I MAKE IT TO VEGAS - 43 YEARS LATE

Finally collided with VIVA LAS VEGAS(1964) on TCM the other day. As a non-Elvis fan, I’ve never gotten around to catching it. But over the years dribs and drabs of info have trickled my way, indicating that this one’s a cut above the others. And I do like the title tune. Even though I’d prefer fewer low-rent guitar licks in the arrangement and someone other than Elvis singing it. Yes, I know that’s heresy. But generally Presley’s singing voice doesn’t appeal to me that much. The tone often seems false and affected – artificially lowered and over-drawled. Like the orater who drops his normal speaking voice when he’s speechifying and launches into something quite different . Usually a pretty good tip-off that actual sincerity’s just left the room. Of course, we’re not talking about the kind of preposterous disconnect represented by, say, Jim Nabors’ singing (ridiculously pompous) and his speaking ( aw-shucks, ma’am, it’s me Gomer). But I still find there’s an element of strained artifice in much of Elvis’ musical output. And so many of the songs themselves – particularly the film songs – are hopelessly trivial to begin with. But I suspect I’m out on a limb here. Just a voice kvetching in the wilderness. And to be fair , in VIVA LAS VEGAS, Elvis sounds flat-out wonderful on the (previously unknown to me) song I NEED SOMEBODY TO LEAN ON. Getting back to the title tune, it’s maintained a pretty tenacious hold on popularity over the years. And certainly should have been at least a Best Song Oscar nominee in ’64. But, of course, in those days the Academy was so Old School, they wouldn’t nominate anything with even a suspicion of rock’n’roll attached to it. Maybe Buble will get around to recording it one day.
Anyway, I have to admit the film is a cut above. Not because of the screenplay, of course. That’s as vapid and witless as all the King’s other 60’s scripts. In this case, though, VEGAS represents one of the few times Elvis worked with a director who knew something about musicals – MGM veteran George Sidney (THE HARVEY GIRLS, SHOW BOAT). Sidney knew how to take an onscreen ensemble and make it look dynamic. He manages to introduce some life and movement into several of the musical set-pieces, nicely synchronizing various elements.
But it’s Elvis’ teaming with Ann-Margret that really works like a charm. Their individual screen images, both built largely on tackiness in the 60’s, somehow coalesce, achieving a kind of transcendence, the whole definitely greater than its parts. Quite a synthesis really. Almost inexplicable but undeniably successful. AM’s put-on pussycat sexiness (her stock in trade in the 60’s) and Presley’s fangless growl feed on each other to create something that actually produces genuine honest-to-God sparks. Sidney saw this and wisely injected AM into several of Elvis’ numbers. She even gets a couple of solos. Unusual this. Generally the mandate of the girl in an Elvis film is just play hard to get for a reel or two, keep your hair-do unmussed and spend most of the time at a ring-side table smiling and nodding as Elvis does his King thing. But AM’s right in there up to her thighs – and considerably higher, come to think of it. Shaking her booty and everything else and exercising that distinctive pout-shout of hers with a vengeance. When the duo join forces, lame songs (COME ON EVERYBODY) and blah arrangements of good ones (WHAT’D I SAY) come alive in spite of themselves. AM even gets Elvis matching dance steps with her. It’s really a shame they didn’t make more movies together. They could’ve been the hood ornament MacDonald/Eddy or Astaire/Rogers of the 60’s. But, of course, Elvis’ management had no interest in sharing the spotlight or stretching the boundaries of Presley’s tired movie formula. So it didn’t happen. There seems to have been a quasi-attempt to create the same kind of dynamic a couple of years later in SPEEDWAY with the casting of Nancy Sinatra, who, at the time, was successfully pitching a tough sex-kitten image on record. In films, however, she photographed weirdly, couldn’t act and wasn’t in Ann-Margret’s league as a dancer. Leaving SPEEDWAY pretty much just sitting there - a tired souffle that rose no higher than Elvis’ other duds.
How Presley’s screen image would have developed had he lived – and filmed – is, of course, a matter of conjecture. In subsequent years, Ann-Margret definitely grew as an actress (she’s special in TOMMY and outright fabulous in JOSEPH ANDREWS). And – to this day – she continues to project an inner and outer beauty. If you want to see the best of Elvis, the movie star, check out one of his 50’s films . LOVING YOU, JAILHOUSE ROCK and KING CREOLE are all pretty okay. But VIVA LAS VEGAS is worth investigating as the one film where the King had a totally compatible Queen beside him. Ann-Margret embodies the fun of fuzzy dice dangling and bobbing from a rear-view mirror during a drag race. Waking and shaking up her male Sleeping Beauty with some high-energy fizz, the lady’s mucho simpatica. She and Elvis have an easy rapport; both genuinely appear to enjoy the chemistry they’re creating. And it’s hard not to enjoy it right along with them. Why fight it?

Oops, I did it again (Another list)

It’s List Time. I can’t stop myself. This one’s all about the 30’s, 40’s and 50’s – the bubble and boom years of Old Hollywood. I’ve rustled up a roster of 150 gilt-edged portrayals from the era, arranged into six categories:

the top 25 (my choice) in each division *chronologically arranged

Actress (30s) • Supporting Actress (30s)
Actress (40s) • Supporting Actress(40s)
Actress(50s) • Supporting Actress (50s)

I’ve been plunged, immersed and dunked to the dorsals in movies since I was a polliwog. So there’ve been plenty of blue-ribbon candidates to sift through. And certainly a lot I hated to leave out. Can’t believe I had to pass on the Connie and Thelma tag-team from A Letter to Three Wives. Not to mention Evelyn Varden’s nasty little snake-bite of a performance in Pinky. It doesn’t seem right that Simone Simon’s sad, purring Irina’s nowhere to be found. And what? No Alida Valli? No Florence Bates- anywhere? But the competition was just too fierce. Anyway, here they are – my picks for the era’s crème de la crème. Point of interest – of the 150, only 32 managed Oscar nominations. A mere 10 actually won. Nevertheless, they’re all gifts that keep on giving. A thousand years from now, I suspect, someone – human I hope – will be mulling over many of the same performances (in who knows what format), emitting whatever passes for a murmur of pleasure in 3007 and getting ready – of course - to make a list.

Outstanding ACTRESS Performances - The 1930s

1. MARLENE DIETREICH “The Blue Angel”(‘30-Josef von Sternberg)

2. JOAN BLONDELL “Blonde Crazy”(‘31-Roy Del Ruth)
3. NANCY CARROLL “Hot Saturday”(‘32-William A.Seiter)
4. JOAN CRAWFORD “Rain”(‘32-Lewis Milestone)
5. CAROLE LOMBARD “No Man of Her Own”(‘32-Wesley Ruggles)
6. LORETTA YOUNG “Play Girl”(‘32-Ray Enright)
7. MARION DAVIES “Peg O’My Heart”(‘33-Robert Z.Leonard)
8. LORETTA YOUNG “She Had to Say Yes”(‘33-Busby Berkeley)
9. GRETA GARBO “The Painted Veil”(‘34-Richard Boleslawski)
10. MAUREEN O’SULLIVAN “Tarzan and His Mate”(‘34-Cedric Gibbons,Jack Conway)
11. NORMA SHEARER “The Barretts of Wimpole Street’(‘34-Sidney Franklin)
12. MARGARET SULLAVAN “Little Man What Now”(‘34-Frank Borzage)
13. JEAN ARTHUR “The Whole Town’s Talking”(‘35-John Ford)
14. KATHARINE HEPBURN “Alice Adams”(‘35-George Stevens)
15. JEAN ARTHUR “Mr.Deeds Goes to Town”(‘36-Frank Capra)
16. JEANETTE MacDONALD “Rose Marie”(‘36-W.S.Van Dyke)
17. ROSALIND RUSSELL “Craig’s Wife”(‘36-Dorothy Arzner)
18. IRENE DUNNE “The Awful Truth”(‘37-Leo McCarey)
19. LUISE RAINER “The Good Earth”(‘37-Sidney Franklin)
20. JEANETTE MacDONALD “Sweethearts”(‘38-W.S.Van Dyke)
21. NORMA SHEARER “Marie Antoinette”(‘38-W.S.Van Dyke)
22. JEAN ARTHUR “Only Angels Have Wings”(‘39-Howard Hawks)
23. JUDY GARLAND “Babes in Arms”(‘39-Busby Berkeley)
24. VIVIEN LEIGH “Gone with the Wind”(‘39-Victor Fleming)
25. CAROLE LOMBARD “Made for Each Other”(‘39-John Cromwell)

