren] and we can’t do it all alone and I GOT TWO THICK COWTH AND WE wondered if you folkth would give uth a hand becauth the boyth are working in the campth in the woodth logging and I CAN’T PLAOW ALONE AND THE OLD lady wondered if when you come down YOU WOULD BRING a little kerothine and a little pullet masth, ten cupth of FLOUR AND A FEW RAITHINS if you got ‘em.” (p. 118)





In the film versions, Ma and Pa’s oldest children are always well-groomed, intelligent and grammatical, but with the exception of Elwin (“A lank-haired mechanical genius”) and one of the Kettle’s daughters, Tits (“Even though Mrs. Kettle had already explained that the name Tits was short for sister, I found it impossible to hear the name without flinching”) MacDonald’s book dismisses the rest of the Kettles as “shiftless, ignorant and non-progressive but not important.” (p. 116) Clearly Ma and Pa Kettle became beloved characters not through MacDonald’s writing, but through the talents of the two wonderful character actors who portrayed them: Marjorie Man and Percy Kilbride.

When Marjorie Main began her career in theater, she changed her name from Mary Tomlinson to avoid embarrassing her father, who was a minister. She worked the Chautauqua and Orpheum vaudeville circuits and debuted on Broadway in 1916. She stopped performing for a time when in 1921 she married Dr. Stanley LeFevre Krebs, a doctor of psychology, but with his permission she later returned to the stage and began to do film. In 1935 Dr. Krebs died, and it was one of her particular quirks that she never stopped communicating with Dr. Krebs, even after his death. She would speak — and listen to his replies — sometimes in the middle of filming a scene.

She never remarried, and several authors in recent biographies have said that later in her life she had a long-term relationship with actress Spring Byington.

Main’s first film was A House Divided (1931), but her breakthrough films came from her re-creation of two of her Broadway roles: that of Baby Face Martin’s mother in Dead End (1937) and the down-to-earth landlady Lucy in The Women (1939).

Hoping to recapture the chemistry between Wallace Beery and Marie Dressler, MGM paired Beery with Main in a string of 1940s comedies, beginning with Barnacle Bill. During this time Main played character roles in both big and small pictures, often as the mother of villains (Dark Command), matrons (The Harvey Girls), and housemaids (Meet Me in St. Louis).

Before The Egg and I, Main and Kilbride had never worked together. Some mistakenly include Feudin', Fussin' and A-Fightin' from 1948 as a Kettle movie, but though both Main and Kilbride were in it, they did not actually play Ma and Pa Kettle. Eventually Main came to admire him greatly. "I consider Percy the best dead-pan actor in the business," she declared, "And a complete gentleman."

But for a man who played hundreds of roles in film, stock productions, and on Broadway, there isn’t a lot of biographical information on Percy Killbride. He was born in San Francisco to Irish-immigrant parents and was in theater since the age of eleven, beginning as an usher. His San Francisco theater career was put on hold by World War I; Kilbride was a Private in the army and served in France. His Broadway debut was in 1928 with The Buzzard, with his film debut as Jakey in White Woman five years later (1933). Like Pa Kettle, Percy Kilbride was a quiet, unassuming man. Unlike Pa Kettle, Kilbride dressed impeccably.

In 1942 when Warner Brothers wanted to do a film version of the popular play George Washington Slept Here, they cast Jack Benny as the caretaker, Mr. Kimber. Benny went to New York to see the play for himself and was bowled over by Kilbride’s understated comic performance. Benny insisted Kilbride play the role of Mr. Kimber in the film version (which worked out well for him, because Benny got the lead). Several takes were ruined because Benny could not stop laughing at Kilbride’s deadpan delivery. At 54, Kilbride’s film career began in earnest; he too became a character actor, playing the closed mouthed (Keeper of the Flame), plain country type (State Fair).

MacDonald’s book takes place on the Olympic peninsula in Washington state, but aside from a brief scene of a stationmaster reading The Seattle Times and fleeting references to Cape Flattery, The Egg and I and to a greater degree, the Kettle films, seem to unfold in a Rural America that is vaguely New England (Kilbride’s accent) vaguely Western (there are Indians) and vaguely Southern (the Kettle’s ramshackle home). This is undoubtedly intentional on the part of Universal. The Kettle films were part of a long line of hillbilly-themed entertainment that began in the late 1920s and became popularized in the 1930s. The term “hillbilly” is of uncertain origin, but one theory is that it was a combination of the Scotch-Irish “hill-folk” and “billy,” a term meaning “fellow” or “guy.”

As the American frontier pushed westward after the Civil War, the Appalachian region remained largely unchanged, rural and isolated because of its rough terrain. Short-stories and features in popular magazines like Scribner’s and Harper’s New Monthly Magazine depicted the region and its inhabitants as part of a backwards “otherness” existing in nineteenth-century America while the rest of the nation embraced modern industrialization. The famous feud of the Hatfields versus the McCoys in 1880 fueled the idea of quick-tempered mountain men, and by the 1930s the stereotypes of a people alternately atavistic and ridiculous were cemented into popular culture with Paul Webb’s illustrations in Esquire magazine.

Why were hillbillies and hillbilly culture so popular with Depression-Era audiences? Very possibly because the overwhelming feature of 1930s America was unemployment. As one scholar puts it: “The early 1930s forced middle-class urban Americans to consider seriously the unthinkable possibility that the whole damn shooting match of the American economic system itself was about to land them back in Rural Subsistence Hell.” Most Americans left farming a generation ago; the prospect of being driven back to it by economic hardship was gloomy indeed.

Depression audiences loved any entertainments that allowed them to escape fear through laughter, and caricatures and stereotypes of many groups, including hillbillies, were abundant. Urban audiences could take smug pleasure in laughing at hillbillies as “other;” rural folks could laugh at them as somebody even dumber than they were often portrayed. Both urban and rural audiences could feel better about the economic system that had them at their mercy; so long as somebody was beneath them, they must be moving up.

The 1930s had a whole host of entertainments featuring backwoods humor. Radio shows like Lum and Abner and The Grand Ole Opry began nationwide broadcasting in 1932. Comic strips such as Al Capp’s Lil’ Abner and Billy De Beck’s Snuffy Smith appeared in 1934. There were animated hillbilly cartoons such as Friz Freeling’s When I Yoo Hoo (1936), Tex Avery’s A Feud There Was (1938) and Bob Clampett’s Naughty Neighbors (1939). Even Max Fleischer’s Betty Boop managed some down-home clogging in Musical Mountaineers (1939).

But after World War II the stereotype of the inbred, feral, regressive hillbilly was seen as more offensive. Many people from Appalachian left the region for Mid-Atlantic and Midwestern cities to work in wartime factories; the stereotypes of the quick tempered, drunken, lascivious ne’er do well of sub-human intelligence were not appreciated.

Though the films retained some stereotypes (naiveté, disregard for strict hygiene, and an aversion to physical labor) Ma and Pa Kettle were less about hillbilly caricature and more a commentary on post-war values, emphasizing the importance of large, nuclear families and sacrifice for one’s children (even if Ma can’t keep their names straight). With humor combining ridicule and empathy, audiences could laugh at the bumbling pair out of place in modern cities like Paris and New York, and even their own Dream Home.

Though Ma and Pa were slovenly, lethargic and completely without middle class proprieties, they appealed to a post-War America also increasingly uncomfortable with the pace of modern life. Producer Goldstein reflected, “Maybe people feel a little superior and maybe at the same time they recognize a lot of things about themselves,” and Kilbride himself said, “Anybody, even the lowliest bum, can feel superior to the Kettles.” Even now we can laugh at and enjoy these films because we see that the Kettles are basically good people. They love their kids and each other, and no matter how ridiculous the scrapes they get into because of their naïve outlook on life, it is that same unmodernized goodness that sees them through to triumph.

However, the comedic premise of the Kettles can only go so far. Once Universal sent Ma and Pa to Hawaii, where else could they go? After Ma and Pa Kettle at Waikiki, Percy Kilbride retired, possibly because of early symptoms of Alzheimer's disease. There were two Kettle movies without Kilbride: The Kettles in the Ozarks (1956) (with Arthur Hunnicutt as Pa’s brother Sedgewick Kettle) and The Kettles on Old MacDonald's Farm (1957) (with Parker Fennelly as Pa Kettle) but without Kilbride, neither one can truly be called a Ma and Pa Kettle film.

The Kettles on Old MacDonald's Farm was the final feature for Marjorie Main. She made a few television appearances, enjoyed riding in the Hollywood Christmas parade, and died in 1975 at 85. In 1964 Kilbride and friend actor Ralf Belmont were crossing a street in Hollywood when both were struck by a speeding car. Belmont was killed instantly, but Kilbride survived. Brain surgery could not save him; he died weeks later of pneumonia and his injuries at age 76.

While it is fascinating to study how images of rural life and the hillbilly came to be a part of American popular culture, ultimately one cannot dissect what an audience of a particular time and place calls comedy. the 1960s television series Green Acres and The Beverly Hillbillies were direct descendants of The Egg and I and the Ma and Pa Kettle films , and they also relied on the comedy of the “fish out of water” — either putting the country folk into a mansion, or putting the naïve city dweller back on the farm.

The appeal of the “fish out of water” comedy, and ultimately the Kettles, lies partly in the story, but in large part lies in the incredible talents of Main and Kilbride, who brought the characters to life. Simply put, when MacDonald’s version of Ma Kettle scratches herself, it’s disgusting; when Marjorie Main’s version does it, it’s funny.

Now that’s comedy, folks.
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For Further Reading:
Anthony Harkins, “Hillbilly: A Cultural History of an American Icon.” Oxford University Press US, 2005. Tim Hollis, “Ain't That a Knee-Slapper: Rural Comedy in the Twentieth Century.” Univ. Press of Mississippi, 2008. Jerry Wayne Williamson, "Hillbillyland: What the Movies Did to the Mountains and What the Mountains Did to the Movies.” UNC Press, 1995.

