MY TWENTY: PART ONE

Vertigo’s Psycho recently gave me a gentle nudge. Seems he’d like me to add my own list to the ones several other movie-minded bloggers have been compiling lately. Basically a round-up of "20 Actresses I Love." The thing is, though, my list of faves is so idiosyncratic as to seem downright contrary. Acting dynamos like Geraldine Page and Vanessa Redgrave aren’t on it. Nor is there room for riveting old-school charismatics Stanwyck and Davis. Jean Arthur and Marilyn Monroe – miraculous creatures both - are also missing. Though they’re all wonderful. As are currently working treasures Julianne Moore, Gong Li, Laura Linney and Joan Allen. But – for me - they don’t inspire (nor do they need to) the warm, fuzzy affection I feel for my 20 ladies. Only one of my choices is even remotely contemporary (and she’s a Bollywood performer), Most of the rest I fell in love with long after their career peaks – and in some cases their entire careers – had long passed. Discovering many of them on TV reruns, rep revivals and video reissues. I took to all of them right away. And nothing’s changed. They’re still on my permament personal hit parade.

The alphabetical roll call begins with:


1. JEAN BROOKS
-Most definitive and haunted of Val Lewton’s heroines, which is saying something. Brooks’ eyes, her voice, her essence - all marked her as some sort of hushed embodiment of existential sadness. A troubled personal life – echoes of which undoubtedly resonated in her onscreen persona - seems to have been one of the factors that kept Jean Brooks from the stellar career she deserved. A loss for all of us.
Key year: 1943 – with two Lewton masterpieces - THE SEVENTH VICTIM and THE LEOPARD MAN




2. JUDY CANOVA
–Great comic performer; awesome musical-comedy artist;
Canova could mug with the best of them but
also knew how to play with touching restraint. And her funny-girl face has its own kind of beauty. She made a passel of low-budget musicals in the 40’s and 50’s. Generally playing the good-hearted yokel who – in the end – teaches the city slickers a thing or two. When –oh when - are her films going to get the DVD treatment? Especially SIS HOPKINS(1941), which boasts a wonderful Frank Loesser score, spiky Susan Hayward as a mean deb you wouldn’t want to turn your back on - and Canova herself in full and endearing bloom.





3. MAHIMA CHAUDHARY
The lush 1997 musical PARDES( in which she debuted) won Mahima all
kinds of awards in India (she beat Aishwarya Rai as Filmfare Newcomer of the Year). But while Aishwarya went on to goddess status in Bollywood and beyond, Mahima seemed to make one unfortunate professional choice after another. Inevitably, her career lost most of its momentum. Too bad – because not only is she inexpressibly pretty. She’s also a pretty terrific actress. 2009 may be a good year for her, though. She’s appearing (with hunky John Abraham) in Deepa Mehta’s next project EXCLUSION.







4. PEGGY CUMMINS
Britain’s porcelain-pretty Peggy Cummins always had something special. Darryl Zanuck saw it and brought her to Hollywood to play the title role in FOREVER AMBER in the mid-40’s. After a million dollars worth of film was shot, she was suddenly replaced (with the patently insufficient official reason that she photographed too young). We should all have that problem! Of course no one actually believed the story. It was whispered that (a) the powers that be had decided she didn’t project the required sex appeal or (b) she simply wasn’t a good enough actress. Cummins worked out her Fox contract in a few none-too-distinguished vehicles. Two or three plum projects with Fox’s top star Ty Power were recast with other actresses. Then it was back to Britain. But first, Cummins co-starred with John Dall in a quickie made on loan-out for low-rent producers the King Brothers. It was called GUN CRAZY(1949). Both stars (whose careers had stumbled) felt they had something to prove. And –with gifted director Joseph H.Lewis in charge - prove it they did. Even if it took audiences and critics a couple of decades to notice. Though unheralded at the time, over the years GUN CRAZY’s gathered a reputation as perhaps the greatest B movie ever made .It’s frankly electrifying, a mesmerizing precursor to BONNIE AND CLYDE - and certainly my favorite film of all time. Hard to believe that Dall and Cummins only crossed paths for a few short weeks in ‘49 while GUN CRAZY was being made. And probably never saw each other again. Because they’re forever etched in my mind and the minds of many others as a team - the greatest pair of doomed-lovers-on-the- run ever to hit the screen . Dall is unforgettable – tortured, vulnerable. And Cummins – ferocious, greedy, obsessive, manipulative - a real femme fatale - certainly far sexier a creature than the timid FOREVER AMBER could ever have hoped to contain. Back in Britain, she continued to work for a decade or so. But made only one film remotely as impressive as GUN CRAZY. That would be Jacques Tourneur’s occult masterpiece NIGHT OF THE DEMON(1957). But performance- wise Cummins is seen to better advantage in the sly 1953 comedy MEET MR. LUCIFER and the tough trucker drama HELL DRIVERS(1957) with Stanley Baker.