Outstanding SUPPORTING ACTRESS Performances - The 1930s

1. LOUISE CLOSSER HALE “Shanghai Express”(‘32-Josef von Sternberg”)

2. ALISON SKIPWORTH “Night After Night”(‘32-Archie Mayo)
3. MAE WEST “Night After Night”(‘32-Archie Mayo)
4. RUTH DONNELLY “Footlight Parade”(‘33-Lloyd Bacon)
5. DORIS KENYON “Counsellor-at-Law(‘33-William Wyler)
6. KATHLEEN HOWARD “It’s a Gift”(‘34-Norman Z.McLeod)
7. MONA BARRIE “King of Burlesque”(‘35-Sidney Lanfield)
8. ALICE BRADY “Gold-diggers of 1935”(‘35-Busby Berkeley)
9. GLENDA FARRELL “Gold-diggers of 1935”(‘35-Busby Berkeley)
10. HATTIE McDANIEL “Alice Adams”(‘35-George Stevens)
11. UNA O’CONNOR “Bride of Frankenstein”(‘35-James Whale)
12. EDNA MAY OLIVER “David Copperfield”(‘35-George Cukor)
13. MARY ASTOR “Dodsworth”(‘36-William Wyler)
14. JANE DARWELL “Ramona”(‘36-Henry King)
15. MARCIA MAE JONES “These Three”(‘36-William Wyler)
16. ALMA KRUGER “These Three”(‘36-William Wyler)
17. DORIS NOLAN “Holiday”(‘38-George Cukor)
18. DITA PARLO “La Grande Illusion”(‘38-Jean Renoir)
19. OLIVIA de HAVILLAND “Gone with the Wind”(‘39-Victor Fleming)
20. KAY FRANCIS “In Name Only”(‘39-John Cromwell)
21. MARGARET HAMILTON “The Wizard of Oz”(‘39-Victor Fleming)
22. HATTIE McDANIEL “Gone with the Wind”(“39-Victor Fleming)
23. BUTTERFLY McQUEEN “Gone with the Wind”(‘39-Victor Fleming)
24. HELEN PARRISH “First Love”(‘39-Henry Koster)
25. LUCILE WATSON “Made for Each Other”(‘39-John Cromwell)

Outstanding ACTRESS Performances - The 1940s

1. BETTE DAVIS “The Letter”(‘40-William Wyler)

2. IRENE DUNNE “My Favorite Wife”(‘40-Garson Kanin)
3. ROSALIND RUSSELL “His Girl Friday”(‘40-Howard Hawks)
4. JEAN ARTHUR “The Devil and Miss Jones”(‘41-Sam Wood)
5. JENNIFER JONES “The Song of Bernadette”(‘43-Henry King)
6. INGRID BERGMAN “Gaslight”(‘44-George Cukor)
7. CLAUDETTE COLBERT “Since You Went Away”(‘44-John Cromwell)
8. IRENE DUNNE “Together Again”(‘44-Charles Vidor)
9. JUDY GARLAND “Meet Me in St.Louis”(‘44-Vincente Minnelli)
10. ANN SAVAGE “Detour”(‘45-Edgar Ulmer)
11. GENE TIERNEY “Leave Her to Heaven”(‘45-John M.Stahl)
12. JOAN CRAWFORD “Humoresque”(‘46-Jean Negulesco)
13. ELEANOR PARKER “Of Human Bondage”(‘46-Edmund Goulding)
14. GENE TIERNEY “The Razor’s Edge’(“46-Edmund Goulding)
15. JOAN BENNETT “The Macomber Affair”(‘47-Zoltan Korda)
16. JANE GREER “Out of the Past”(‘47-Jacques Tourneur)
17. DOROTHY McGUIRE “Gentleman’s Agreement”(‘47-Elia Kazan)
18. MARLENE DIETRICH “A Foreign Affair”(‘48-Billy Wilder)
19. IDA LUPINO “Road House”(‘48-Jean Negulesco)
20. MOIRA SHEARER “The Red Shoes”(‘48-Michael Powell)
21. INGRID BERGMAN “Stromboli”(‘49-Roberto Rossellini)
22. PEGGY CUMMINS “Gun Crazy”(‘49-Joseph H.Lewis
23. BETTE DAVIS “Beyond the Forest”(‘49-King Vidor)
24. OLIVIA de HAVILLAND “The Heiress’(‘49-William Wyler)
25. VALERIE HOBSON “The Rocking Horse Winner”(‘49-Anthony Pelissier)

Outstanding SUPPORTING ACTRESS Performances - The 1940s

1. JANE DARWELL “The Grapes of Wrath”(‘40-John Ford)

2. FRIEDA INESCOURT “Pride and Prejudice”(‘40-Robert Z.Leonard)
3. GAIL PATRICK “My Favorite Wife”(‘40-Garson Kanin)
4. SARA ALLGOOD “How Green Was My Valley”(‘41-John Ford)
5. SPRING BYINGTON “The Devil and Miss Jones”(‘41-Sam Wood)
6. DOROTHY COMINGORE “Citizen Kane”(‘41-Orson Welles)
7. JOAN LESLIE “High Sierra”(‘41-Raoul Walsh)
8. ANNE BAXTER “The Magnificent Ambersons”(‘42-Orson Welles)
9. NANCY COLEMAN “King’s Row”(‘42-Sam Wood)
10. DAME MAY WHITTY “Mrs. Miniver’(‘42-William Wyler)
11. JEAN BROOKS “The Seventh Victim”(‘43-Mark Robson)
12. GABRIELLE DORZIOT “Le Baron Fantome”(‘43-Serge de Poligny)
13. RUTH HUSSEY “Tender Comrade”(‘43-Edward Dmytryk
14. MARY ASTOR “Meet Me in St.Louis”(‘44-Vincente Minnelli)
15. ANGELA LANSBURY “Gaslight”(‘44-George Cukor)
16. HATTIE McDANIEL “Since You Went Away”(‘44-John Cromwell)
17. ELIZABETH RUSSELL “Curse of the Cat People”(‘44-Robert Wise,Gunter von Fritsch)
18. ROSALIND IVAN “The Corn is Green”(‘45-Irving Rapper)
19. LILLIAN GISH “Duel in the Sun”(‘46-King Vidor)
20. LEOPOLDINE KONSTANTIN “Notorious”(‘46-Alfred Hitchcock)
21. DOROTHY MALONE “The Big Sleep”(‘46-Howard Hawks)
22. MARTITA HUNT “Great Expectations”(‘47-David Lean)
23. HELEN WALKER “Nightmare Alley”(‘47-Edmund Goulding)
24. NATALIE WOOD “Miracle on 34th Street”(‘47-George Seaton)
25. HOPE EMERSON “Cry of the City”(‘48-Robert Siodmak)

Outstanding ACTRESS Performances - The 1950s

1. CORNELL BORCHERS “The Big Lift”(‘50-George Seaton)

2. BETTE DAVIS “All About Eve”(‘50-Joseph L.Mankiewicz)
3. PATRICIA NEAL “Three Secrets”(‘50-Robert Wise)
4. ELEANOR PARKER “Caged”(‘50-John Cromwell)
5. MARGARET SULLAVAN “No Sad Songs for Me”(‘50-Rudolph Mate)
6. GLORIA SWANSON “Sunset Blvd”(‘50-Billy Wilder)
7. PIER ANGELI “Teresa”(‘51-Fred Zinnemann)
8. LESLIE CARON “An American in Paris”(‘51-Vincente Minnelli)
9. EVELYN KEYES “The Prowler”(‘51-Joseph Losey)
10. ANNA MAGNANI “Bellissima”(‘51-Luchino Visconti)
11. JULIE HARRIS “Member of the Wedding”(‘52-Fred Zinnemann)
12. MARILYN MONROE “Don’t Bother to Knock”(‘52-Roy Ward Baker)
13. BARBARA STANWYCK “Clash By Night”(‘52-Fritz Lang)
14. JEAN ARTHUR “Shane”(‘53-George Stevens)
15. DORIS DAY “Calamity Jane”(‘53-David Butler)
16. AUDREY HEPBURN “Roman Holiday”(‘53-William Wyler)
17. JANE RUSSELL “Gentlemen Prefer Blondes”(‘53-Howard Hawks)
18. BARBARA STANWYCK “Titanic”(‘53-Jean Negulesco)
19. BRENDA De BANZIE “Hobson’s Choice”(‘54-David Lean)
20. GIULIETA MASINA “La Strada”(‘54-Federico Fellini)
21. SUSAN HAYWARD “I’ll Cry Tomorrow”(‘55-Daniel Mann)
22. BETTE DAVIS “The Catered Affair”(‘56-Richard Brooks)
23. PATRICIA NEAL “A Face in the Crowd”(‘57-Elia Kazan)
24. SHIRLEY MacLAINE “Some Came Running”(‘58-Vincente Minnelli)
25. SIMONE SIGNORET “Room at the Top”(‘59-Jack Clayton)

Outstanding SUPPORTING ACTRESS Performances - The 1950s

1. HOPE EMERSON “Caged”(‘50-John Cromwell)

2. BETTY GARDE “Caged”(‘50-John Cromwell)
3. NANCY OLSON “Sunset Blvd”(‘50-Billy Wilder)
4. NINA FOCH “An American in Paris”(‘51-Vincente Minnelli)
5. KIM HUNTER “A Streetcar Named Desire”(‘51-Elia Kazan)
6. MIRIAM HOPKINS “Carrie”(‘52-William Wyler)
7. GRACE KELLY “Mogambo”(‘53-John Ford)
8. MACHIKO KYO “Ugetsu”(‘53-Kenji Mizoguchi)
9. ALLYN McLERIE “Calamity Jane”(‘53-David Butler)
10. TERESA WRIGHT “The Actress”(‘53-George Cukor)
11. MERCEDES McCAMBRIDGE “Johnny Guitar”(‘54-Nicholas Ray)
12. NIMMI “Amar”(‘54-Mehboob Khan)
13. KINUYO TANAKA “Sansho the Bailiff”(‘54-Kenji Mizoguchi)
14. LILLIAN GISH “Night of the Hunter”(‘55-Charles Laughton)
15. JO VAN FLEET “I’ll Cry Tomorrow”(‘55-Daniel Mann)
16. EVELYN VARDEN “Night of the Hunter”(‘55-Charles Laughton)
17. JOAN BLONDELL “Desk Set”(‘57-Walter Lang)
18. DOROTHY DANDRIDGE “Island in the Sun”(‘57-Robert Rossen)
19. UNA O’CONNOR “Witness for the Prosecution”(‘57-Billy Wilder)
20. GLADYS COOPER “Separate Tables”(‘58-Delbert Mann)
21. HERMIONE GINGOLD “Gigi”(‘58-Vincente Minnelli)
22. MADELEINE SHERWOOD “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof”(‘58-Richard Brooks)
23. DIANE BAKER “The Diary of Anne Frank”(‘59-George Stevens)
24. CONSTANCE FORD “A Summer Place”(‘59-Delmer Daves)
25. THELMA RITTER “A Hole in the Head”(‘59-Frank Capra)

MS. Leighton

In preparation for the upcoming Smackdown, Stinkylulu’s waxing eloquent this week on an especially worthy subject – Margaret Leighton’s complex and rewarding work in “The Go-Between”(1971). Reading Stinkylulu’s exploration of the performance is nearly as much fun as watching Leighton deliver it.