Betty MacDonald’s book, “The Egg and I” is a bitingly witty and entertaining read; however, published in 1945, it does contain all the racial prejudices of its day. It can be found at Amazon.com, or even at your local library (All quotes were taken from the original 1945 edition).

Period movie reviews are always interesting. Read what the critics at the New York Times thought of Ma and Pa Kettle, Ma and Pa Kettle Back on the Farm, and Ma and Pa Kettle at the Fair. Notice that at one of the movie openings Percy Kilbride performed live onstage! The Adventures of Ma and Pa Kettle Volumes 1 and 2 can be purchased online at Turner Classic Movies.

Watch this wonderful bit of down-home logic as Ma and Pa Kettle show Billy Reed how to do math in Ma and Pa Kettle Back on the Farm (1951)

Friday, May 1, 2009

The Egg and I: Which Came First?

First was the real life experience, then the book, magazine serialization and movie version followed by literary and movie spin-offs. The Egg and I has a rich amusing back story and contributor Victoria Balloon takes us behind the scenes.

Today’s movie audiences have rediscovered The Egg and I (1947), a movie based on the hugely successful autobiographical story of Betty MacDonald published just two years previously.

In this charming film starry-eyed former GI Bob MacDonald (Fred MacMurray) and his thoroughly urban bride (Claudette Colbert) go to the country to live an idealized version of raising chickens only to discover that life on the farm ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.

The story unfolds as a series of vignettes based on Bob’s dream of owning a chicken farm while his wife Betty gamely copes with the situations she finds herself in — up to a point. Neighboring chicken rancher Harriet Putnam (Louise Allbritton) possesses an authority with animals and an ability to handle farm life that Betty lacks, eventually becoming a rival for Bob’s affections. Though she did not exist in MacDonald’s book, her presence in the film provides the unifying thread and moves the plot forward.

(Unfortunately, the relationship between MacDonald and her husband did not end as well in life as it did in the movie; after four years without plumbing or electricity, the real Betty MacDonald took her two daughters and divorced her husband. A decade later she married Donald C. MacDonald and moved to Vashon Island in Puget Sound.)

Claudette Colbert is well-known to audiences as a star of both film and Broadway in works ranging from screwball comedy to drama. She made her Broadway debut in 1923 with The Wild Westcotts and her first film when a theatrical producer recommended her for a role in Frank Capra’s only critical and financial disaster, For the Love of Mike. A silent film from 1927, it is now believed to be lost.

Appearing with Fredric March in Manslaughter in 1930 and as Poppeia two years later in Cecil B. DeMille's The Sign of the Cross began her reputation as a talented actress, and winning an Oscar for her role in It Happened One Night sealed it. In a career spanning over 50 years she was nominated for two more Academy Awards; all told she made over 80 films and television specials.

Fred MacMurray is most easily remembered for his roles in Disney classics such as The Shaggy Dog as well as his long running role as widower Steve Douglas in My Three Sons. He began his acting career on Broadway, appearing in the 1930 hit production of Three's a Crowd with Sydney Greenstreet and Clifton Webb.

MacMurray’s films are not as well-remembered as Colbert’s, and this is unfortunate. Like director Mitchell Leisen, with whom he made nine films at Paramount Studios, MacMurray’s work in the 30s seems to be largely forgotten by critics.

During this time MacMurray was in good films playing against excellent actresses — Hands Across the Table with Carole Lombard and Alice Adams with Katherine Hepburn. However, his most interesting roles came later when he was cast against type, such as amoral insurance agent Walter Neff in Double Indemnity and philandering executive Jeff D. Sheldrake in The Apartment (both films directed by Billy Wilder). In his 50 year career he made over 95 films and TV specials.

The Egg and I holds up so well today because of the easy chemistry between stars MacMurray and Colbert; the pair made eight films together, beginning with The Gilded Lilly in 1935 and ending with The Last Family Honeymoon in 1949. However, audiences today love the film not so much because of the appeal of MacMurray and Colbert, but because of the chemistry between another pair: Percy Kilbride and Marjorie Main, in the first onscreen appearance of that down-home couple, Ma and Pa Kettle.

With so much going for the film it’s difficult to understand why it was not well-reviewed when it was released. Indeed, the New York Times movie review on April 25, 1947 isn’t shy about listing the film’s faults:

For the nearest this watered-down rewrite gets to the solid soil is the dirt on the farm sets constructed on a studio soundstage. And the nearest it comes to realizing any of the diary's observation and wit is in a few farcified re-creations of some of its milder episodes.

That may be because the film's authors, Chester Erskine and Fred F. Finklehoffe, were too much intimidated by the cleanly Production Code to attempt a legitimate reflection of the racier substance of the book. But we rather have a suspicion that they were a little more concerned with making a quaint and cozy cut-up for the reliable women's trade.

Just what exactly was in a book about chicken farming that wouldn’t get by the Hollywood Production Code? As it turns out, plenty, which may in part be why the book was such a huge success.

While family and friends enjoyed MacDonald’s wry telling of her misadventures, the book never would have happened were it not for MacDonald’s sister, Mary Bard Jensen. While at a party, Jensen told an agent for a publishing company that her sister was writing a book, and MacDonald created the proposal for "The Egg and I" to save her sister embarrassment. The agent liked what he saw and a manuscript followed. Though at first rejected, the manuscript was serialized in the Atlantic Monthly and eventually published by J. B. Lippencott in 1945.

The book did extremely well, selling 3 million copies in hardback with editions in 32 languages, and made the MacDonald clan instant celebrities; in 1946 they appeared in a Life magazine spread. Ironically, the MacDonalds used the proceeds from "The Egg and I" to make improvements on their farm, building a barn and… a chicken coop. Extra eggs were later sold on Vashon Island and at Seattle’s Pike Place Market.

MacDonald continued to write about her life, following "The Egg and I" with "The Plague and I" (1948) and "Onions in the Stew" (1954). However she may be best remembered as the author of such children’s classics as "Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle" (1947) and "Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle’s Farm" (1954).

Published just after the end of World War II, Americans were ready for a laugh, and MacDonald’s book was well-received because of her self-deprecating humor and acidly-funny prose. Her experiences take place on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington State, and she broods on the rains the region is known for, saying “Along about November I began to forget when it hadn't been raining and became as one with all the characters in all of the novels about rainy seasons, who rush around banging their heads against the walls, drinking water glasses of straight whiskey and moaning, 'The rain! The rain! My God, the rain!” (p. 66)

Despite being well up in the mountains and many of the farms in the area without electricity or plumbing, wives were still expected to keep house as well as any woman with modern conveniences. Farm women were up and ready at 4 A.M. — a practice MacDonald could never get used to. One morning she had her nightgown still on at 8:30 A.M. when an unexpected visitor arrived:

I tried to sidle into the bedroom and slip on a housedress… but the puppy chose that moment to be sick and instead of throwing up in one place became hysterical and ran around and around the kitchen belching forth at intervals… [It] didn’t improve the situation any, especially as Sport, our large Chesapeake retriever, managed to squeeze past me when I opened up the door to put the mop bucket out, and bounded in to a first one then the other large muddy paw on Mrs. Wiggins’ starched lap. She screamed as though he had amputated her leg at the hip, which of course waked the baby… As I bathed the baby, Mrs. Wiggins handed me flat knife-edged statements, as though she were dealing cards, on how by seven o’clock that morning she had fed and cared for her chickens, milked five cows, strained and separated the milk, cleaned out the milkhouse, cooked breakfast, set the bread, folded down the ironing and baked a cake. It took all of the self-control I had to keep from screaming, “SO WHAT!” (p. 136)

It quickly becomes apparent why the book needed to be watered down if it were to be made as a film. MacDonald is a product of her times, and her descriptions of Northwest Coast Native Americans are by today’s standards racist: “The coast Indian is squat, bowlegged, swarthy, flat-faced, broad-nosed, dirty, diseased, ignorant and tricky. There were few exceptions among the many we knew.” (p. 210) Her accounts of their drunkenness and wife-beating could never be dealt with under the Production Code. Hollywood instead chose to make the characters of Geoduck and Crowbar into the stereotype of all things white America believed about “Indians,” and the result is pure farce.

Also at issue were MacDonald’s descriptions of her neighbors and the language that they used:

Mrs. Kettle began most of her sentences with Jeeeeesus Key-rist and had a stock disposal for everything of which she did not approve, or any nicety of life which she did not possess. “Ah she’s so high and mighty with her ‘lectricity,” Mrs. Kettle sneered. “She don’t bother me none—I just told her to take her old vacuum cleaner and stuff it.” Only Mrs. Kettle described in exact detail how this feat was to be accomplished. (p. 115)


While MacDonald does indeed have real affection for Ma Kettle, her husband describes Pa Kettle as “a lazy, lisping sonofabitch.” (p. 116) In the film a wildfire begins when Pa Kettle’s whiskey still explodes. In the book Pa Kettle deliberately sets the fire to avoid having to clean up the manure he has piled high against his barn. The sharp depictions of her neighbors actually caused the family which the Kettles were based on to file two lawsuits; the first was settled out of court, the second decided in favor of MacDonald and her publisher. In order to make the characters of Ma and Pa Kettle sympathetic and funny, they had to be watered down. The success of the film versions of Ma and Pa Kettle lies mainly with the wonderful portrayals by Marjorie Main and Percy Kilbride. This role garnered Main an Academy Award nomination for Best Supporting Actress.

The film version of "The Egg and I" for all that it may be “watered down” from the book, still had enormous popular appeal. It spawned a short-lived television comedy serial and was the first of eight Ma and Pa Kettle films. The Egg and I contains themes that film and the new medium of television would continue to explore: GIs returning from World War II to live lives they dreamed of in foxholes and nuclear families without material wealth focused on being together and helping one another. A generation later televisions shows like Green Acres and The Beverly Hillbillies poked fun not only at our rural pasts, but also at our obsessions for modernity and “having it all.”