5. ARLENE DAHL
A friend of mine once asked, "Do they use more intense Technicolor when Arlene Dahl is on the screen or is it just something that happens to the film stock when she shows up?"
A chicken or the egg question destined never to be satisfactorily answered. But of all the candidates for Queen of Technicolor, Dahl’s claim seems to me the strongest. There’ve been plenty of ravishing redheads in movies. But Arlene Dahl is quite simply the fairest of them all. MGM often wasted her playing foil to Red Skelton But even then (at least in THREE LITTLE WORDS[1950}) she made a lovely impression that went way beyond just beauty. Fox used her intriguingly as a schemer in WOMAN’S WORLD(1954). But it was in Saturday matinee adventures – as the sweetheart of assorted pirates, swashbucklers and handsome rogues (John Payne, Fernando Lamas, Rock Hudson et al) that she really won the hearts of a generation of little boys. And probably their fathers. I’ll never forget her in Alan Ladd’s DESERT LEGION(1953), where she basically played a kind of one-woman Shangri-La. And beautifully, of course. Dahl’s best acting came near the end of her Hollywood run. The great James Mason has played opposite some pretty distinguished actresses. But Dahl proved one of his all-time best screen partners. A charmingly indomitable and ladylike yin to his yang in the delightful JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH(1959). The actress’s own Scandinavian background even seemed to lend an additional ring of authority to the snatches of Icelandic dialogue the script intermittently required of her. And, of course, the trademark beauty was still alluring. But it was the lady's genuine talent and charisma that made the part so memorable. Dahl lost a couple of important roles during her prime years. Jose Ferrer wanted her as his Roxane in CYRANO DE BERGERAC but Metro refused to loan her. (A couple of years later, she did play the part – very effectively – opposite Ferrer on Broadway). In the mid-50’s a serious illness forced her to withdraw from the cast of King Vidor’s WAR AND PEACE, where she’d been cast as the beautiful but heartless Helene. Anita Ekberg took over the role (though, infuriatingly, her dialogue was dubbed by someone else). Now I’m always glad of a chance to eyeball Ekberg. But I can’t help thinking Dahl would’ve brought something pretty special to the part.

NEXT FIVE NEXT TIME

A LISTLESS LIST

Seems I've been tagged by StinkyLulu (in league with Blog Cabins). The assignment - to make a list of 26 films, each of whose titles starts with a different letter of the alphabet. I thought of doing 26 I loved. But - of the few "X" films I've seen, there hasn't been one I've even liked. How about 26 I desperately want to see? Same roadblock. Can't think of a single unseen "X" title I have the slightest interest in tracking down. So here's what I wound up with. A list of 26 films I just don't care for. I've tried 'em all. Some twice. But they're just not for me.

Behold:

26 SHRUGS (from A to Z)

ARSENIC AND OLD LACE
BLAZING SADDLES
CASABLANCA
DARLING LILI
ELVIRA MADIGAN
A FISH CALLED WANDA
GIANT
HARRY AND TONTO
ICE STATION ZEBRA
JESUS CHRIST SUPERSTAR
KISMET (1944)
LAWRENCE OF ARABIA
MOURNING BECOMES ELECTRA
NINOTCHKA
ON GOLDEN POND
PARDON MY SARONG
QUEEN KELLY
THE ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW
SLEUTH (1972)
TEA AND SYMPATHY
UNDER THE CHERRY MOON
VAMPYR
WEEKEND AT THE WALDORF
X Y AND ZEE
YANKEE DOODLE DANDY
ZARDOZ

26 things I definitely don't want for Christmas.