From this corner, I’d like to offer three resounding cheers to the actress for a trio of terrific supporting performances in the early 70’s. Thank God that, with the “Go-Between” nomination, the Academy recognized at least one of them. The other two were just as good, maybe better: “Lady Caroline Lamb” (1972) and “The Nelson Affair” (1973).

The latter’s not much of a movie – just another souvenir from the time when it was raining Glenda Jackson movies. Accolades for Jackson were coming fast and furious too. The Oscar for “Women in Love” was understandable. No real problem with the nod for “Sunday Bloody Sunday”, either. But eventually things got out of hand. Probably the only reason Jackson didn’t snag a nomination for “The Nelson Affair” (a reunion with “Sunday” co-star Peter Finch) was that the Academy was busy actually handing her a second Oscar that year for the utterly disposable “Touch of Class”. A clear case of carrying things too far. It reminds me of a friend’s description of Greer Garson during her early 40’s hey-day . Graciously negotiating her way through the war years , nominations sticking to her skirts like static cling. Jackson’s skirts may not have been quite so daintily hoisted. But they crackled, nevertheless, with Academy cling. Truth be told, it was Margaret Leighton (as Lord Nelson’s betrayed wife) who provided “The Nelson Affair” with its only real interest acting-wise. The performance, superlative by the way, went largely unnoticed. I suppose, by this time, people just expected great acting from Leighton, simply accepting it as a matter of course.

"Lady Caroline Lamb"'s a much more entertaining piece, with Sarah Miles sublimely cast as an impossible daughter-in-law and Leighton dizzyingly good as the mother-in-law who has to contend with her. The film was in and out of theatres in a heartbeat, had a brief video release years ago and is yet to see the light of day on DVD. So it’s not that familiar to most people. But fans of Miles and Leighton who haven’t caught up with it can certainly look forward to a treat. Physically Leighton was Vivien Leigh-ish. Not as heart-stoppingly beautiful in her youth. Not as sexy. But she developed into a character actress of infinitely greater versatility. I recently caught up with her largely unheralded film debut in “Bonnie Prince Charlie”(1948). She transforms what could’ve been just a conventional leading-lady-in-a-Technicolor-adventure-film assignment into something quite unique. Gentle. Wise. Strong. Melancholy. Endearing. Yet there’s never a hint of cliché. Handed a role that could have been as bland as Bo-Peep, she’s simply intriguing. And it’s pretty much down to her own special art. Her care with the Scottish accent. Her lovely engagement with the actors around her. Her unmistakable presence. All these things announce the arrival of a genuine artist.

Leighton’s glorious 1-2-3 punch in the early 70’s displays that artistry in full, rich bloom. There’s a moment early on in “The Go-Between” – certainly not the climax of her performance – but, like so many moments in Leighton’s career, treasurable. Wearing an imposing hat, elegantly pouring tea from a silver service, virtually orchestrating the scene around her, she still manages to make a delicious meal out of the monosyllable “why?”.

That’s entertainment!

WHY AM I SAYING THESE TERRIBLE THINGS ABOUT HARRY KELLERMAN?

Sometimes the public gets it right. Witness its repudiation of Who is Harry Kellerman and Why is He Saying Those Terrible Things About Me, a notorious box-office flop from 1971. People just seemed to sense from the get-go that this was one to avoid. Because of Barbara Harris’ somewhat flukey Oscar nomination, the picture’s part of Stinkylulu’s upcoming Supporting Actress Smackdown (August 26). So moving into investigative mode, I decided to proceed where few have gone before and watch it.

If there are people out there who relish the thought of spending two hours trapped face to face in a straitjacket with Dustin Hoffman, this picture offers you your chance. All others proceed with caution – possibly in the opposite direction. This is a movie that sees itself as hip, funny and profound. All boxes remain resolutely unchecked. Hoffman is Georgie Soloway, neurotic, unpleasant, selfish Dylanesque music superstar, poring over the various ways he’s flushed his life down the toilet. We’re given to believe he’s his own worst enemy. Though I’d say several of the other characters seem to have pretty good reasons to jump the queue. Did I mention most of the music’s lousy, too? Hoffman brings along his usual numbing self-absorption and monotonous presence, frequently relying on one of his standard schticks – sort of yelling at people as he grins mirthlessly, smug and needy at the same time. And when Hoffman gets going in this mode he’s never gonna say “uncle”. Get used to it. Along the way, reputable talents like Jack Warden and Dom DeLuise are given drivel to work with. And you may feel sorry for them. Sorrier for yourself probably. At about the 70 minute mark, when you’re likely examining the video box (it’s not on DVD) saying “wait a minute, isn’t Barbara Harris supposed to be in this thing?”, she finally shows up (as auditioning actress/one night stand Allison). She’s “on"; she’s full of tricks and mannerisms.

But, let’s face it, she’s got her work cut out for her. Like a gift that has to fight its own way out of a box full of low-grade excelsior. Suddenly she starts to sing “Painting the Clouds with Sunshine” – sweet and slow – and all’s right with the world. Her singing voice is beautiful – and so much more. Almost everything in this movie goes on too long. So, wouldn’t you know, HER number’s cut short. Allison maintains she’s only got three good notes and hasn’t gotten to them yet. But, I’ll tell you, every note we do hear is sublime. The sheer beauty she creates just on the word “drown” is almost unbearable. Of course, this IS Barbara Harris, an artist so complete, so richly intuitive and generous with her talent that there’s naturally a lot more than just nice singing going on. Every word and gesture in the song make you feel you’re coming home safe after a long journey. Hoffman steps aside to let her take the spotlight for the next ten minutes or so and she almost rescues a movie that moments before had seemed irredeemable. Much of her subsequent dialogue is overly sentimental, second-rate. But she works it. The girl works it. And apparently enough monkeys WERE given enough typewriters because one brief snippet is actually quite lovely:

“Time… it’s not a thief like they say – it’s something much sneakier. It’s an embezzler, up nights juggling the books so you don’t know anything’s missing.”

In the circumstances, it can’t really be called Barbara Harris’ very best performance. But it’s still Barbara Harris. And the results are, as often happens with this actress, alchemical. Of course, when she’s gone, she’s missed – desperately. But a little later, 70-ish David Burns creates his own little island of truth and beauty with a nice vignette as Georgie’s father, a neighborhood restaurant owner, stoically revealing a terminal illness to his son. And Burns' quietly off-hand delivery makes the moment count.

“There’s no point expanding at this time”.

But Burns and Harris only occupy 15 minutes or so of Harry Kellerman. The rest is Flails of Hoffman, staggering – eventually - to a final “profound” “surprise’’ twist (which is neither). Then, finally, you’re free to go. Sorry, no refunds.

The Wicked Lady (1945)

Bad apples. Something to steer clear of. Except in the movies, where a villain – unmitigated, cunning, hissable – can elicit a particularly satisfying mixture of disapproval and delight. The part can be a banquet for a stylish actor – and for the audience. Make that villain a glamorous woman with a drop-dead wardrobe, velvet in her voice and a to-do list that ranges from home-wrecking to homicide and points beyond. And you’ve got that most intoxicating of fiends – the femme fatale.

You could say it started with Eve – a notably successful promoter of bad apples. Certainly the movies have never suffered from a shortage of sexy schemers – from Jezebel and Delilah to Bridget O’Shaughnessy. There’s Gene Tierney implacably spinning her Technicolor web in “Leave Her to Heaven”. And Kathleen Turner who etched her name on the blood-red honor roll in “Body Heat”. Should she ever decide to join , Angelina Jolie seems to have everything it takes for full membership in this scintillating sisterhood of the adder.

British actors enjoy a reputation for being able to wear period clothes with real plausibility and flair. So maybe it’s not surprising that England’s quintessential screen vixen emerged in a costume film. The picture was “The Wicked Lady”. And though few critics did cartwheels over it, audience response was tremendous. When it opened in Britain late in 1945 , “The Wicked Lady” played to packed houses everywhere – for a long, long time.

The film had its basis in an old English legend attached to one Katherine Ferrers, 17th century blueblood. Purportedly arising out of the discovery (after her death) of a mysterious secret chamber in the family mansion – a chamber that discreetly led outdoors. Explanations were advanced – fanciful, titillating. The one that eventually took hold was the Tale of the Wicked Lady – noblewoman by day, highwaywoman by night. In 1943 a certain deliciously named Magdalen King-Hall (her friends called her Madge) rewhipped the ingredients into a hot-blooded novel called “The Life and Death of the Wicked Lady Skelton”. The book’s brisk sales convinced Gainsborough Pictures to bankroll a film version. It proved to be one of the studio’s all-time best brainstorms.