Technological change advanced rapidly after World War II, and while the American public was content to settle down to stability, it was at times bewildered by modern conveniences and countless choices increasingly available in bulging supermarkets. Ma and Pa Kettle might marvel in the modern, but they are not ashamed of their lack of it; they just carry on blithely in their own way. Audiences might laugh at the countrified manners and rural life of the Kettles… but in the midst of post-war pressure to “keep up with the Joneses,” they might also yearn for their independent ease.

Betty MacDonald’s prose still reads well even if her views on race do not. "The Egg and I" is certainly worth a read, and can be found on Amazon, or even at your local library (All quotes were taken from the original 1945 edition).
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Here you can watch the trailer for the re-release of The Egg & I ~~~


Monday, April 20, 2009

The Serial Squadron

The technological wonders of the Web continue to foster a wide array of fascinating and important new social networks. Communication concepts once considered sci-fi are now common place on our home computers.

Comprehensive histories on most any topic, once locked away in private collections or someone’s brain, today are being collaborated into virtual online repositories of instantly accessible knowledge. This is a stunning and welcome new reality for those who cherish classic movies.

The Serial Squadron, aka The Academy of Cliffhanger Arts & Sciences, has been evolving online since 1998 and is dedicated to the preservation and perpetuation of classic movie serials. Not just the sound cliffhangers, mind you, but every single serial ever made that still exists or can be rediscovered.

This compelling website is a growing galaxy in the cliffhanger universe buzzing with interactivity. Admission is free and upon joining you are invited to assume an alter ego like Doctor Daka, Pa Stark, Barcroft, the Black Tiger, Brick Bradford or 39013. As Zorro the Fox recently welcomed a new member: “I hope you join the rest of us in having fun sharing our love of all things serial.” This includes online forums and chat rooms, restored serials on DVD, newly reconstructed lost serials, trailers, YouTube chapters and clips, books, radio serials on CD, brand new serials created by fans, and on and on.

The Serial Squadron was designed and continues to be maintained by Eric Stedman -- better known on the Squadron forum and chat boards by his alter ego, Dr. Grood. Eric took time out from preparing for SERIALFEST 2009, the annual Serial Squadron film festival devoted entirely to classic cliffhangers, to answer a few questions.

How did you become interested in serials?

My first exposure was in 8mm silent home movie form. Serials were run frequently by my father as entertainment for the gang of kids in our neighborhood and I often played piano or created recordings to accompany them. Funny, I'm still doing pretty much the same thing today! Zorro's Fighting Legion and Perils of Nyoka episodes were also run once a week on a local Philadelphia UHF station when I was about 10 years old and we watched them all.

I filmed an original one-reel serial spoof called THE PERILS OF PAUL on Standard 8 when I was in 6th grade which featured a villain in cape and top hat throwing knives at the unsuspecting, oblivious hero (played by my younger brother) whose fortune he wanted to claim, and trying to poison him with water colored green with food coloring and baking soda and vinegar in it so it would froth and foam. We could not get any girls to participate in the film (there were few in the neighborhood) so my friend Jonathan Struble from down the street appears in a dress and wig for one scene (LOL). My first exposure to serials made me think of them as fun onscreen entertainment for groups of family members or friends -- nobody ever watched them alone in our house -- and I still see their highest and best use for similar purposes today.

How and when did the Squadron originate?

My father Raymond William Stedman, author of THE SERIALS, SUSPENSE AND DRAMA BY INSTALLMENT, published in 1970, coined the name of the website which had originally been planned as something I would maintain to advertise printed material related to serials we had developed together and which was intended to be a central meeting place for fans to discuss cliffhangers.

There was no such thing in existence in 1998 and we remain the hub of online cliffhanger-fan activity today. Whether they love us or slam us, everyone interested in cliffhangers reads the Squadron forums and pays attention to what we are up to.

The website-club developed into a real-life club with the SERIALFEST all-cliffhanger film festival in 2001 and expanded into publishing DVDs, including the first published edition of Zorro's Fighting Legion in 2002, which was actually one of the first serials ever distributed on DVD.

What highlights from past SerialFests are among your fondest memories?

Two, without a doubt: 1) Showing Daredevils Of The West last year, first time in a theatre since the 1940s to a galvanized, awed crowd who knew they were participating in a once-in-a-lifetime experience brought to us courtesy of the knowledgeable Jim D'Arc of the BYU film archive, and 2) Watching a 35mm original of Nyoka And The Tigermen while sitting next to the sun goddess herself, Adrian Booth, in the same theatre, and listening to her comment about the actors as if it were the day after the film was shot. (By the way, she says the original colors of Vultura's skirt and cape were purple and green, respectively, with gold trim and turban)

(Cast of the 2002 serialFest Stunt show. Eric Stedman as Rocketman on the far right)

Tell us about The Serial Squadron’s restoration work.

We reconstructed the entire 15 episode Lone Ranger Rides Again serial from the subtitled Spanish print which had almost no opening or closing material, and the cliffhangers were all cut together. We restored every sound effect and all the music cues and subtitling for King of the Mounties. Another project was reassembling Beatrice Fairfax from negative footage all stored on reels out of order, as prepared for lab color-tinting. We are still working on the greatest serial puzzle which has ever come my way, The Masked Rider, approximately 1/3 of the pieces of which were either deliberately cut out, lost, or had decomposed. These things are worth preserving and putting back into approximations of their original form. They deserve to be presented in a way they can be enjoyed again, possibly by someone who's never seen a serial at all.

Do you get much help in your serial restorations from the Hollywood studios?

Chapter plays are at the bottom of the barrel of Hollywood's "preserve and restore" list. Few people even know that anything besides Flash Gordon and perhaps The Perils of Pauline ever existed. Although high-profile items such as Houdini's The Master Mystery have been given some attention, very little regard, even by the studios that made them, is paid to saving original cliffhanger serials and making them available to the public. More than historical or "nostalgia" items, serials are fun films that can still be enjoyed with the family as well as "collected" by fans. There are plenty of publishers out there now releasing serials on DVD from wherever they can find them, but few would have attempted some of the difficult jobs we've taken on.

Which serials from the silent and sound eras would you recommend for introducing someone to the serial genre?

Beatrice Fairfax or Perils of Nyoka for the ladies (It's a pity most of Pearl White and Ruth Roland's serials have disappeared -- those ladies did things in those films that haven't been done since even by modern actresses). The Masked Rider, Gang Busters, The Spider's Web and maybe a simple Western like The Rustlers Of Red Dog or Buck Jones' The Red Rider for the adult guys.

Flash Gordon, Zorro’s Fighting Legion, The Phantom Empire, and maybe Batman also for the kids because people would be familiar with the character and the old serial version will still be enjoyable long after the current mean-spirited Batman movies are forgotten. I saw bits of Batman as a kid and knew we had been at war with Japan when it was filmed; its non-PC nature did not pollute my sensibilities.

Captain Marvel's unprecedented lapse of judgment with his machine gun shooting spree in Chapter 1 of The Adventures Of Captain Marvel did, however, shock me and, despite the great tomb-discovery buildup scene with Shazam and the golden scorpion etc., turn me sour to the character. He really jumps the shark at that point, though he cleans up his behavior a bit later on. Even kids know that in war you don't shoot people in the back while they're running away. And there's no war on in that serial! So when I was little I did not take to Captain Marvel because he fought dirty! Luckily, there are better role models out there to be found in other serials, such as Zorro, who in Zorro’s Fighting Legion fought FOR the rights of the local natives -- in that case, the Yaqui Indians -- not against them.

Are any superheroes or henchmen among the Serial Squadron staff?

Prince Barin does a very efficient job shipping books and DVDs and also helps seek out original film prints for transfer. David "Dr. Daka" Sorochty often assists with research. Many others such as Packard enthusiast Ken "Six Figures" Chapman of Missouri and longtime serial collector Don "Red Racer" Michals of Indiana sometimes contribute stills & memorabilia from their collections. Serial trivia expert and host of our annual Serial Jeopardy competition Marc "Ace Drummond" Provost and author Len "Dr. Zorka" Kohl, among others, have contributed commentary to various DVDs. Terry Harbin, the unofficial historian of Ithaca, NY, where many very early serials were filmed, contributes invaluable scans of historical memorabilia and commentary for use in the Beatrice Fairfax series. Tom McGeeney, grandson of Patrick S. McGeeney, who ran Shamrock Motion Pictures in San Antonio, where The Masked Rider was originally filmed, has contributed immensely to background on that release. Other talents involved include stuntman/trainer Rick Deacon, lead-actress Allyson Malandra, actress/voice artist Brittany Kirkpatrick, actor and pirate re-enactor Matt Imparato, Stunt actor/fighter Colin Gordon, actor/TV entrepreneur Brian Albert (that's Brian in the photo above re-enacting a mad scientist), and many other local pro and non-pro actors and technical folks who help with re-creations and new productions.

Do you have a favorite among the Serial Squadron video releases?

I am partial to the silents and those serials which were the innovators, be they crude or polished. I am more likely to take on the job of restoring a damaged serial that exists only in partial condition which I think has historical value than something which is less unique just because a print might be found in "mint condition." In fact, I might even put that print aside because it's in less danger of being lost to decomposition than many others.

Beatrice Fairfax is a great series and spawned many "girl reporter" serials, The Masked Rider is an eye-popping original and undoubtedly influenced The Mark of Zorro which appeared the next year. King of the Mounties is a masterpiece of smooth shooting and editing, The Phantom Empire operates in a unique universe of its own, and there's nothing else like it. I also like The Voice From the Sky which, though not much is left of it and it doesn't always operate entirely logically, is still engaging and fun. The Adventures of Tarzan also continues to amaze me with its almost constant scenes of numerous lions and other animals interacting with the performers under conditions where no safety precautions were taken at all. The serials that interest me the most are the ones that started something, that included "firsts" or amazing "real" elements such as stunts performed without any camera tricks whatsoever, or the ones that are like no other.