JCVD

A lingering paralysis of initiative has pretty much limited me lately to the well-worn grind of eat, work, sleep, repeat. One result – I haven’t added a single word to this blog for months. Half-formed plans for pieces on Helen Parrish, Linda Darnell and Bollywood have remained just that – plans. Hopefully they’ll materialize sometime in the future. Meanwhile there is one subject I’m determined to address right now.
It’s possible – just – that JCVD isn’t the best film of the year. But it won’t be easy convincing longtime Jean-Claude Van Damme fans (like myself), that it’s not. I saw it at the Toronto International Film Festival in September and – for me - the buzz still hasn’t worn off. The picture barreled out of nowhere as a massive surprise (and vindication) for Van Damme and for the band of admirers who’ve stuck with him through thick and thin. And for the last decade or so there’s been an awful lot of thin.
JCVD’s a modest-budgeted French language meta-film – a sort of grittier spin on CURB YOUR ENTHUSIASM. with Van Damme playing a washed-up action star whose career issues are complicated by the fall-out from drug problems and family crises. The character, by the way, just happens to be called Jean-Claude Van Damme. In other words, the picture’s pretty much a biographical riff on the life of its star. A picture like this is an enormous gamble. It can easily emerge as one big vanity project. But luckily the people behind the camera are talented and - for this project at least – inspired, bringing out the best in an edgy script - and certainly in their much beleaguered star.
As I indicated, I go back a ways with Van Damme. It was toward the end of his palmy period as a 90’s box-office champ and something about the trailer to THE QUEST lured me into a theatre to watch it. I’d certainly heard of Van Damme but I’d never actually seen one of his movies. THE QUEST turned out to be a gently loopy action fairy-tale set around the turn of the (20th) century. A number of the best fighters from around the world each receive a mysterious summons to compete for a fabulous prize somewhere in Asia’s exotic wilds. (It’s filmed mostly in Thailand). One of the chosen is Van Damme, a kind of mixed martial arts Pied Piper/ Robin Hood who leads/ mentors a band of New York street kids. There’s plenty of adventure along the way – pirates, gun smugglers. a beautiful lady reporter, a dirigible and even an agreeably off the wall appearance from Roger Moore. All set to a super- listenable Randy Edelman score. But most of all I liked Van Damme himself. Handsome as a god, nicely adept at tossing off a comic look or a line, charm to burn, presence galore and – of course – amazing in the action scenes. This was around the time I was still mourning the loss of Brandon Lee, an action icon in the making - one who’d had unlimited screen potential. Suddenly, with Van Damme, I sensed that kind of promise again.
I wound up seeing THE QUEST a couple of times. And, oh yes, I haven’t mentioned – Van Damme was also the director on that picture. So here was somebody with pretty phenomenal abilities all round. I started to catch up on his earlier films. No they’re not all great. But many of them are awfully good. And Van Damme is pretty damn impressive in all of them. In BLOODSPORT, one of the pictures that put him on the map, he’s an amazing amalgam of physicality laced with grace, spunk, spirit and can’t-look-away charisma. All in the midst of some pretty bare-bones production values. The budgets soon got bigger . Van Damme shone in mega-grossing sci-fi rides like UNIVERSAL SOLDIER and TIMECOP. And not content just honing his martial arts skills, he developed his acting talents too. NOWHERE TO RUN, where he plays a drifter turned protector to a rural widow and her son (Rosanna Arquette and Kieran Culkin) was a particular pleasure. And with everyone bringing their A game to it, darn it if the picture didn’t emerge as the actor’s own little SHANE. Van Damme was smart enough – and had sufficient clout – to bring great Hong Kong action directors like John Woo, Ringo Lam and Tsui Hark to America to helm his films. With more and better talents than any of his action rivals, the star seemed set to eclipse all the others. But fame – and a grueling schedule – proved hard to handle. Suddenly the press was full of stories of Van Damme’s messy drug and marriage problems. And there was talk of trouble on his sets. Stories of temperament, unreliability and out-of-control behaviour circulated everywhere. Whether there was truth or not to the tales, they were fanned to forest-fire proportion in the press. And to top it all off, box-office receipts began to plummet. Van Damme’s career suddenly seemed to implode. His 1998 film LEGIONNAIRE went direct to DVD in North America.