The story: beautiful Lady Barbara snatches her best friend’s fiance. But quickly finds married life in the country stifling. Losing a favorite brooch in a card game, she impulsively poses as a highwayman to retrieve it. The excitement proves addictive and milady’s soon embarked on a secret life of larceny and mayhem. She takes a lover too – a dashing bandit. Eventually betrays him. And adds a few colorful murders to her catalogue along the way – before finally receiving a nasty and well-earned come-uppance.

There were reasons, of course, why “The Wicked Lady” packed such a box-office wallop. Beyond the time-honored appeal of velvet, brocade, jewel-encrusted goblets and swashbuckling action on the King’s highway. The need for escapist entertainment on the home-front fuelled a movie-going boom during the WW2 years. For the British public, the war represented a vast, mutually shared trauma. But it served as a profound bonding experience too. The communal ritual of sharing a movie in the dark with a crowd fed on and embellished the intensity of that experience. The spectre of television was still years away. And movies continued to reign supreme. The dynamic energy, the celebratory mood of the immediate postwar period kept movie houses packed. Box office figures for ’45 and ’46 were through the roof.

“The Wicked Lady” struck a particular chord with the female audience. With so many men in the services, women had stepped into the workforce in unprecedented numbers. And many women found they liked the new freedom and autonomy. They were forging identities outside of home, pursuing (and achieving) success in a man’s world. It’s likely that a significent female viewership saw their newly kindled ambitions reflected in the exploits of Lady Barbara. Reckless. Determined. Even ruthless. But definitely someone who took men on at their own game. The fact she did it with glamour and panache was icing on the cake. Now the war was over. And in Barbara’s disastrous end it’s not far-fetched to speculate that women saw an unsettling hyper-reflection of their own frustrated ambitions and diminished prospects as the men returned and women were expected to make a full retreat to domesticity.

“The Wicked Lady” also benefited from the presence of a sympathetic director. Leslie Arliss (son, as it happens, of that cagey old show-off George Arliss) didn’t see the film as some sort of imposed assignment. He’d already enjoyed considerable success with romantic costume drama – and genuinely responded to the genre. That enthusiasm translated nicely to the screen. Intrigued by the novel – and instantly sensing its picture possibilities – Arliss approached Gainsborough execs, only to find out they’d already optioned it and wanted him to direct. So there was an element of happy predestination at work here.

The timing was perfect, placing “The Wicked Lady” at the crest of a very successful mid-40’s trend – the Gainsborough romance. The studio’s series of fancy dress fairy tales – seasoned with generous dollops of palpitating passion and pistols at dawn – caught the public’s fancy in a huge way. In Britain they still command a special fondness. Gainsborough Studios had been around since the 20’s, efficiently churning out unpretentious programmers. No threat to Hollywood or Korda, but a modestly successful little operation known for squeezing value out of every penny. Amusing no-frills comedies with Will Hay ( a sort of W.C. Fields/Alastair Sim fusion) were dependable moneymakers. And there were occasionally more ambitious projects – several well-received Hitchcock thrillers and a fairly elaborate Lady Jane Grey biopic. But for the most part, it was the modest little bread and butter B pictures that kept the Gainsborough pot bubbling.

In 1943 the studio’s profile suddenly got a lot higher with the release of “The Man in Grey” directed by Leslie Arliss. Studio chief Maurice Ostrer had a master plan – to create homegrown stars who could match the appeal and glamour of their Hollywood counterparts. By the end of ‘43 he had five of them, four of whom made their big star-making splash in “The Man in Grey”

Phyllis Calvert had graduated from pratfalls with George Formby to decorous cooing with impeccable Robert Donat and was regarded as mildly promising. “The Man in Grey” shot her to stardom. The picture’s lushly exaggerated period gowns and bonnets suited her to the ground. And Gainsborough’s craftsmen, experts by now at imaginative (and economical) use of every resource, created stylized sets that embraced the artificiality of the soundstage, turning the screen into an exquisite 19th century jewel-box. Calvert was one of those rare creatures emanating physical AND spiritual beauty. In the 40’s she was ravishingly pretty, with large expressive eyes and a lovely voice. All of it amplified by her graceful knack for projecting a genuinely engaging spirit. Audiences invested tremendous sympathy in Calvert’s Clarissa as outrageous fortune hurried her along from girls’ school to a loveless (but luxury-equipped) marriage, a passionate love affair and a tragic end. Hollywood had chosen a British Scarlett O’Hara. Had they wanted a British Melanie too, they couldn’t have done better than Calvert. Goodness without the boring bits.

In “The Man in Grey” the apple of her eye was relative newcomer Stewart Granger – and he emerged fully-formed as Britain’s definitive swashbuckling heart-throb. Audiences thrilled to his devil-may-care wooing of the gentle Calvert. Probably the best dash meets decorum partnership since Flynn and
de Havilland.

But even more intense was the impact of the film’s two baddies. James Mason’s the dastardly “Man in Grey” himself, thwarting poor Calvert at every turn, steeped in Dorian Gray depravity. Disdainful as Clifton Webb, handsome as the devil and oozing a distinctive and dangerous sex appeal. A factor that ignites his dealings with Hesther, the picture’s scheming stop-at-nothing vixen – vividly embodied by Margaret Lockwood. A Joan Bennett-Hedy Lamarr type beauty with style, authority and a memorable hint of menthol in her voice, she was already a name. Hitchcock’s “The Lady Vanishes” had given her global exposure in the late 30’s. And she’d had several modest successes since. But Lockwood’s Hesther was her ticket to the top. “The Man in Grey” broke attendance records all over Britain. People couldn’t get enough of the story, the fashions and - above all – the stars. And Gainsborough certainly had no intention of denying them. By the end of ’43 a fifth Gainsborough superstar had emerged. Lovely Patricia Roc, one of the era’s great beauties and a fine actress, too – proved a magnet for audience sympathy in “Millions Like Us”,a movie which successfully showcased her as the definitive girl on the homefront. It effectively launched Roc’s palmiest period.

For the next several years, the studio mixed and matched these five stars in every possible combination. Not always in period pictures. “Love Story”, for example, offered terminally ill concert pianist Lockwood battling Roc for the affections of flyer Granger to the accompaniment of “The Cornish Rhapsody” and blissfully sobbing audiences. But it was the period films that elicited the most rabid enthusiasm. And long, long queues. Titles like “Fanny By Gaslight” (Calvert, Mason, Granger) and “Madonna of the Seven Moons” (Calvert, Granger, Roc) were sheer catnip.

In the 40’s, every Gainsborough picture opened with the studio logo – a glamorous milady, bewigged and beplumed. She slowly turns, graciously inclines her head and smiles in a way that seems to promise all manner of powdered wig shenanigans. As famous and familiar, in her day, as Rank’s Man with the Gong.

Such was the scene when “The Wicked Lady” opened late in ’45. Movie attendance was still sky-high and fans had been clamouring for the new Lockwood/Mason/Roc teaming. Even so, no one was quite prepared for the scale of its success. Beyond the impressive star power, “The Wicked Lady” had a rousing story and an unusually racy tone. The script had Barbara cheating on her husband (frequently). The dialogue was uniformly sharp, often funny – but some of it, including a number of spicy double entendres, was downright naughty. Exactly how it got past the censors remains a puzzle. But audiences were clearly titillated. When a Royal Command Performance was scheduled there was considerable concern that the film might offend the Queen Mother. It didn’t. As a matter of fact, the old girl loved it.

The bang-on casting in “The Wicked Lady” goes well beyond the leads. Mariyott Cells, the country estate where much of the action occurs, comes stocked with its own little Old Vic company. Complete with a welter of elderly female relatives, including an imposing aunt and a couple of twittering silly-billy old maid twins. A concentrated mass of tea party eccentrics - the whole passle of them rolling through the halls like a chattering clump of tumbleweed. The great Martita Hunt (pre-Miss Havisham) is the aunt. And when she hears good-natured Roc extolling the beauty of Barbara’s eyes, she intones (in delectable Hunt style):

“Cats have green eyes. I don’t like cats.”

The under-rated Griffith Jones makes the most of his role as the upright Ralph, the first rabbit who tumbles into Barbara’s snare. Jones is often at his best when he’s at the onscreen mercy of a calculating female. Especially charming a few years later when he falls under the spell of the movies’ all-time best mermaid, Miranda (the ever-tasty Glynis Johns).

Felix Aylmer, a dean among character actors, has dour fun as Hogarth. He’s a sort of household manager of accounts and morals, enemy of levity in all its forms. Apprised of some innocent winter fun among Londoners, he can only lament:

“Skating and sinning.”

Lockwood’s Barbara lands in this cozy domestic scene like an A-bomb. She’s just come from other relatives and quickly offers Roc her opinions on that household:

“All Aunt Beattie thinks about is what’s going to happen to you when you’re dead. If I can’t live while I’m alive I’ll go mad!”

Not that she’s any fonder of Roc. Initially friendly to her face, she’s soon privately referring to her as a “self-sacrificing little ninny.” At any rate, it’s not long before the duplicitous Barbara has re-arranged everything at Mariyott Cells to her own liking. Although, since Barbara’s never satisfied with anything once she’s got it, she’s soon itching for new thrills.

Enter sister-in-law Henriette from London. The part’s played by Enid Stamp-Taylor, a gifted actress who died young. Her precisely accomplished needling of Barbara enlivens every scene she’s in. A handsome woman, she looks and sounds like a RADA trained Gypsy Rose Lee. Though Lee would probably have killed for half Stamp-Taylor’s skill with dialogue. Not that Lockwood doesn’t counter in delicious Cecily-Gwendoline style. Sample exchange:

Henriette: “ It’s hard to believe that six months could have changed you so much. You know, I used to quite envy you. You used to look so young and lovely.”
Barbara: “Oh, is it only six months? Then it must be the journey that tired you out. Traveling makes one look so bedraggled.”