What upcoming projects are you excited about?

I really like putting together the issues of the new SerialFest DVD Magazine, which allows serials to be enjoyed in installments as they were intended to be with the suspense leading up to the next thrilling chapter.

This summer we plan to film some episodes of the forgotten 1916 serial The Mysteries of Myra. This virtually lost serial was extremely influential because it brought almost everything related to the occult to the screen all at once. The plan is to approach the original script as if sound and color film had never been invented and silent films were still being shot, and see what comes of it. It will be a genuine "moving picture" without words, which I believe will still be capable of holding audience attention, and not only because the new leading lady is a genuinely striking beauty.

Some things which have been lost can and should be revived and this series -- an innovative 1916 cross between The X-Files and The Perils Of Pauline -- is one of them. The original serial was shot in Ithaca, New York, and we will be traveling there to shoot new scenes at some of the still-existing original locations.

Can you sum up the goals of Serial Squadron?

Give me your splicy, your incomplete, your tired, your poor 35 or 16mm prints and we will do what we can to bring them back to health and back into the "now" for new audiences of all ages. Among our goals is to provide reviews and commentary on all serials ever made in conflict-and-spam-free forums; to encourage new serial-makers and performers, and to produce new and worthwhile original Serial Squadron projects designed to introduce future generations to the world of classic cliffhangers.

Zorro's Fighting Legion was produced three decades before I first experienced it, but it was new to me. It'd be nice to think 10 year old kids in 2009 might be able to experience it as something new to them in the same way today.

SERIALFEST 2009 - the world's only all-cliffhanger film festival will be held at the Sheraton Bucks County in Langhorne PA, Thu-Fri-Sat-Sun May 14, 15, 16, 17, 2009. Film showings will include Drums Of Fu Manchu - The Secret Code - The Return Of Chandu - The Devil Horse - Isle Of Sunken Gold - Trail Of The Octopus - Beatrice Fairfax and much more. Plus a live presentation of the final chapter of The Mystery Mind, Valhalla’s Pirates visiting and sword-fighting in person, Serial Jeopardy, panel discussions, and the live stage melodrama THE BLACK CANYON with special guests Brittany Kirkpatrick and Tom McGeeney. If possible -- Attend -- and remember that nothing is impossible in the world of serials. No matter how hopeless, good will always triumph!

Here is a brief sneak peek at what’s in store for you in the third edition of The Serial Squadron’s SerialFest DVD Magazine. It’s an excerpt from The Serial Squadron’s restoration-in-progress of the first talking serial: The Voice from the Sky (1930)



Wednesday, April 8, 2009

A Face in the Crowd

If challenged to determine the top five movies ever made, with social satire centered on a rising star as the dominant theme, most lists would be populated with such timeless treasures as Citizen Kane, Meet John Doe, Network, Being There, The Candidate, Dave, Bulworth and Bob Roberts, among many more.

However, among the most provocative in this genre is the little-known and rarely-seen A Face in the Crowd (1957). Directed by Elia Kazan and written by Budd Schulberg, the film stars Andy Griffith (in his first screen role), Patricia Neal, Anthony Franciosa, Walter Matthau and Lee Remick. A scathing and cynical cinematic satire, the plot relates the fictional account of Lonesome Rhodes, a charismatic folk-singing sociopath manipulated into the national spotlight as a media superstar only to disintegrate when his true character is exposed.

A Face in the Crowd was simply ahead of its time when released during the Eisenhower era and flopped at the box-office. The film remained in obscurity for many years, but is finally enjoying an overdue and welcome renaissance on DVD. Bijou friend and colleague John McElwee last year wrote an incisive and entertaining commentary on this timely classic and has graciously consented to our sharing with you an edited version. The entire article can be enjoyed at John's captivating site Greenbriar Picture Shows.


Revisiting A Face in the Crowd

By John McElwee

So many writers condescend to the fifties. There's talk of naiveté and that more innocent time prior to worldliness we're supposed to have attained in a crucible that was the sixties. Was A Face in the Crowd another of those films they just couldn't handle on first-run (along with Ace In The Hole, Vertigo, Touch Of Evil, and others) or are historians selling us a bill of goods that folks were too dumb then to get it the way we do now? Latter meditations on A Face in the Crowd are all about its chilling prophecy and our dark world of media and politics it foregrounded. Never mind which elected official embodies Lonesome Rhodes. They all have (or still do) depending on who you read.

Maybe we need reminding that director Elia Kazan himself regarded A Face in the Crowd as satire. He lived long enough to see his japery do service for agendas with shorter life spans than a black-and-white flop made fifty (two) years ago and, not surprisingly, giving audiences a better time now than it did when playing new. Were they indeed too willfully ignorant (another modern critic's description of 50's viewers) to get the joke he was telling? Kazan's memoir confessed of the film's "exaggeration" falling to earth at the end, but he thought it great fun up to that point. So do I, and I'm even okay with its overwrought finish.

A Face in the Crowd is a blast of an outrageous comedy for those willing to give obvious modern parallels a rest (sure it's loaded with them, but why keep hammering it?). F.I.T.C. may be the fastest 125 minutes on record (for me, repeated viewings go like lightning). Bad guys are right-wingers, natch, part (most!) of why film journalists have loved it since. What was old is new again, especially when it conforms to politics agreeable to cinéastes. Trouble is agenda driven hectoring (Kazan saw Reagan coming!) that sucks out laughter the director and writer intended. Entertainment once sat a row ahead of social posturing in films. You could still accommodate both as late as 1957, hard to believe in the face of weekly screeds opening (and dying) nowadays from filmmakers inspired by what Kazan and Budd Schulberg did so much better with A Face in the Crowd. Besides, what do such young pups really know about the fifties? I don't pretend a firm understanding of television five decades back, as I was just getting a grip on Ruff n' Ready at the time. We can only guess as to how well-aimed Kazan and Schulberg's skewering was, for how much comparative research can anyone do vis-à-vis Lonesome Rhodes and presumed models Arthur Godfrey, Tennessee Ernie Ford (those names primarily evoked), and others as barely represented on kinescope today?

Part of what sends A Face in the Crowd over the top is its absolute conviction that television watchers are saps for all its devices, even off the chart boisterous Lonesome, who surely would have exhausted real-life viewers long before Patricia Neal pulled the switch and exposed him (I'm going to assume you've all seen F.I.T.C., but if not, go and get it now!). If television's such a "cool" medium, how does a loudmouth like Lonesome pull sixty-five million viewers a week, as the film proposes? That's a conceit that proves Kazan was exaggerating, for I know not of any on-air personality up to 1957 that managed numbers so great.

Audience disbelief of Lonesome (after all, could patrons imagine being taken in like cretins depicted in the movie?) might have helped sink Kazan's ship among exhibitors and their public. Some took it out on Andy Griffith, derailing a dramatic career promised in the trailer. "I don't know what to think of this picture except in my opinion it has too much of Andy Griffith," said showman Wayne Goodwin of Butler, Indiana. "He got very tiring before the picture was over."

Griffith obviously did his job too well, with comedy the actor's avenue of retreat from then on. Exhibitors also took A Face in the Crowd to task for not using color. "The picture didn't draw," reported Harold Muir of Davision, Michigan's Midway Theatre. "Too long and no star power," to which he added the unkindest cut of all: "Just another big flop in black-and-white, which is no better than TV." (And did it help that he chose The Bowery Boy's Spook Chasers as his co-feature?)

Wishful modern thinkers say A Face in the Crowd touched a nerve in 1957. My indication is that it simply tanked, but not from lack of trying. Those pill-popping Madison Avenuers in Kazan's film were not unlike Warner sales personnel handed such impossible goods. Andy Griffith was unknown outside of Broadway's No Time For Sergeants and a humor LP about hicks watching football. Kazan hadn't tasted red ink since 1953's Man On A Tightrope, his last three pictures being major hits. Interviews at F.I.T.C.'s May 1957 opening found him nose-thumbing at WB backers. Jack Warner has no veto power, said Kazan. "Warners cannot cut A Face in the Crowd", he added. "They cannot touch it." The director boasted that his "Newtown Company works out of a three-and-a-half room office in a Broadway building, and doesn't need a big goddamned lot." He'd cast with input from nobody (promising a "refurbished" Patricia Neal, a blurb she might not have appreciated) and saw a fast approaching day when independents would finance their own productions and not depend upon major studios.

LIFE magazine had suggested he cut A Face in the Crowd from its intended three-hour length down to two plus five minutes, and Kazan complied. He was watching out for some of what was his money at stake. Thirty-seven and one half percent of Baby Doll had belonged to him, and that earned profits of $1.1 million. A Face in the Crowd would lose $756,000 and break Kazan's winning streak. Warners was heroic in efforts to promote it. There was a major tie-in at Brooklyn Dodgers games the week of opening, and Andy Griffith started a seventeen-city tour on May 13. Disc jockeys interviewed Kazan and Schulberg and spun a Capital record album spotlighting "Mama Guitar," "Free Man In The Morning," and other would-be song hits from the film (I'd love to have that platter, but it's rare as a hen's tooth). Domestic rentals were a sobering $873,000, with foreign a worse $450,000.

Ownership of A Face in the Crowd was split evenly between Kazan and Warners, with the negative reverting to Newtown after general release. Part of why the film became so obscure for years afterward was uneven distribution and hard-to-locate prints. Its television availability was via Kazan's syndication handler, Charlou Productions, which offered A Face in the Crowd with Baby Doll and nothing else, a decidedly awkward sell to broadcasters more inclined to buy features in bunches. I recall a nearby university renting A Face in the Crowd from a small 16mm distributor during the mid-nineties and receiving the God-awfulest banged-up print I've ever walked out on (its first five minutes missing altogether!). Warner's DVD is welcome (and widescreen) relief from such atrocities, A Face in the Crowd being but recently accessible to wider and deserved acclaim after decades of neglect.