(I love it, by the way – the movie nails much of what I remember with fondness about 50’s Alan Ladd adventures like THUNDER IN THE EAST and DESERT LEGION. And it’s got a very cool ending!) Still, all but one Van Damme film since, the shaky UNIVERSAL SOLDIER sequel in 1999, have traveled the same inglorious road direct to DVD shelves . With other Van Damme loyalists, I followed him into that particular Gobi desert. And I’m glad I did. Every 10 months or so a new Van Damme actioner slipped quietly into the video stores to be scooped up by the faithful - and cold-shouldered by the rest of the world. The budgets were often crummy, the financing Eastern-European , the supporting casts unrecognizable except for the odd B lister whose mere presence in a Van Damme flick signaled his or her descent to C list. A critic with nothing better to do would occasionally direct a half-hearted hiss at one of these flicks.Otherwise the films might as well have existed on Mars for all the media attention they garnered. But, here’s the thing. I never understood the way Van Damme was written off as a no-talent actor. I’ve always seen him as someone with great potential. And that potential certainly shows through in many of his pictures – even the non-theatricals. His performance in REPLICANT (2001) serving up something of a Van Damme specialty, the dual role, is terrific – tough and touching. Actors have won Oscars for less. And I defy anyone to watch his edgy, soulful work in UNTIL DEATH (2007) and say he’s not an actor. His fans have always known Van Damme was not just Leader of the Action Pack, he was miles ahead of it. On almost every score. He may not have that young Adonis face anymore, but he’s still beautiful, with the lined, weather-beaten look of someone who’s felt things. There was always a melancholy sensitivity there. The years have only deepened and amplified it. And – in his late 40’s now – there’s no denying the guy still sports an impressive physique. Van Damme delivers the goods for hard core macho action junkies. But, unlike his so-called rivals, he’s attracted a loyal following among women and gays ( a group to whom he’s always been welcoming and supportive). Unlike the Schwarzeneggers and Norrises, Van Damme seems comfortable –even playful - with the sex symbol tag. And that engaging boyish twinkle that pops up every once in a while simply underlines the vulnerability that adds volumes to his appeal. Of course, he can be tough as nails onscreen when he needs to be. But there’s always been a unique grace – a lyrical panache – to his movements. Even those stately, surreal splits of his. In recent years the actor has successfully wrestled with many of his personal demons. He’s long been drug-free and firmly reunited with wife and family. But he’s never been able to get off the direct to DVD treadmill. Till now.
Last year young French director Mabrouk El Mechri was offered a chance to direct a film in which Jean-Claude Van Damme would play himself. He asked to read the script and was dismayed when it turned out to be a weak comedy that used its star as little more than a clown and a punchline. As a teenager El Mechri had been something of a fan, and still retained enough fond memories to think Van Damme deserved better. He told the producers he’d tackle it if they let him write a new script - a kind of serious black comedy presenting the star – warts and all – in a way that – if done right – would project Van Damme with a credibility and candour barely – if ever - attempted in his previous scripts . But he didn’t want to spend a month working on something the star himself would reject out of hand. So he arranged a face to face with Van Damme to see if the two were simpatico – and to get an idea of exactly what WAS and wasn’t off limits. To his delight, he and the actor hit it off immediately – and Van Damme was not only open to El Mechri’s ideas. He was excited by them. I’ve never had any problem accepting Van Damme as a bona fide artist. So I think it must have been great for him to finally hook up with someone who wanted to present him in a genuinely artistic setting. The finished sceenplay proved to be all Van Damme hoped for. El Mechri says the film that eventually made it to the screen is about 70% script and 30% improvisation. But the actual shoot appears to have been largely chaos free. Cameraderie, creativity and excitement seemed to be the order of the day.