Barbara loses her brooch to Henriette. And before you can say “your money or your life”, the highwayman phase of the story is underway. Enter Captain Jerry Jackson (a deeply dashing James Mason, merrily riding to Hell and daring us to follow). Jackson has no illusions about himself. And few about others. He recognizes Barbara for the bitch she is. But she’s an exciting bitch . And he’s drawn to her. This wouldn’t work if Lockwood herself didn’t project the requisite snap, crackle and pop. The splash of lipstick (probably jungle red), the impudent beauty mark perched on her cheekbone – these signifiers work so well only because Lockwood, the actress, is fully able to convey the inner Barbara, a whirlpool of wilfulness, greed, frustration, lust for excitement, sensuality and insatiable longing – turbulent qualities that complement rather than diminish her beauty. Jackson responds to it all - and to a recklessness that matches his own.

The attitude towards sex in the film is amazingly freewheeling. Lots of gleeful innuendo peppers the procession sweeping Ralph up to Barbara ‘s bedchamber on their wedding night. And, wouldn’t you know, Barbara doesn’t even get one night’s satisfaction out of Ralph – because she’s already met a man she prefers – at the reception. Stewart Granger was otherwise engaged. So this role fell to up-and-comer Michael Rennie (the future Klaatu, no less), giving the movie another little sprinkle of stardust. And the Lockwood/Mason chemistry that comes later sizzles. There’s no mistaking what Barbara and Jerry are up to during their regular trysts at the Leaping Stag Inn.

“The Wicked Lady” plugged into sexual currents that were buzzing in the air. WW2 brought vast population shifts; women watched the men in their lives go away, sometimes for years, Britain was flooded with randy North American servicemen, women were tasting a newfound independence bringing with it increased empowerment and curiosity. And of course the war fostered a kind of “live for today” attitude. As a popular song of the time said, “For all we know, we may never love again”. But society’s official policy was still “repress it”. And most movies continued to play by the book. The sexy vibe of “The Wicked Lady” beat the tom-tom with a very different and intriguing message.

To get a perception of “The Wicked Lady”’s box-office performance, it’s worth noting that one 2004 publication (factoring in inflation) ranked the film among Britain’s all-time top ten grossers, nestled between James Cameron’s “Titanic” and one of the Harry Potter films. In 1945 this amazing success couldn’t help but set antennae in Hollywood quivering. U.S. distributors clamoured for the American rights. A deal was negotiated (with Universal). But trouble reared its head in the form of those veteran party-poopers, the censors. Chief objection: the deep-dish decolletage exhibited by the film's females. In the end, to protect the supposedly delicate sensibilities of the American public, scenes were actually re-shot with suitably altered dresses. Bottom line, though : the sexual electricity generated by Lockwood and Mason had very little to do with costumes.

“The Wicked Lady” didn’t exactly sweep America. But it did get noticed. With plenty of provocative publicity and certainly more stateside playdates than most British films ever managed. Plus it made money. Tinseltown had already begun to sit up and take notice of the Gainsborough stars. This was the era of “Forever Amber”. Kathleen Winsor’s spicy novel about a bed-hopping 17th century beauty had taken America by storm. And when 20th Century Fox bought the film rights, they launched a huge Scarlett O’Hara type search for Amber. Every presentable actress but Lassie was mentioned for the part; several big names campaigned ardently for it. But Zanuck offered the plum to Margaret Lockwood. An incredible coup! Except that, as it happens, Lockwood had already spent a brief sojourn in Hollywood in the late 30’s – and hadn’t really enjoyed it . The U.S. success of “The Lady Vanishes” had gotten her a short-term deal at that same Fox studio. There, she’d found herself posing for publicity photos and playing third fiddle to Shirley Temple in the nondescript “Susannah of the Mounties”. Neither California life nor studio politics appealed to her much. And when Carol Reed offered Lockwood a meaty part in “The Stars Look Down” back in Britain, she chose not to re-sign with Fox. And scurried home. Now six years later, ensconced as Britain’s top box-office star, she preferred to remain in her homegrown roost. It might have been fun to see Lockwood, now at her peak, in Hollywood. But, as things turned out, when “Amber” finally made its appearance – for all its color and cost – it wasn’t nearly as much fun as “The Wicked Lady”.

Patricia Roc was the first of the Gainsborough group to head for Hollywood. Walter Wanger signed her to star in a big color western called “Canyon Passage”. The film did well. But, unfortunately for Roc, “Canyon Passage” also starred Wanger’s hottest property, Susan Hayward. Who knows what went on behind the scenes? But Roc found herself stuck in a pallid little plain-jane part, while Hayward monopolized the screen with spectacular red tresses, flashing eyes and all the liveliest dialogue. It’s odd. Most British actresses who went to America at least benefited from the Hollywood makeup and styling wizards. Roc crossed the Atlantic merely to be turned into a drab little wren. When the picture was finished, she hot-footed it home, never to return. Back in English films, she quickly re-emerged as her familiar dazzling looking self. A puzzlement.

Phyllis Calvert’s agents signed deals with Paramount and Universal. And she embarked on the adventure with considerable fanfare, even snagging a Life Magazine cover in June,1948. But the American films she made between ’48 and ’51 failed to showcase her properly, drawing only shrugs. The last of them (“Appointment with Danger”) teamed her with red-hot Alan Ladd. But any potential sparks were considerably doused by the fact that she played her entire role in a nun’s habit. She and her husband did form a lasting friendship with Ladd and his wife, one of the few positive legacies of her Hollywood stay. But Calvert, too, returned to Britain where, like Lockwood , she followed her movie star years with a long, successful career on stage and in television, eventually emerging as a beloved veteran of the British entertainment scene.

Hollywood proved to be a much better proposition for the Gainsborough men. Stewart Granger signed with MGM , kicking off the association with a blockbuster hit, “King Solomon’s Mines”. And for the next several years reigned as the studio’s prime adventure star. “Scaramouche” in ’52, with two glamorous leading ladies (Eleanor Parker and Janet Leigh), a rocking villain (Mel Ferrer) and some spectacular swordplay , proved an especially splendid showcase for Granger’s distinctive athleticism and panache. As for James Mason, his Hollywood years helped establish him as one of the world’s most admired and respected actors – a brilliant artist and an enduring world-class movie star.

For a long, long time, I’ve harboured a special fantasy about the Gainsborough players. It’s a recasting thing, a massive one. In 1948, just about the time the Gainsborough stars were fielding overtures from Hollywood, MGM released an ultre-lavish version of Dumas’ “The Three Musketeers”. It was a great success at the box-office. And it’s unlikely anyone at Metro regretted that. But, though the picture was an eye-popping showcase for 40’s Technicolor, I’ve never cared for it. The cast just doesn’t do it for me. And their various levels of unsuitability – visuallly, vocally, temperamentally – collide awkwardly, exacerbating the clumsy, shifting tones of the piece. Slapstick, adventure and high drama jockey constantly for position, never quite sure when to take center stage. Gene Kelly (D’Artagnan) offers a prime example. Certainly he’s athletic enough – and worked diligently on his swordsmanship. But he undercuts the impact of every duel with clunky vaudeville schtick (often accompanied by distressing cartoon music cues). Even in regular dialogue segments, he often resorts to exaggerated line readings and mugging. Of course, he’s absolutely 20th century, resolutely American – and so firmly identified with musicals that we keep waiting for the songs. These aspects of Kelly’s persona worked beautifully that same year in “The Pirate”, a rousing musical spoof of swashbucklers, beautifully helmed by Vincente Minnelli. Here a strolling player motif and an amazing , stylized tropical fever-dream setting worked marvelously with both musical-comedy and swashbuckling conventions. Minnelli kept the whole high-wire act going from start to finish. (Judy Garland’s presence didn’t hurt either). But in “The Three Musketeers”, director George Sidney seemed to have no control – vainly struggling to express a light heart with a heavy hand.

Equally jarring is the saccharine presence of June Allyson, with her squirm-inducing brand of Andy Hardy meets Norman Rockwell Americana. Allyson doesn’t even project any pep (Kelly, of course, supplies entirely too much of it), delivering her lines in a tone of constant (and phony) concern. A sedated Mickey Rooney in a wig would hardly have made a worse Constance.

And finally there’s Milady de Winter, one of literature’s most celebrated villainesses – and a role that’s been poorly handled in version after version of the story. The ’48 edition’s no exception. Lana Turner seems to have her hands full just supporting the elaborate gowns. She brings zero charisma, no verve and precious little ability to the part. A sort of blank space inside the extravagant costumes and headgear. Her beauty’s as bland and generic as her acting. From the moment she leans out of a carriage to speak, her colorless mid-American tones make you want to hear another voice – any voice – just not hers. Emotionally, dramatically, the performance is like a flat-line reading in an operating room. Lana goes for broke in her big imprisonment scene, pared down to only a semi-elaborate hair-do and two coats of paint. She widens her eyes purposefully and tries to deliver her portentous lines in the grand manner – but predictably screws it up with a misbegotten “watch me now!” attempt at theatricality.

“To be hanged! A common criminal! An English NEWSE!”(She means noose)

Thespian fireworks – Lana style! Raquel Welch could learn from her. Oh wait a minute. I think she did.