Kazan had shot most of A Face in the Crowd's interiors at NYC's renovated Biograph building, which had dated from way back when. Now it was the Gold Medal Studios, its environs providing ready access to Gotham talent Kazan preferred and avoidance of twenty to forty percent overhead tacked on at Burbank. A Face in the Crowd was said to have trimmed nearly five hundred thousand off its budget by virtue of shooting at Gold Medal and was finished at a relative bargain negative cost of $1.7 million, with eighty sets built in NYC, according to Kazan. F.I.T.C. has the look of something carrying twice that price tag. There would be a month of location filming in Piggot, Arkansas as well, a town of 2,500 that never dreamed of movie people using their courthouse, train depot, and football field for backdrops.

Visiting city press had fun with local misunderstandings when a call went out for kids to bring their dogs to be "shot", and teen baton twirlers were starry-eyed when asked to perform, at length, for a key sequence. Kazan donated $8,700 to complete a swimming pool started by the WPA in 1935. Piggot's 609 seat Carolyn Theatre got A Face in the Crowd just three days behind its Broadway premiere on May 31, 1957, an event they've celebrated on several anniversaries since. What small town ever forgets a movie made on its streets? This one had a fiftieth commemoration last year. Two hundred and fifty people showed up at the Community Center for a banquet and screening. Patricia Neal attended. Many citizens who'd appeared as extras in A Face in the Crowd were there. Those baton twirlers now approaching their seventies reminisced. "My youth has returned," said one of them. "It could have been yesterday when we did that." The local high school reunion's theme was Not a Face in the Crowd. Whatever this picture means to the rest of us, it can't hope to live and breathe with the intensity it does for the people of Piggot. How many such rural locales can claim proprietary interest in such a classic film?
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"And now, Shelton Cigarettes, Best Friend Dog Food and Vitajex bring you the voice of grass-roots wisdom: Lonesome Rhodes on the Cracker Barrel." In this clip from the film, Lonesome has achieved TV stardom and now seeks political power by grooming Senator Fuller for the Presidency.
A Face in the Crowd can be seen May 11 on Turner Classic Movies where you can also purchase the DVD. John McElwee's current essays and observations on classic film history can be enjoyed anytime by visiting Greenbriar Picture Shows.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

The Three Faces of Tom Keene

Under the old studio system movie moguls groomed promising new stars by first creating for them a new name. Today we look at the curious screen career of a B-movie star who acted under three different names, but is remembered today mostly for his many roles as cowboy star Tom Keene.

Keene was born in New York state in 1896 and eventually began an acting career in live theater and the movies using his birth name, George Duryea. Following a dozen worthy film roles in Hollywood, RKO Radio Pictures developed Duryea into a popular B-movie cowboy star after first changing his name to Tom Keene. Fifteen years later, when the starring roles stopped coming, Keene changed his name to Richard Powers and continued another fifteen years as a stage, screen and television actor.

In the late 50s, at the end of a fading film career, Powers permitted his once-famous Tom Keene moniker to be used in association with a few films, including a role in what many consider the worst movie ever made -- Plan 9 From Outer Space. According to the Internet Movie Database Duryea/Keene/Powers performed in 113 screen roles, including 86 movies and 27 television shows.

George Duryea's first screen appearance was in 1923 in a one-reel short called The Just A Little Late Club, produced by Better Day Pictures as a "Picturization of a Bruce Barton editorial." Bruce Barton was a pioneer in advertising and public relations who became nationally known as "God's Pitchman" after writing a best-selling book called The Man Nobody Knows. In the book, Barton argues that Jesus Christ was the world's greatest salesman. Producer/Director Cecil B. DeMille admired Barton's book and reportedly considered making it into a movie. While that didn't happen, DeMille did hire Barton as Technical Advisor for his epic production of King of Kings (1927).

George Duryea's association with Bruce Barton likely led to DeMille casting Duryea for the lead role in his production of The Godless Girl (1929).

The film is a religious parable with Duryea cast as a Christian student and class-president contending with a determined co-ed (Lina Basquette) bent on promoting atheism on campus and recruiting new members for her "Godless Club." The Godless Girl begins with a written prologue reminiscent of exploitation films like Reefer Madness:

It is not generally known that there are Atheist Societies using the schools of the country as their battleground -- attacking, through the Youth of the Nation, the beliefs that are sacred to most of the people. And no fanatics are so bitter as youthful fanatics.

Keene is seen briefly in a fascinating four-minute clip from The Godless Girl that you can watch here.

Barton and DeMille may also have played a part in Duryea's success in landing a dozen prominent film roles (several with major studios) during his first three years in Hollywood -- and perhaps why many of Duryea's future film roles would be associated with religious and historical themes. His experiences working on The Godless Girl and performances in Tide of Empire (1929) and Tol'able David (1930) paved the way for Duryea's rising star and first Hollywood makeover.

In 1930, RKO decided George Duryea had the rugged good-looks and talent to be cast as the star in a series of westerns they were planning. However, studio heads decided that a more marketable name was needed, and history suggests Duryea's new name "Tom Keene" was inspired by a popular cigar brand of the era. Keene starred in a dozen of these B-westerns for RKO beginning with The Sundown Trail in 1931.

Unfortunately, this first series of Tom Keene westerns, with a few exceptions, proved to be mostly pedestrian and lacked continuity of character. In each episode, Keene played a different role with a different name and wore undistinguishable wardrobes. The only distinction was that in each film Keene buckled his gunbelt in the back rather than the front. RKO discontinued the series in 1933, and it's unclear whether the decision was engineered by RKO or by Keene himself, who may have tired of being typecast in westerns.

Keene was next offered the lead role in director King Vidor's controversial 1934 Depression-era classic Our Daily Bread. While some assailed the films socialistic solutions for surviving the Great Depression, Keene and the film were mostly well-received by audiences and critics; nonetheless the film did poorly at the box office. You can read Victoria Balloon's essay and watch a dramatic scene from Our Daily Bread as part of last week's post.

Following Our Daily Bread, Keene performed in a few Paramount westerns before accepting an offer by poverty-row studio Crescent Pictures to star in a series of eight historical dramas based on real-life characters and world events. Mostly well-produced with low budgets, these were not traditional westerns and have titles like Drums of Destiny (1937), Raw Timber (1937), Under Strange Flags (1937), and Old Louisiana (1936), in which he co-starred with Rita Hayworth before the studios changed her name from Rita Cansino. One of the films in this series, The Law Commands (1937) can be watched in its entirety and for free courtesy of the Internet Archive.

While Tom Keene was busy making the Crescent Pictures series in 1935, Monogram Pictures was losing its identity in a merger with Mascot Pictures and Consolidated Film Industries to form Republic Pictures. Fortunately, about the time Keene was wrapping the Crescent series, Monogram was released from the merger and Monogram Pictures was reborn with much optimism and fanfare. As part of the studio's restart, Keene returned to his former role as a cowboy star in a series of four Tom Keene westerns; God's Country and the Man (1937), Where Trails Divide (1937), Romance of the Rockies ((1937), and The Painted Trail (1938).

Following the four Monogram westerns, considered by many to be among his finest work, Keene took a two year hiatus from acting, dabbled in real estate, and even made some personal appearances serving as the "Honorary Mayor" of Sherman Oaks, California, in 1939.

In 1940, Keene returned to Monogram for another round of eight Tom Keene westerns produced and released during 1940-42. This time around Keene's cowboy persona included some continuity of character with frequent sidekicks, wonder horses and gal pals. One in this series, Western Mail (1942) can be seen in its entirety courtesy of Internet Archive.

Ironically, his last film as a certified cowboy star was Monogram's Where Trails End (1942). This second round of Monogram westerns marked the end of Tom Keene's stardom and the beginning of his third makeover under the new stage, screen and television name of Richard Powers.

As Richard Powers, Keene had an ambitious, though greatly diminished, third act in show business. He began Act III as a contract player at RKO and appeared in many featured bit roles both as good guys and villains, credited and uncredited. He had small roles in Dick Tracy's Dilemma (1947), Dick Tracy Meets Gruesome (1947), with The Bowery Boys in Dig That Uranium (1955), and many other films. In 1950, as Richard Powers, he starred in Republic Picture's 12-chapter cliffhanger called Desperadoes of the West.

In 1951, Powers took his new name to television and appeared in such popular series as Hopalong Cassidy, The Millionaire, General Electric Theater, The Adventures of Ozzie & Harriet, The Abbott & Costello Show and Death Valley Days. You can watch Richard Powers performing in the TV series Judge Roy Bean (1956) on the Internet Archive.

Powers allowed his famous Tom Keene screen name to be used a few times during the Richard Powers years; notably as one of several famous cowboy guest stars in the Roy Rogers film Trail of Robin Hood (1950), in a Dan Rowan and Dick Martin western spoof called Once Upon a Horse (1958), and in his swan-song appearance in what is arguably the worst movie ever committed to celluloid, Plan 9 From Outer Space (1959).
With the tagline "They Came From the Bowels of Hell," it would ironically be a Baptist Church that financed director Ed Wood's Golden Turkey Award winner and Keene's final film, but only after the church convinced Wood to change the film's name from Grave Robbers From Outer Space.

George Duryea, Tom Keene and Richard Powers retired from the screen in 1959 and again dabbled in real estate and insurance until dying of cancer in 1963, leaving behind a widow and stepson.
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Here is the opening sequence and a short clip from Monogram Pictures Where Trails Divide (1937). In this one, everything is not as it seems as Keene arrives in Rawhide to open up a law office. His brother Billy (David Sharpe) is the local Wells Fargo Agent, who has been compromised into crooked association with Blackie Wilson (Warner Richmond) who controls Rawhide. Keene becomes sheriff and triggers a showdown with Blackie when he tries to shut down the saloon by enforcing the "Sunday Laws" that required certain businesses to be closed on the Sabbath.