The right people apparently saw some of the footage. Because the film was announced as part of this year’s Cannes Film Festival. Several jaws dropped at that news. A Van Damme film at Cannes? Is this a joke? There was a lot more perplexed amazement when the picture received some of the festival’s best reviews. A representative for the Toronto International Film Festival caught it there. And immediately nailed it down as a definite for Toronto’s September schedule. By that time, I’d gotten wind of the film. But it seemed too good to be true. Then, in the weeks before the Toronto showing, local papers began to buzz with tidbits about this out-of-left field contender and the tidal wave of positive reaction that was building around it. The picture was set to kick off the Midnight Madness Series at 12 a.m. on the very first day of the Festival. Now, every year TIFF tickets get harder to come by for the average Joe. But I was lucky. A friend (who also happens to be my boss) finagled a ticket for me as a birthday gift. She told me it would probably be a good idea to get there at least an hour in advance. So I set off at 10 pm right from work. That day advance reviews – raves - appeared in NOW and EYE, the city’s two local arts and issues papers. One of them even used JCVD as its cover story. But I wasn’t prepared for the scene that greeted me that night. The line-up was around the block. Almost all people who wouldn't have crossed the street to see Van Damme in person a couple of weeks before. Now they were champing at the bit to watch his latest movie.
We finally got into the auditorium – all I could grab was a seat on the side. Rumours had been buzzing that Van Damme himself might be there. And I’d like to think that here and there in that crowd there must have been some other Van Damme loyalists who’d been just as conscientious in their direct to DVD purchases as me. But mostly it was a Film Festival crowd. And somehow they suddenly all seemed like A-1 candidates to catch Van Damme fever. Fate decided she owed me one. Because shortly before the film started a few choice seats in the centre – formerly reserved – suddenly became available. I was in the right spot at the right time. And managed to slam-dunk myself straight into one of those tasty seats. The Festival host stepped on the stage and told us that if someone had said to him last year that the most exciting film at Cannes 2008 would be the new Van Damme movie, he’d have called them crazy. But it was true. And we were in for a treat. He said "You’re probably wondering where Mr. Van Damme is tonight. Well, he wanted to be here with you. But he’s directing a film in Thailand and just couldn’t get away. He has, however, managed to send a little film clip for you." At which point, we saw a gracious and genial Van Damme – a kind of outdoorsy George Clooney but with more soul – telling us pretty convincingly that he was proud and excited about this picture. And he hoped we’d like it too. When the lights came up again, the host said they did have Mabrouk El Mechri in the house – and brought the director up to say a few introductory words. El Mechri turned out to be quite a charmer himself – casually droll but warm – and probably pretty pleased that a midnight showing of his picture had attracted such a large and receptive crowd. He left the stage – and, guess what! Turns out his seat was the one directly behind mine. So as the lights dimmed I was in the hyper-exciting position of knowing that the director of the movie I was so keyed-up for was going to be watching the whole thing just a few inches away from me.
The film’s logo contains a tongue-in-cheek Van Damme reference that drew immediate delighted reaction from the audience. That sense of delight and total immersion was pretty much a constant over the next 96 minutes. The film’s color scheme tends toward sepia - that curiously seductive palate that somehow manages to register as spartan and lush at the same time. Light shades are sometimes bleached, occasionally creamy; darker ones often take on the color of a rusty nail. It seems just the right choice for the film. The one-take action scene that opens the movie had the audience applauding. What follows over the next hour and a half is exciting, suspenseful, hilarious and moving – certainly never less than riveting. Fading movie-star JCVD is having a bad day to end all bad days. Work problems, legal problems, family problems, cancelled credit cards and bone-weariness all converge into a perfect storm of disaster when he’s inadvertently caught in the middle of a post-office robbery gone wrong. Van Damme has an incredible monologue toward the end of the film – beautifully realized on a visual level and delivered by the actor himself with an intensity and power that stunned the room. It drew a tremendous ovation at the performance I saw. And as the credits rolled, the audience cheered and applauded non-stop. Just as the lights came up, I knew I had only a second or two to do something. And figured I’d burst if I didn’t. I turned and said to El Mechri, "I’m a longtime Van Damme