Obviously MGM poured a lot of money into this production – and they probably wouldn’t have done it without proven box-office stars like Turner, Kelly and Allyson onboard. But it still hurts. The supporting cast’s no great shakes either, with Keenan Wynn grating, unfunny and - needless to say – anachronistic. Frank Morgan is King Louis (at least that’s what the cast list says) but it’s just standard-issue Morgan. And his predicable dithering was getting very old by this time. Van Heflin makes Athos, the tragic musketeer, simply a lethargic downer – a characterization that’s equal parts chloroform and mothballs. Gig Young looks good in his costumes but WILL insist on opening his mouth every once in awhile and spoiling the effect.

Swashbuckling films don’t necessarily need British or European actors. They sure help though. If you’re casting an American, then you need one who can bring something elegant and courtly to the banquet, something appropriate to the genre. Tyrone Power was an American. But few equalled his ability to shine in a swashbuckler – always right at home among the plush trappings and the derring-do. The bunch in “The Three Musketeers” seem more like party-crashers – an ostentatiously dressed assortment of very sore thumbs.

Do you see where I’m going? If only MGM had decided to outbid the other studios and bring the Gainsborough gang over to America en masse. Then spend the same amount of money on a version of “The Three Musketeers” – for them. There’d recently been several British films which had scored heavily at the U.S. box-office without big stars (“Great Expectations”,”The Red Shoes”). And “The Three Musketeers” was a famous property with a lot of inherent audience appeal. It might well have raked in the coin even without American superstars bolstering the cast. But with the Gainsborough contingent starring, it could have been a pretty terrific movie too.

Stewart Granger was, of course, an ideal D’Artagnan. Dashing, a devil with the sword, playful – but not in the way Gene Kelly was. Kelly’s D’Artagnan seemed, more often than not, a kind of duelling Milton Berle. America embraced Granger as a swashbuckling star only a few years later. Surely they could have moved up the timetable a bit and welcomed him into the fold in ’48.

Patricia Roc was as right for Constance as Allyson was wrong. Which is to say she was perfect. I can see her in the part – and love her already. The role of Queen Anne (played to surprisingly little effect by Angela Lansbury in the Kelly version) would’ve had to be expanded a bit to accommodate Phyllis Calvert’s star status. But her special presence – gently regal – would’ve fit the role like a glove. In the generally over-rated ’74 version, Geraldine Chaplin found ways to make the part resonate. Calvert would’ve certainly done no less.

James Mason is such an inescapably perfect choice for Athos it’s really infuriating he didn’t get to play the part – especially considering the hash Van Heflin made out of it. A haunted figure, a poetic speaker, a charismatic, soulful man with a tragic secret. This IS Mason! And of course, what levels of accomplishment he’d have brought to the role.

Gig Young out. Michael Rennie in. Already I’m breathing easier. Another couple of Brits – and there were plenty in Hollywood – could replace Keenan Wynn and Frank Morgan. I can live with Vincent Price as Richelieu. But why not Raymond Massey? John Sutton stays. Non-negotiable.

And Milady de Winter? Need you ask? Put Lana in a cab and send her home to deal with that lifeless bleached-out Dynel hair of hers. Margaret Lockwood had everything the part needed. The look. The style. The presence. The voice. The talent. She nailed perfidy in “The Man in Grey” Perfected it in “The Wicked Lady”. And how great it would have been to see her doing it with all of Metro’s enormous resources behind her. As a matter of fact, it would’ve been something to see the whole Gainsborough group in color that vivid, on sets that immense. An MGM/Gainsborough “Three Musketeers” could have changed the tangents of all their careers in fascinating ways. All the Gainsborough stars in one spectacularly splashy epic. Reaching an audience vastly bigger than any Gainsborough film ever had. Now that’s “All for one and one for all!”

The Gainsborough romances had a glorious run but not a long one. Granger’s “Caravan”(‘46) maintained the level of the earlier triumphs. “The Magic Bow”(’46) was a biopic of Paganini with Granger and Calvert and everything in it, including the stars, looked ravishing. “Jassy”(’47) was Gainsborough’s first color film and gave Lockwood and Roc a chance to switch their accustomed roles. This time Roc was the bitch. But the script was flapdoodle, without the fun or the flair of yore. Attendance dropped sharply around this time and Gainsborough execs looked for new formulas. They never found one that matched the appeal of the old costumers. Then, shockingly, in the early 50’s, Gainsborough Studios quietly closed – a victim of changing times, changing tastes and that old bugaboo corporate restructuring.

In 1982 British director Michael Winner revealed plans to remake “The Wicked Lady”. There was considerable buzz in the British press. And when Faye Dunaway’s name was announced to headline the project, that buzz reached international proportions. Her controversial work in “Mommie Dearest” had attracted unexpectedly hostile press (thoroughly undeserved – it’s a great performance). And was to have long-term consequences for her career. But she still ranked as a major star, the press following her every move. The “Wicked Lady” casting seemed exciting. After all, Dunaway had played Milady de Winter in the 70’s version of “The Three Musketeers”. And had been the only actress ever to fully exploit the role. Her remarkable display of stylish villainy in that otherwise boorish enterprise made it clear she’d be a superb Lady Barbara.

As it turned out, the new “Wicked Lady” was a rather mixed bag. The project is, after all, a star vehicle. And Margaret Lockwood had certainly delivered star quality, firmly commanding center stage. The thing is the reflected glow from the marvelous performances around her amplified her impact. The new “Wicked Lady” had no such luck. Denholm Elliott’s almost elderly Ralph was a dreary old pudding. Avuncular at best – and for the ladies a singularly unlikely bone of contention. Nondescript Oliver Tobias, defiantly charisma-free, emerged as another petty object for Barbara’s affections. Glynis Barber WAS able to bring a little something to Caroline – a bit of warmth, a fleeting charm. But she lacked Patricia Roc’s individuality. Veterans Joan Hickson, Prunella Scales and John Gielgud all supplied sturdy professionalism - but were utterly unable to erase memories of Martita Hunt, Enid Stamp-Taylor and Felix Aylmer. And there was a world of difference between James Mason and the new Jerry Jackson, Alan Bates. A feeling of smallness clings to everything about Bates’ performance. He seems uninvested in the role. Insignificant – he hardly catches your eye, something one could never ever say about Mason. Bates was a good actor. But his voice was, perhaps, best suited to quiet speeches. There’s a sense of empty noise when he raises that voice. Which he does frequently in “The Wicked Lady”.Ultimately, the effect is sheer tempest in a teacup. Hardly calculated to set hearts ablaze. Or keep audiences awake.

The script stuck very close to the original. Except for some gratuitous nudity involving extras, an au naturel love scene with Barber and Tobias and a catfight (complete with whips) between Dunaway and an eventually topless trollop. But the momentum just wasn’t there. Somehow the story often seemed to drift when it should have plunged headlong – as the ’45 version did. One simply didn’t care about most of the characters. With Bates and Elliott just phoning it in, there simply wasn’t a lot of audience involvement. The accumulation of all these factors leaves Dunaway with a great deal of responsibility. In effect, it’s up to her to salvage the picture. That she does so to such an impressive degree is a tribute to her special gifts.

Although the photography’s by the famed Jack Cardiff, the color seems overly drab and muted. Except for Barbara’s costumes. Dunaway’s wardrobe in the picture is way way beyond anything Lockwood had worn in ’45. It’s one amazing outfit after another. And Dunaway knows just how to move in them, act in them, inhabit them. One of the film’s unalloyed pleasures is watching her glide, rustle, twirl and curtsy, incorporating the fabulous clothes into her performance. The initial shot of her emerging from her carriage – exquisite salmon-colored gown, amazing hair, enormous hat, bathed in late afternoon sunlight – well, it knocks you off your feet. It’s Faye Dunaway in the full blazing Indian summer of her beauty. Dunaway’s Barbara displays more of the ice queen than Lockwood’s.The new Barbara’s scarier. Crazier. But still commanding. Mesmerizing. And there’s no question of vocal deficiency or unsuitability. She’s utterly at home in the 17th century settings. Dunaway’s voice seduces with its low tones and expressive nuances – well-bred and dangerously compelling. Take note, Emily Proctor. THIS is star acting.

The film failed at the box-office. Dunaway’s status was clearly suffering from the “Mommie Dearest” fall-out. Suddenly reviewers weren’t taking her seriously. A pity because she was – and is – an impressive force onscreen. Probably offscreen too. In effect, she’s the one thing that makes the ’83 “Wicked Lady” worth watching. The picture remains a lovely souvenir of old-fashioned movie star glamour – a rare commodity in the 80’s. And Dunaway’s a delicious “Wicked Lady” – glorious looking, suitably crafty, marvelously inscrutable. If her tongue’s in her cheek, it’s her little secret.

During the flurry of publicity that accompanied the film’s launch, it was rumoured that Margaret Lockwood had been offered a cameo. The lady herself maintained a studied lack of interest in the project, suggesting (a) she’d never been approached (b) she had no interest – after all, what would she play, one of the silly cousins? Lockwood might have made a sly impression as Mrs. Munce, dispenser of poisons. But she was probably wise to remain uninvolved. Reviewers in ’45 had turned their noses up at “The Wicked Lady”. But the release of the remake had them suddenly recalling it with fondness, unanimously agreed that the new “Wicked Lady” wasn’t a patch on the old one.