Many of Tom Keene's movies can be seen on Turner Classic Movies and purchased at TCM or Amazon.com. Much more info on this and other popular cowboy stars of classic movies can be found at The Old Corral website.

Monday, March 16, 2009

Escape From Hard Times

Mini-Matinee #46

Today we present a quintet of quintessential Depression-era film fare as presented on American movie screens from 1932 to 1936, in the midst of the Great Depression.

During those hard times it didn't matter if the movie was fantasy or reality -- the act of going to the movies was itself an escape from the ordinary. The pre-feature collection of cartoons, newsreels, short subjects and serials was a much anticipated part of the movie-going experience.

If the feature presentation was a comedy, it was welcome, but audiences also wanted and enjoyed stories about people like themselves. Films like today's feature, Our Daily Bread, while dealing squarely with the economics and destitution of the Depression, were still a form of escape. People saw in these films others like themselves -- downtrodden folks just trying to get along with the best they had in the worst of circumstances. However, unlike their own stories, these movies had endings. By seeing others struggle and succeed, against hardship, films like Our Daily Bread, especially with its upbeat ending, gave ordinary people hope -- the best escape from worry.

You can read all about today’s bill of fare below and when ready, simply click here to enter the Bijou Mini-Matinee Theater on YouTube and enjoy the show.

SOMEWHERE IN DREAMLAND (1936)
We kick off today's matinee with the colorful Somewhere in Dreamland, a sentimental fantasy from the maestro of animation, Max Fleischer.

In this delightful Fleischer Color Classic two toddlers assist single-parent mom by gathering firewood. Together, mom and the kids endure the daily hardships of the Depression with lots of love, but very little to eat. The children go to bed, escape into a dreamland abundant with food and fun and awaken to a surprise from a caring community in a wistful but ultimately satisfying ending.

HOLLYWOOD ON PARADE (1934)
Hollywood newsreels, like the Hollywood on Parade series, take us behind the scenes during the Golden Age of Hollywood. They offer fascinating snapshots of early American pop culture and celebrated icons of the era. This and other screen magazines like Star Reporter, Voice of Hollywood and Broadway Highlights are staples on Matinee at the Bijou, and we look forward to presenting many entertaining Hollywood newsreels in pristine HD when the sequel series commences.

A nightclub setting on a Paramount soundstage is the locale for a mingling of celebrities and song. Cross-eyed bartender Ben Turpin is on hand to serve suds to Jimmy Durante, Rudy Vallee and various other celebrities appearing in brief vignettes.

Durante sips beer and insists "I gotta see a man about a dog" and is followed by the antics of Ted Healy and the original Three Stooges: Larry, Moe and Curley Joe.

Next Rudy Vallee arrives to mix it up and croon with songwriters Harry Revel and Mack Gordon. Revel and Gordon wrote the song "Did You Ever See a Dream Walking?" for which Bing Crosby supplied the lyrics. The songwriters perform this classic in a medley of their famous music.

FOX MOVIETONE NEWS (1932)
The Bijou Blog recently posted a feature on Theatrical Newsreels and presented a classic newsreel from 1944. Today we showcase an excellent example of a vintage 1932 newsreel. Featured stories include Herbert Hoover in a speech pledging fresh reconstruction efforts during his campaign for re-election.

Then the death of Rin Tin Tin (1918-1932) is solemnly reported as we witness the "Wonder Dog of the Movies" in his final performance for an orphan charity in Buffalo, New York. American soldier Lee Duncan rescued Rin Tin Tin from a bombed-out dog kennel in France during WWI. Following the war, a film producer spotted Duncan and "Rinty" at a dog show and a successful canine film career was born. This was the first in a line of famous Rin Tin Tin movie and television dog actors.


Germany's Crown Prince Friedrich Wilhelm "makes his first talking picture for Movietone News at castle of royalist friend at Salzburg, Austria." His Highness is asked, "What do you think is the cause of so much unemployment all over the world?" Wilhelm responds: "The chief reason for unemployment in Europe I think is the Treaty of Versailles, and before (the Treaty) is fundamentally changed there will be no peace and no quiet commercially or economically in Europe."

The newsreel ends with an interview with 1932 Presidential-election running-mates FDR and Speaker of the House John Nance Garner at the Governor's home in Hyde Park, New York.

THE PHANTOM EMPIRE (1935)
The cliffhanging movie serials provided pure escapist entertainment for Depression-era audiences and beyond. Part of the fun was the week-long period of anticipation prior to seeing the resolution of the cliffhanger. Surely the hero or heroine would survive, but just how they did it was the lingering question.

Gene Autry stars in this vintage 12-chapter serial adventure. Here we present the electrifying cliffhanger conclusion to The Phantom Empire Chapter 5, "Beneath the Surface." This is followed immediately by the opening to Chapter 6, "Disaster From the Skies," with the cliffhanger's resolution.


All of the films described were first presented on PBS as part of the original 1980s Matinee at the Bijou series. The complete Phantom Empire serial and Somewhere in Dreamland collection can be purchased at VCI Entertainment.

OUR DAILY BREAD (1934)
We are pleased to present this controversial and rarely-seen film classic about the Great Depression. Victoria Balloon provides the timely and compelling background on today's Feature Presentation.

With dialog by Joseph L. Mankiewicz (All About Eve, Guys and Dolls) and a score by Alfred Newman (Wuthering Heights, The Seven Year Itch) director King Vidor found the inspiration for Our Daily Bread in a Reader’s Digest article. The New York Times review of 1934 called the film “a social document of amazing vitality and emotional impact,” and its tagline “Inspired by Headlines Today!” still reflects the American landscape 75 years later.

Unable to find work, John Sims laments: “Just try standing in line for three hours with a hundred other guys waiting for one measly job!” He and wife Mary jump at the chance to live on a run-down homestead even though they know nothing of farming. A Swedish man who lost the mortgage on his own farm teaches John about plowing and planting, and from this experience John gets the idea to form a “co-operative community.”


The farm quickly acquires a broad swath of unemployed America — carpenters and masons, but also a concert violinist, a cigar salesman and an escaped convict — who all pitch in to work. But when there is no food to tide the group over until the fields produce, and a platinum blonde tries to seduce John away from wife and farm, the future of the community looks grim. With the workers discouraged and the corn only a few days from ruin, is there any way to get water to the fields?


Vidor’s skilled use of what he called “silent music,” a technique learned from director D.W. Griffith, makes the last ten minutes of this film incredibly powerful. The scenes of the farmers digging a trench were recorded to the sound of a metronome and bass drum beating in 4/4 time. Picks swing down on beats 2 and 4, while shovels scoop on 1 and throw dirt on 3. By increasing the speed of the actors and decreasing the camera speed, Vidor creates visual urgency; combined with Newman’s score, flowing water becomes an emotional release.

After Vidor’s 1925 hit The Big Parade, MGM production head Irving Thalberg asked him what he wanted to do next. Interested in the lives and struggles of ordinary people, Vidor made his silent film The Crowd (1928), the story of a man reacting to modern urban life. Our Daily Bread is the sequel, only this time the young couple faces the economic difficulty of the Great Depression.

Vidor hoped to have the original actors from The Crowd play John and Mary, but alcoholism rendered James Murray unsuitable for the role of John. When Vidor directed Eleanor Boardman as Mary in The Crowd they had been married for two years, but their divorce in 1933 undoubtedly influenced his decision to seek a new actress for the part.

Vidor had worked with great stars before (John Gilbert, Lillian Gish), but for Our Daily Bread he cast relative unknowns to emphasize the “everyman” aspect of the story. Karen Morley’s previous experience included lesser parts in well-known films (Mata Hari, Dinner at Eight). Involvement in Our Daily Bread followed by Black Fury inspired her commitment to political activism; in 1951 she was called before the House Un-American Activities Committee, which ended her career.

Tom Keene, who also acted under the name Richard Powers and George Duryea, was primarily an actor in B-movie westerns (Scarlet River, Cross Fire); Vidor chose him for his resemblance to Murray. Both Morley and Keene appear to act with opposite extremes — she is understated, almost stiff, while he exudes “gee whiz!” boyish exuberance. Their performances may seem awkward by modern standards, but as metaphors for steadfast tradition (Mary) and the can-do spirit of Americans (John), they work. Today’s audiences may be most familiar with actor John Qualen, who played the Swedish farmer. Qualen had a similar role in Grapes of Wrath and played a Norwegian freedom fighter in Casablanca.

Despite King Vidor’s reputation and previous successes, no major studio would fund or distribute Our Daily Bread because it unabashedly addressed populist sentiments, questioning the success of American democracy and the viability of capitalism in the face of economic failure. Vidor had to put up his own money in addition to mortgaging his home and possessions to finance the picture. Eventually United Artists under Charlie Chaplin distributed the film, and Chaplin contributed ideas to the script. As Vidor recalls during seminars and interviews at the American Film Institute during the 1970s:

When we opened at the Pantages on Hollywood Boulevard, the fellows in publicity got up a full-page ad, and the day before the opening the ad was cancelled. The Hearst papers wouldn’t run the ad. We called them up and they said it was “pinko propaganda.” Then a group came from Russia, where the film had been screened, and they said to me, “We would have given you the first prize, except your film is capitalistic propaganda.” I don’t know which the film is, though I think it’s quite an honor to have one picture called both.

Our Daily Bread didn’t make a lot of money, but Vidor was able to pay back his debts. His career ultimately spanned 67 years (1913-1980) and included 69 films, earning him a place in the Guinness Book of World Records.


As with so many early films, there are obvious (and sometimes vulgar) ethnic caricatures. Vidor uses these stereotypes to demonstrate the cross-section of America affected by the Depression and how, despite their differences, they are united by their desire to find honest work. Our Daily Bread can be seen in its entirety at the Internet Archive, but right now we’d like to give you a small taste of it here on the Bijou Blog Screen. In this segment John reflects on how much he’s learned from the Swedish farmer in such a short time. He wonders aloud to Mary how many others might be in similar straits, and if perhaps there might be some way to help them…

Saturday, March 7, 2009

Screwball Comedies

There’s no better way to escape life’s troubles than by watching a laugh-filled classic film comedy! Contributor Victoria Balloon takes a look at those wonderful screwball comedies of the 1930s and 40s.

Combine outrageous scenarios with slapstick humor, then add witty, fast-paced dialogue and light romantic situations and you have that wonderful cinematic treasure called the screwball comedy — or as film critic Andrew Sarris describes it, “ a sex comedy without the sex.” The basic elements of the screwball comedy were not particularly new; director Ernst Lubitsch had made sophisticated comedies such as Trouble in Paradise and slapstick was integral to the silent films of Charlie Chaplin, while Hollywood already had tough-talking blondes like Mae West and Broadway had light comedies by Noel Coward. What made screwballs a completely new genre was the combination of these elements against the backdrop of three events in Hollywood history: the transition to sound in film, stricter enforcement of the Production Code and the Great Depression.

Though the Production Code (sometimes called the Hays Code) was adopted in 1930, it wasn’t rigorously enforced until 1933. The transition to sound in the movies made language-based comedy a natural, but the stricter application of the Code meant the language of sex and sexuality had to be more subtle; writers and directors that understood dialogue and comedic pacing were key. But to describe these movies only in terms of sex misses the point of their enormous audience appeal. During the Great Depression people went to the movies to escape. The portrayal of class in screwballs, often with a rich versus poor theme and usually with the rich receiving their comeuppance, had a particular appeal to audiences that went to the movies to laugh and to feel better about their own economic circumstances.

Considering these three events it’s no coincidence that the birth of the screwball comedy came shortly thereafter in 1934 with what most consider the first of the genre: Frank Capra’s It Happened One Night. MGM and Paramount execs loaned Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert to "poverty row" studio Columbia as punishment, but the picture earned both stars an Oscar. It is the classic model of a screwball comedy: the physical expression of romance comes not from kisses and clinches, but the outrageous situation the hero and heroine find themselves in and the physical comedy that follows. Romantic tension comes from watching characters exchange witty dialogue and verbal darts; we know how the story will end, but the tension comes from wondering when the hero and heroine will finally realize that they are in love.

It Happened One Night, The Awful Truth, and Bringing up Baby are classic screwball comedies, but there are lesser-known screwballs which represent the early efforts of some of Hollywood’s great writers and directors. We suggest the following quartet of screwball comedies — follow the links for a rib-tickling romp!

Easy Living (1937)
When working girl Mary Smith (Jean Arthur) receives a sable coat from investment banker J.B. Ball (Edward Arnold), gossip and mistaken identities make her the hottest socialite in New York. But when she befriends a waiter who turns out to be J.B. Ball Jr. (Ray Milland), the mix-ups and misunderstandings set off a stock market crash to rival the one in 1929. Jean Arthur’s squeaky voice and uncomplicated looks have a girl-next-door quality that gives Preston Sturges’ script a delightful, “it could happen to you!” feeling. Arthur was riding high at this point in her career, having just finished hits like The Whole Town’s Talking and Mr. Deeds Goes to Town.

Ray Milland was well on his way to stardom; because he usually played suave and sophisticated roles, it’s extremely funny to see him stuck in a bathtub (Milland was truly unable to climb out of the huge, magnificent bathtub and director Mitchell Leisen kept the cameras rolling). This is the fourth of six films Milland would eventually make with Leisen. Easy Living also features one of the most luxurious art deco hotel suites you will ever see, as well as a delightful glimpse of a Horn & Hardart Automat.

Midnight (1939)
Showgirl Eve Peabody (Claudette Colbert) wants money and social standing, and she knows she won’t get it from cab driver Tibor Czerny (Don Ameche). When she finds herself falling in love with him, she runs away and poses as “Baroness Czerny.” But how long can Eve keep up the charade when “Baron Czerny” starts looking for his “wife?” Eve knows that “every Cinderella has her Midnight,” and this script written by Billy Wilder and Charles Brackett has the intrigue getting more convoluted and hilarious by turns.

Colbert’s performance in It Happened One Night may be better known, but her performance in Midnight is no less delightful. When Eve gets off the train in Paris she has nothing but a lovely lamé gown and her wits, and it is precisely this kind of sophisticated woman confident in her own resources that Colbert portrays so well. While not a romantic lead in the typical Hollywood sense, Don Ameche brings an honesty and earnestness well-suited to Czerny’s democratic appeal.

Midnight is a movie that suffered a number of problems while filming — Barrymore’s difficulties with alcoholism meant cue cards had to be on hand, Mary Astor was several months pregnant and scenes had to be rewritten around her condition, and Colbert refused to be photographed from the right because she believed her nose was crooked (but only on the right side). Nevertheless, the onscreen result is pure fun.

The Major and the Minor (1942)
The Major and the Minor is also from the writing team of Wilder and Brackett. Susan Applegate (Ginger Rogers) disguises herself as a twelve-year-old in order to purchase a half-fare train ticket, but ends up having to hide her age from Major Phillip Kirby (Ray Milland) and 300 “junior wolf” cadets at a military academy. Ginger Rogers may be better remembered as Fred Astaire’s dance partner, but she was truly an actress in her own right, winning an Oscar for Best Actress in Kitty Foyle and becoming one of Hollywood’s most beloved stars.

Director Billy Wilder does pay a sort of homage to Rogers’ dancing roots; during the tap dance scene at the switchboard, Rogers may be playing twelve-years-old, but she hoofs it like a pro. In the five years since Easy Living, Ray Milland polished his understated comedic touch, but it wasn’t until another film with Wilder that Hollywood recognized the full range of his abilities; The Lost Weekend garnered four Oscars: Best Actor, Best Director, Best Screenplay, and Best Picture. While unusual that Wilder had his directorial debut with such A-list actors, both Rogers and Milland signed on to the project because they believed Wilder had what it took to be a director. With this film they were proven right.

After seeing her in so many glamorous roles it’s quite a shock to see Rogers without makeup. Wilder himself admitted the idea of a thirty-year-old playing a twelve-year-old was preposterous. However, she made it work, and in "Nobody's Perfect: Billy Wilder, A Personal Biography" by Charlotte Chandler, Rogers explained, “Mother and I often didn't have enough money when we traveled, so I carried my stuffed doll named Freakus, which made me look younger, especially when I hugged it and talked with it, and then, at night, I could just use it as a pillow. Just like Sue-Sue, I often pretended I was younger than I was, so I could travel half-fare. I was Sue-Sue!” The role of Mrs. Applegate in the movie was in fact played by Rogers’ mother, Lela Rogers.

The Palm Beach Story (1942)
After five years of marriage, Tom (Joel McCrea) and Gerry Jeffers (Claudette Colbert) are broke, and Gerry believes Tom would be better able to pursue his business ventures without her. She flees to Palm Beach, where she hopes to get a quick divorce, but instead she finds one of the richest men in the world, John D. Hackensacker III (Rudy Vallee) to finance Tom’s invention.

When Preston Sturges directs his own scripts, it isn’t just the hero and heroine who are screwy; everyone is, from the Wienie King tasting the toothpaste in the Jeffers’ bathroom to the drunken millionaires with their hunting dogs tracking Gerry on the train. Stripped to their essence, the story elements are not humorous: Gerry, more of a calculated gold digger than Eve Peabody ever was, suggests divorce purely for financial reasons; the hunt club destroys a train car completely detached from the consequences of their excesses. The only reason the film comes off as funny is because the lies become broader and wilder and reality never intrudes, and no one else but Sturges could have made this work.

Certain stars came to be associated with the genre: Claudette Colbert and Carole Lombard both vied for the title of “Queen of the Screwballs;” Cary Grant must certainly be considered King. Audiences loved watching the chemistry between Myrna Loy and William Powell (The Thin Man) and Irene Dunne and Cary Grant (The Awful Truth). Depression-era audiences wanted glamour and an insider’s-view of the society pages, and Hollywood offered up its most popular stars displaying the latest fashions and lavish sets of posh art deco nightclubs populated by playboys driving sleek cars.

Screwball comedies made stars, but the genre also made directors and writers. Both Easy Living and Midnight were directed by Mitchell Leisen, who began his Hollywood career designing costumes for Cecil B. De Mille and became a director with an eye toward visual styling, as evidenced by both Easy Living and Midnight. Easy Living represents one of the first on-screen writing credits for Sturges, who would go on to write and direct such screwball comedies as The Lady Eve and The Miracle of Morgan’s Creek. Midnight was co-written by Billy Wilder and Charles Brackett; the two would go on to do more serious films together, such as Sunset Blvd. and The Lost Weekend as a director / producer team, but Wilder himself also directed comedies such as The Seven Year Itch and Some Like It Hot.

In later years both Sturges and Wilder complained about changes Mitchell Leisen made to their scripts, which may in part have cemented the perception of Leisen as an aesthete focused more on inconsequential details than how plot moves. Nevertheless, Easy Living and Midnight are both stylish comedies with the witty, sometimes sharp observations about the values of the rich that Depression-era audiences loved.

Screwball comedies gave writers and directors the opportunity to explore subjects that would never get through the Production Code as drama. Gerry Jeffers is a woman using beauty and charm to obtain material comfort, but because the Wienie King and John D. Hackensacker III have a fairy-godmother’s generosity, never for a moment do we think of her as a prostitute. Screwballs dealt often with class distinctions and money, but current news and world events seldom intruded into the reality of the picture. Major Kirby wants to be sent to a war where nobody seems to die, and Tibor Czerny drives his cab through a Paris blithely unaware of encroaching Fascism. Screwball comedies allowed Americans to laugh at the turbulence of the stock market and forget that “midnight” was fast approaching for an Old World Europe on the eve of World War II.