Some years ago, I had the good fortune to meet Phyllis Calvert backstage after a performance of “She Stoops to Conquer”. She proved to be a warm, down-to-earth and charming woman, Still pretty. Still effortlessly casting a spell with those big eyes. I asked her if she kept in touch with any of her Gainsborough colleagues, and she delighted me by saying, yes, she and Margaret Lockwood remained great chums. They talked all the time and frequently got together, occasionally taking their grandchildren for joint outings in the park. Sometimes recognized. Sometimes not. A piquant epilogue to the Gainsborough saga. Sweet Clarissa and wicked Lady Barbara – who’d set the hearts of Stewart Granger and James Mason beating faster in many a fanciful and florid costume epic, who’d had Hollywood wooing them too and who’d managed to connect – lastingly - with millions of moviegoers during Britain’s most turbulent decade. Not wicked at all. But ladies certainly.

Lovely ones. The Gainsborough girls.

Bette Beyond

Subsequent observers have characterized the 1950 actress race as a battle between Davis and Swanson, the comeback queens. It’s actually a bit of a stretch to label Davis’ role in “All About Eve” as a comeback. Only two years earlier, she’d ranked as America’s highest paid woman. True, “A Stolen Life”(’46) had been her last smash. But “June Bride”(’48) and “Beyond the Forest”(’49) both made money. “Bride” even attracted nice reviews. “Forest” definitely didn’t. A shame, in retrospect, because Bette serves up a blast furnace of a performance. She’s Rosa Moline, blowzy small-town malcontent, past her sell-by date but still sexually hopped up. Hubby – doting and respectable – isn’t doing it for her. But she’s ready to raise Cain with any man who can supply a little big city excitement. Forties audiences were slightly uncomfortable. The performance gives off a definite whiff of alley cat in heat. It’s not the classy Bette fans were used to. The polite press clucked disapprovingly – prim old maids encountering a crepitation contest at a garden party. The negative reviews – plus the fact that the film marked the acrimonious end of Bette’s long tenure as Queen Bee at Warners – probably contributed to Davis’ own downbeat assessment of the picture. She went on record as saying Virginia Mayo should’ve played it. And she could’ve. But Mayo would’ve provided a far more conventional image – trampy, yes, but young, supple and stacked. Hard-faced but still a knockout. How much more intriguing it was to watch Bette’s long-in-the-tooth Rosa – bad wig, bad attitude, bad news all around – but a Rosa who thinks, who really thinks, she IS Virginia Mayo.

Bette packs the role with every bit of negative energy she can muster. A crackling fluorescent lightning rod for anyone who ever felt utterly constricted by their surroundings. The sawmill smokestack belches out flames night and day. And so does Bette. Soot and smoke suffocate the town – but Rosa’s the only one that seems to notice. The sawmill blast literally propels her across town every day to fix those Bette Davis eyes on the train that could be whisking her off to to her El Dorado (Chicago). Meanwhile, the whole town gawks. Whether it’s ambiguous wolf whistles or icy glares, Rosa gets reactions. And no wonder – this is practically Bette Davis in 3D. Certainly Rosa’s frustration jumps out of the screen. Her every attempt to wring some glamour - or even satisfaction - out of her life comes back to bite her. Case in point: she acquires a maid - and wouldn’t you know, it’s Dona Drake – priceless – spectacularly insolent, goading her, aping her, defying her – till Bette’s ready to go right through the roof. Well-groomed out of towner Ruth Roman pops up as a potential rival but ends up pretty much a red herring. Her main contribution: supplying the fur coat that just about blows the top off Rosa’s envy meter. Bette plays a mesmerizing scene with that coat. Forget Fred Astaire’s dance with a hatrack. Bette works that pelt. Eyeballing it, caressing it, trying it on as if she’s slowly dousing herself with hot fudge sauce. Davis rocks the room with so much full-tilt actress energy she practically animates the coat into a performance of its own. And it's a good one! Anyone who ever really lusted after luxury – and couldn’t quite put the feeling into words – can just point to this bit of film and say “Yeah, that’s how I felt.”

Climax of the story (though, let's face it Bette’s performance is all about climaxes) has her finally hitting Chicago. Not too surprisingly, Chicago hits back. Overdressed, over made-up, over pushy and over hopeful, Rosa crashes head-on into a series of snubs and humiliations, ultimately getting the heave-ho from smoothie David Brian. Bette bolts from his car and lurches around a night-time Chicago street in the pouring rain. She ducks into a bar for a moment’s relief – only to get turfed out (Escorted ladies only!). Then winds up careening through a seductively photographed noirscape, more and more like a half-drowned Jeanne Moreau every second. Finally, when an old drunk launches into a crazy cackling jag, she whirls around, startled, looking for all the world as if Moreau had actually entered her body and taken over. And believe me, to see the accumulated mojo of Moreau and Davis fused into one spectacular persona – displayed against a succulently rainsoaked noir canvas – is to die and go to Heaven. Chicago doesn’t kill her – but it lands one hell of a suckerpunch, sending Rosa back to Snoozeville, U.S.A., bedraggled and drained.

Bette and “Beyond the Forest” have a few more surprises to spring – all of them entertaining as hell. And finally there’s Bette’s Last Mile. Fever-drenched and half-crazy, she heads to the train station for one final shot at a breakout. There’s never been anything quite like Bette here – a sweat-soaked malarial Madonna staggering and falling, clothes a mess, makeup memorably misapplied – making her last gasp attempt to catch that freedom train. The locomotive itself is magnificent. Huge, ponderous, moving at slow-mo acid-trip speed, spewing out exquisite plumes of smoke. Rosa’s escape from the sawmill furnace inevitably leads to another belching smokestack – this one the very last stop.

The Ladies of 1950

This month StinkyLulu pitches the colorful smackdown tent right in the middle of 1950. The year the world took a deep breath and wondered how the new decade was going to top Betty Grable, the baby boom and the atomic bomb. (Eventual answers: Marilyn Monroe, TV dinners and rock’n’roll). As usual, StinkyLulu scrapes away all the extraneous matter from the year at hand and gets right to the good stuff – the Oscar nominees for supporting actress.

I had fun contributing again. But, let’s face it, 1950 offers just too rich a smorgasbord actress-wise for me to shut off my motor after a single smackdown. So – a few more observations about movie actressing in 1950. Even if they’d tossed out Oscars like confetti that year, you’d have thought most of them would’ve ended up in deserving hands. The field was that good – maybe the greatest ever. But, wouldn’t you know, the eventual winners (Actress and Supporting Actress) were two I wouldn’t even have nominated.

JOSEPHINE HULL
I’ve already talked about 1950 trophy winner Josephine Hull in the smackdown. For me, considering the profusion of potential nominees that year, she rates only bystander status. Competent. Professional. But, you know, years ago I had a bit part in my high school production of “Harvey”. Bettilyn Berglund, a local teenager, played Veta Louise. And I can still remember how terrific she was. Hull, for all her years of practice on the stage, doesn’t leave half the impression Bettilyn did.

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JUDY HOLLIDAY
Whatever real talent Judy Holliday possessed was pretty much strangled in the grip of that “comic” Billie Dawn voice – a feeble easy way out shorthand that further trivialized an already flimsy vehicle. There’s no denying Holliday’s Billie pleased audiences then (she won an Oscar, for Pete’s sake) – and it still has adherents. But I’m not among ‘em. One moment does work for me – the savage, unexpected sequence where Harry slaps her. Holliday’s terrified reaction looks and sounds flat-out real. Partially, I guess, that’s because almost everything around it is kind of blah. Mr. Crawford – no Paul Douglas, I’m afraid - barks his way through the picture. While Holden’s more or less along for the ride – too smart to buy into his sketchily written character, but gifted and resourceful enough to fill in the holes with intelligence and movie star charisma.

Supporting actress footnote: With just one scene to do it in, Barbara Brown, the Fay Bainter clone who plays genteel Mrs.Hedges, is sensational. Bainter herself wouldn’t have done it differently –or better. Not the Beatles, as they say, but an incredible simulation.

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ELEANOR PARKER
Quite a lot of what I had to say in the smackdown zeroed in on the supporting ladies of “Caged” – a crack unit if ever there was one. But I didn’t even get to mention the film’s star – the lady they were all, in effect, supporting. Eleanor Parker is, in a word, fantastic in the picture. A great looking redhead who hung around Warner Bros for most of the 40’s, she’d had several opportunities that looked promising. But none had quite provided that ticket to full-fledged stardom. Most frustrating of these near-misses was her blistering take on Mildred in the ’46 version of “Of Human Bondage". It was directed by Edmund Goulding – an expert in extracting great work from the ladies. (He coaxed Gene Tierney’s tremendous Isabel out of her in “The Razor’s Edge” that same year). Posterity’s chosen to enshrine Bette Davis’ ’34 interpretation as definitive. It was a hit in its day – and Davis bristles with electricity. But she’s over-emphatic – and it’s often hard to get past her clumsy game of “Pin the Tail on the Cockney Accent”. Kim Novak’s ’64 portrayal was actually more believable. Yes, she’s too beautiful looking. But excess beauty’s a hard thing to hold against a movie star. At the end of the day, though, it’s Parker who nails Mildred as no other actress has. Raw, scrub-brush complexion, wiry hair. Common. Coarse. Greedy. Angry too. She aches with dissatisfaction. Clawing her way – not ahead exactly, but around - and giving off indications of some heavy duty dark forces clawing right behind her. Her Mildred’s been burned into shape by a brutal past. Novak’s a little on the languid side. Davis offers fireworks – but no back story. At her best, Parker’s a more flexible actress than Bette Davis – not so locked into set mannerisms, riveting though they might be. It’s possible to tune into Goulding’s “Bondage” part way through and not even realize it’s Eleanor Parker. Creative makeup deserves some credit. But it’s Parker’s own versatility, skill and propulsive force that bring it home. This Mildred’s apocalyptic trashing of Philip’s apartment plays out with a fury no other Mildred has matched. She’s scary, mean and damaged – and Parker’s not afraid to show it all. Blunt and complex at the same time – a Hollywood harbinger of neo-realistic intensity. A tragic scrap-heap monster – and, in her way, just as worthy of sympathy as Philip. Entirely too complicated a creation for 1946 audiences to digest. They didn’t. And Parker went without the acclaim (and Oscar nomination) she clearly deserved.