Audiences in the 1930s got plenty of reality from newsreels; they didn’t always want it in their pictures. For their hard-earned dime they wanted to sit for a few hours in comforting darkness lit only by the flickering silver screen. Perhaps the greatest legacy of these films is that they allow us to see how Depression-era moviegoers came to terms with the frustrations of the modern world by laughing at their limitations or escaping reality altogether. Even across time, we too can join in their laughter at these wonderful films.
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The Internet provides so many wonderful ways to learn more about screwball comedy. Check out any of these links the next time you find yourself needing an escape!

Who’s the queen of the screwballs? You decide with these fan tribute links to Claudette Colbert and Carole Lombard. Or you can watch Colbert in action with Gary Cooper in this trailer from Bluebeard's Eighth Wife (1938) written by Wilder and Brackett; or Lombard in a screwball scene with Fred MacMurray in Hands Across the Table (1935) directed by Leisen. Who's the king of screwballs if you had to choose between Cary Grant and William Powell? Check out the Home of the Screwball for some history, more directors and titles, and hard-to-find original New York Times film reviews. An abundance of information of the films and artists mentioned can be found at The Internet Movie Database and Allmovies.com. If you have the time, My Man Godfrey (1936) is available in its entirety at the Internet Archive. Directed by Gregory LaCava and starring Carole Lombard and William Powell, it’s a classic screwball story of how a ditzy socialite enlists a homeless “forgotten man” to be the family butler — then falls in love with him!

We wrap things up with a fun clip that ideally demonstrates the art of the screwball comedy. Here is the scene from The Major and the Minor where Ginger, masquerading as Sue-Sue, desperately tries to take over the academy switchboard. This and many of the films mentioned here can be purchased at Turner Classic Movies.


Sunday, March 1, 2009

Theatrical Newsreels

Traditional movie Newsreels, produced between their theatrical debut in 1911 and their demise in 1967, are wondrous windows on the world that once was, and collectively serve as a perpetual record of our shared history and popular culture.

Today we have instant and worldwide access on our televisions, computers and hand-held devices to witness news in real time as it happens. Prior to the advent of the newsreel, Americans primarily depended on radio and print media for news and information. Only by going to the movies and watching the newsreels could one see and hear history in relatively real time. The newsreels superbly fulfilled that important purpose until television came along and access to filmed news went from twice weekly on the silver screen to daily broadcasts on the TV screen.

Theatrical newsreels were typically structured much like a daily newspaper. They changed twice weekly taking about 10 minutes to tell 6 or 7 short stories. Each newsreel focused on current events, politics, natural and other disasters, sports, movies and contemporary pop culture in general. Occasionally an entire newsreel would be devoteed to a single story or event of optimum interest, like the attack on Pearl Harbor or the inauguration of a president.

Theater owners routinely booked their newsreels from any of five major newsreel companies: Pathe News (1910-1956), produced by Pathe Film, later distributed by RKO Radio Pictures(1931-47) then Warner Bros. (1947-56); Hearst Metrotone News (1914-67), produced by Hearst, distributed by Fox Corp. (1929-34), then MGM (1934-67), the name was later changed to News of the Day; Paramount News (1927-57), produced and distributed by Paramount and promoted as "The Eyes of the World;" Fox Movietone News (1928-63), produced and distributed by Fox Corp; Universal News (1929-67), produced and distributed by Universal Pictures, later Universal-International.

A sixth newsreel series The March of Time (1935-51) was created by Time, Inc. in part to upstage the fierce competition among the five major newsreel companies. It was conceived as a costly $50,000-monthly news magazine to offer "pictorial journalism" to movie-goers by integrating authentic news footage with freshly-filmed reenactments and dramatizations. While popular with audiences, it proved controversial among media purists and never managed to attain profitibility.

The March of Time's compelling visuals and the commanding voice of narrator Westbrook Van Voorhis were satirized with considerable bombast by Orson Welles in Citizen Kane. Welles' pioneer masterpiece is a thinly-veiled bio of William Randolph Hearst (a prototype of contemporary media magnate Rupert Murdoch). In Citizen Kane, Hearst's own Metrotone News is further satirized during the opening sequence, which establishes the film's plot utilizing a fictitious newsreel titled News on the March.

By the mid-1920s it was estimated that between 85-90% of the 18,000 U.S. theaters exhibited one of the five major newsreels to a weekly audience numbering in excess of 40 million people. By the 1930s, most newsreel companies released two editions weekly, on Mondays and Thursdays. The March of Time was released in monthly installments.

Now lets tap into the incredible technological wonders of the internet and watch some fascinating samples relative to newsreel history. Follow the live links to watch the content as described.


Among the most shocking newsreel footage ever captured was the fiery crash of the German Zeppelin The Hindenburg on May 6, 1937. After successfully completing many transatlantic air ship crossings, The Hindenburg crashed upon landing at Lakehurst, N.J. All newsreel companies had photographers on hand when the explosion took place. Here is the Pathe News coverage of this horrific event.

In a 1935 Pathe Newsreel, we see and hear dramatic coverage of FDR's response to the housing crisis brought on by the Great Depression. The narrator tells us; "1928 was a good building year. Almost 3 billion dollars of new residential construction saw the light of day. But in 1929, even before the depression became general, building dropped off to slightly under 2 billion. Year after year throughout the depression this decline continued, each succeeding year meaning more men laid off in the building and allied industries. Until in 1934, all of the new homes built in the U.S. were worth only 227 million dollars. A decline of 92% from 1928. But due to the stimulation of the National Housing Act, 1935 presents a different picture... And now, through the use of the National Housing Act an insured mortgage is brought within the reach of all citizens on a monthly payment plan no greater than rent." We then see a young couple tour a modern house costing $4800, with $960 down and $27.62 a month in mortgage payments.

Depression-era urban unrest and escalating inner-city violence prompted many of FDR's New Deal programs. In this 1934 Pathe News report we witness dramatic images of the famous San Francisco maritime union strike. The tension reached fever pitch on May 9, 1934 and erupted in the “Bloody Thursday"riots between union members, strikers and police.

Here the 1940 collapse of the Tacoma Bridge is depicted with awesome images and narration. The controversial bridge opened in 1940 and the collapse four months later was captured on film by local camera store owner Barney Elliott. This newsreel sequence was selected by the Library of Congress for inclusion in the National Film Registry as being "culturally, historically or aesthetically significant."

Foreshadowing today's reality television, this provocative and harrowiong Universal-International newsreel clip features a foolish mom recklessly tossing real knives at her two infant daughters purely for the purpose of "entertainment."

In this brief Universal Newsreel clip, First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt speaks before 8,000 members of the Illinois Federation of Professional and Women's Clubs and urges women throughout the nation to aid the destitute unemployed by co-operating with local unemployment committees in their fund raising efforts.

In 1938, a pre-Citizen Kane Orson Welles broadcast his stunningly authentic "War of the Worlds" radio simulation. Many listeners tuning in by chance concluded the fictitious alien invasion to be actually happening, which triggered a national panic. In this brief Paramount News clip, Welles coyly responds during a national press conference.

From 1942-45, the U.S. Government commissioned a newsreel series called United News that was collectively produced by the major studios on behalf of the Office of War Information and distributed worldwide to America's Armed Forces.

A WWII War Bond drive is showcased in this United News report loaded with celebrities of the day, including James Cagney, Irene Dunne, Tyrone Power and Joe Louis.

In 1929, Fox opened the Embassy Theater in New York City as an "all-newsreel" theater. They ran the biweekly editions of all five major newsreel companies back-to-back and continuously throughout the day. Author Raymond Fielding in his book "The American Newsreel, 1911-67" writes; "(newsreel companies) discovered that in FDR we had the greatest single attraction. Announcement of his fireside chats, which were always filmed, brought hundreds of patrons to the theater. Anti-New Dealers came to hiss. The vigorous years of the New Deal under FDR and the rise of Mussolini, Hitler, Stalin and Chang Kai-shek aroused great interest in newsreels." The all-newsreel theater concept expanded with more companies participating and proved immensely popular in Britain and other countries.

In the end, newsreels simply could not compete with the timeliness and relevancy of television news. Audiences quickly became accustomed to a daily diet of TV news and sitting through it all again while seeking real-world escapism at the movies was an unappreciated redundancy.

Universal was the last company to produce theatrical newsreels and the phenomenon died on screen in 1967 following a decade of dwindling dollars, diminished audience interest and declining quality.

Television news began in 15 minute doses on NBC in 1948 with Camel Newsreel Theater, anchored by John Cameron Swayze. It was a daily live news broadcast that featured Movietone newsreel footage. The following year the name was changed to Camel News Caravan and the footage was provided instead by NBC News cameramen. Newsreel footage was no longer necessary. In 1955 the sponsor, R.J. Reynolds Tobacco Company, cut its sponsorship to 3 days a week. The other two days were then sponsored by Chrysler's Plymouth brand and called Plymouth News Caravan, anchored by David Brinkley. These newscasts were replaced in October 1956 by The Huntley-Brinkley Report.

In 1974, Universal Pictures gifted its entire Universal Newsreel library to the U.S. National Archives exclusively for public purposes. This included 30 million feet of film produced between 1929 and 1967. Here is a copy of the deed transferring the rights to the American people.

The history of movie newsreels is profoundly complex and we have scarcely scratched the surface in this brief distillation. To learn more, a website called History of the Newsreel offers a detailed, chronological history and is highly recommended. We also recommend a one-hour documentary called Yesterday's Witness: A Tribute to the American Newsreel (1979)

Theatrical newsreels served the nation well in an era when motion pictures defined our world. Newsreels are abundant with original source content and today represent ideal teaching tools for comprehending our shared history and culture.

Here you can sample a typical American newsreel from the 1940s. This United Newsreel was produced at the end of 1944 and authentically demonstrates our world in transition at the outset of 1945. Sequences include reports on D-Day, the liberation of Paris and Brussels, rounding up of Nazi war criminals, Russia's move into Poland and the Balkans, the bombing of Japan and Macarthur's return to the Philippines.