The frustration of doing such phenomenal work and not being properly appreciated may have fuelled Parker’s ambition and determination even more. By the time she landed “Caged” she was obviously ready to go for broke. Hardly a prestige vehicle – a scrappy babes in the bighouse melodrama –the picture turned out to be one of 1950’s surprise hits – with audiences and critics alike. The performances – especially Parker’s central one – couldn’t be denied. Credit veteran director John Cromwell for helping Eleanor Parker be all she could be. Still in her 20’s, she was nevertheless a screen vet who’d played her share of chic sophisticates. But the scared, naïve Marie Allen who’s dumped into prison at the beginning of “Caged” bears no trace of them. Virtually makeup free, Parker’s like a super-sensitive tuning fork reacting to everything around her, pulling audiences right into the heart of a harrowing experience. She makes one brilliant choice after another, never overdoing it. Hope locking horns with hysteria. Bad breaks drag her down. Where’s that single stroke of luck that might save her? Exceptionally well-written and edited, the film’s jam-packed with memorable sequences – the interview with her scared-silly mother, the doomed kitten rescue, the brutal, traumatic buzz-cut. Parker polishes each one of them off to perfection. There’s never a sense of showing off – just raw, honest-to-goodness emotion channeled through some dazzlingly controlled movie star acting. This is the project that really put Parker on the map. She followed it up with another sensational Oscar-nominated turn in William Wyler’s “Detective Story”. MGM dangled a lucrative contract and Parker set up shop for awhile at that prestigious address. Metro couldn’t quite make up its mind whether to market her as the new Greer Garson (But wait, we’ve got Deborah Kerr for that) or a slightly upmarket Susan Hayward style spitfire. And they didn’t really exert themselves to find roles that would explore her potential. Still, Parker bagged a third nomination for the ultra-manicured opera biopic “Interrupted Melody” where, if nothing else, she proved a dab hand at lip-synching to complicated arias. But she was genuinely terrific in a number of other films around the same time – “Scaramouche”, “The Naked Jungle”, The King and 4 Queens”.

A younger friend of mine, when confronted with her name, said to me tentatively, “Eleanor Parker, wasn’t she in “The Sound of Music?” Odd that many know her primarily for her chic but perfunctory cameo in that panoramic sugarblitz. There was a time in the 50’s when Eleanor Parker was a force to be reckoned with in Hollywood – an important movie star and a much admired actress. She’s given us a lovely legacy. Work that deserves to be revived and re-evaluated. A process that can’t help but put a new shine on her reputation as a compelling and creative screen presence. But, you know, when all’s said and done, “Caged” may just be Eleanor Parker’s single finest moment. And that’s saying something.

Recastings

Sometimes, if you’re a movie geek, you just suddenly find yourself in recasting mode. It comes with the territory. You’re watching a performance – maybe an acclaimed, expertly played one – yet something in you just senses the part clicking a little ( or a lot) better with another performer onboard. You play out the movie in your head till finally your (recast) version’s as real as the actual one. Then you start wishing other people could see THAT movie.

Apologies to those whose names actually appeared on the credits. Your paycheques have been cashed, your nominations and awards are irrevocable, your laurels remain intact. Someday (for better or worse) technology will probably make infinite recasting feasible. For now, indulge me. Play these alternately populated versions in your head. And I suspect you’ll soon be thinking of the films you’d recast.

P.S. Although, of course, the whole thing’s a flight of fancy, I’ve imposed one rule as a concession to reality. The substitutes must have been more or less contemporary to the project at hand. Hence, no Catherine Zeta-Jones in “Gone with the Wind” or Betty Grable in “Chicago”. Other than that, the sky’s the limit. It’s an open casting call.

Recasting...SOUTH PACIFIC (1958)

Though reviewers had ( and have) their doubts about Joshua Logan’s screen version of “South Pacific”, the reputation of the property itself made it a virtually critic-proof juggernaut at the box-office in ’58.
The big Rodgers and Hammerstein stage musicals (Oklahoma!, The King and I, South Pacific) constituted such an imposing part of the 50’s landscape it was pretty much taken for granted that when they were filmed, you went. Everybody knew the songs – they were the sing-a-long soundtracks of the era.In hindsight, the film versions of all of them could have been better. Compared to the finest of the late 40’s/early 50’s MGM musicals, these mammoths lacked lightness and creativity. Often following the stage versions too slavishly, they frequently lumbered where they might have leapt. Understandably, Rodgers and Hammerstein’s paramount concern seemed to be the musical scores. And – no doubt about it – the film orchestrations were splendid – often dramatic improvements on the stage versions. What can you say about the “Bali Hai” prelude to “South Pacific”, the radiant choral work in “Oklahoma!”, the rousing “March of the Siamese Children”? Just tingle with pleasure, genuflect and play ‘em again. What’s more, some of the movie castings were spectacularly right. Gordon Macrae (Oklahoma!) and Yul Brynner (“The King and I”) were essentially unimprovable.

Where “South Pacific” was concerned, neither Rossano Brazzi nor John Kerr seemed ideal choices as Emile or Lt. Cable. Both had to be dubbed for their songs. Besides which, neither brought anything exceptional to his role. Juanita Hall (dubbed though she was) projected an oddball screwiness that perhaps justified her presence. But it’s in the critical role of Nellie Forbush that the picture comes up maddeningly short. Not that it’s badly played. No, the problem’s simply the discrepancy between what the role might have been and what emerged. Mitzi Gaynor first popped up in Fox musicals of the early 50’s – a fresh, zingy new discovery. But a certain staleness crept in quite soon, not helped by dud vehicles like “Down Among the Sheltering Palms” and “The I Don’t Care Girl”. She WAS talented – and with the right script and a sympathetic director, Gaynor sparkled. Teamed with Donald O’Connor in “There’s No Business Like Show Business”, as counterpoint to an iconically languid Marilyn Monroe in “Lazy”, she upped her game delightfully. Gaynor did her own singing in “South Pacific” and pushed herself pretty much to her limit in that department. Trouble was she was much better as a dancer than a singer. And the role of Nellie called for a minimum of dancing and a maximum of singing. On balance, Gaynor is actually okay in the part.

But, in retrospect, another artist – eminently high-profile at the time – was such a natural, almost inescapable choice for the role that any other casting now seems unforgivable. What the part requires is an attractive, freshly scrubbed All-American girl next door. Bouncy and effervescent – but grounded. Self-reliant, yet open to romance. A solid, sensitive actress who can make the most of Nellie’s conflicted realization of her own latent racism. Not just credible, but touching. And, oh yes, she has to have a wonderful singing voice – strong and sunny - to deliver numbers like “Wonderful Guy”, “Cock-eyed Optimist” and “Gonna Wash That Man Right Outta My Hair”. Plus the comic chops to sell “Honey Bun”. The American musical comedy leading lady at her best and most beguiling. Did I hear someone say Doris Day? It’s a name that looms large and luminous over the role and the picture - zooming way beyond the might-have-been into the outer reaches of the absolutely, undoubtedly should-have-been – and then some!

Doris was also a big box-office name – perhaps the only icon of early 50’s musicals who survived and prospered for years to come as a powerful screen attraction. Her involvement in the project would surely have made it an even sweeter box-office proposition. Yes, it’s true that a Rodgers and Hammerstein musical of this caliber hardly needed superstars. The vehicle itself would pack ‘em in. But trumping that theory is Day’s indisputable rightness for the role of Nellie. Age-wise – perfectly acceptable; box-office-wise – golden; talent-wise – a magical match.

As it happens, Doris’ prominence and her hands-down appropriateness for the role were so obvious at the time that she was high on the list of prospective candidates. I’ve read various reasons given for her failure to snag the part. Did Rodgers and Hammerstein balk at her big star fee? If so, it was misguided thrift. Or was there another explanation? One account suggests that at a Hollywood party, with celebrities gathered around a piano, Doris was asked to join in and said something to the effect of “I don’t sing at parties.”. This supposedly happened within earshot of some big shot who had a vital say in “South Pacific”’s casting. And apparently ticked him off to the extent that Doris’ name was simply crossed off the list. The story may be apocryphal. But, whatever the reason – it’s wrong, just wrong that Doris didn’t play Nellie. We all need to have seen and heard her sing those words “I’m as corny as Kansas in August” and to have cheered her on when she tried to wash that man right outta her hair.

Along with Garland, Astaire and Kelly, Doris is one of the great blazing talents of the movie musical era – a 20th century wonder. And it’s a shame she was never attached to any of the legendary musical properties. Certainly, “Pajama Game” came close. And though Doris’ “Calamity Jane” emerged as a much better movie than the similarly themed “Annie Get Your Gun”, it’s the Irving Berlin show - with its cavalcade of famous songs – that sits higher in the pantheon. Doris Day and “South Pacific” would have enhanced each other’s reputations. The fact that, separately Doris and “South Pacific” both remain immensely famous is beside the point. Bottom line: We never got to see Doris Day in “South Pacific” She … and we … wuz robbed!