fan and I’d just like to say thank you. You’ve done something wonderful here - for him and for us." For a few seconds the world was a bubble containing just the two of us. He smiled – and then was swept onstage on a rapturous wave of applause. For the next half hour or so, he did a terrific Q&A session. And in spite of the late hour, I think everybody stayed. I remember someone asked him who his favorite directors were – and he mentioned P.T. Anderson, Sidney Lumet and Robert Wise. A nice cross-section. And on the basis of JCVD, I’d say Mabrouk El Mechri has every chance of adding his name to the honor roll of topnotch directors. There’s no doubt he made a wonderful impression that night in Toronto – with his personality, his presence and certainly with his film. But, you know, I’m pretty sure that if Van Damme himself had been there, that audience – up to then defiantly immune to the man’s appeal– would have carried him triumphantly through the streets on their shoulders.
A small Canadian-based company called Peace Arch has picked the film up for North American distribution. I get the impression they’re feisty and committed. But it remains to be seen whether they’ll have the financial clout to give JCVD the promotion it deserves. And will they be able to mount the Oscar campaign the picture merits? At very least, Van Damme rates a Best Actor nomination. JCVD has the undeniable makings of what used to be called an art house success. But the wildly enthusiastic audience reaction I witnessed marks this as a movie with a much broader potential appeal. The film began its Toronto theatrical engagement yesterday. Print ads have been running for a couple of weeks, incorporating some rousing review quotes. The new local notices have been uniformly rhapsodic. Here’s a quote from EYE MAGAZINE.
"In any case, this particular moment belongs to the mighty Van Damme, who gives a brave, honest and
touchingly vulnerable performance in JCVD, which returns to local screens after a rapturous reception at
TIFF… (the film is) remarkably astute as a deconstruction of action-flick tropes, a satire of modern
celebrity and a long-overdue showcase for Van Damme. Devotees of the Muscles from Brussels know
that he can rise to the occasion with half-decent material…but JCVD elicits something raw, true and
extraordinary from the actor. It’s something you could even call heroic"
For the full review, click here.
What will all this mean for Van Damme’s future? Will expectations be impossibly high now?. JCVD seems like a once-in-a-lifetime kind of cinematic thunderbolt. And for all Van Damme’s magnificence, one has to remember that Mabrouk El Mechri’s contribution is paramount. Future Van Damme projects (sans El Mechri) may find the actor working without a net. Van Damme hasn’t directed a film since THE QUEST. How can his pending Thai-filmed project (titled FULL LOVE) possibly match JCVD?. What direction will his career take now? Part of me’s sorry that I may no longer have those regular direct to DVD assembly-line actioners to look forward to. Van Damme could move in other directions now. Needless to say , I have a fan’s fond feelings for the man himself. This new level of appreciation and attention will undoubtedly come with its share of pressures and problems. He almost self-destructed once before. I’d hate to see it happen again. Just the right blend of professional and personal fulfilment. That’s what I want for Jean-Claude Van Damme. I was mentioning my trepidations about the star’s future to someone at work shortly after the TIFF screening. And she said to me, "Well, just consider this. No matter how things play out in the future, I think you can be pretty sure that right now JCVD and its success can only represent a very good – and very positive development in this man’s life." And, she’s right, of course. In a long career full of highs and lows, this film - and this time right now – are going to remain – for Van Damme and for his fans – pure gold.

Revisiting PINKY

Another month has rolled by – and once again – Stinkylulu’s Supporting Actress Smackdown panel is set to mull over the merits of five Oscar-nominated performances. This time the spotlight’s trained on 1949 – a year that offered a number of Oscar-worthy candidates, none of whom - to my way of thinking – made it to the actual ballot.

The chosen were:
Ethel Barrymore "Pinky"
Celeste Holm "Come to the Stable"
Elsa Lanchester "Come to the Stable"
Mercedes McCambridge "All the King’s Men"
Ethel Waters "Pinky"
And though a few of the above had their moments, I’d have gone for five different ladies altogether.

My nominees for ’49:
Florence Bates "A Letter to Three Wives"
Connie Gilchrist "A Letter to Three Wives"
Miriam Hopkins "The Heiress"
Thelma Ritter "A Letter to Three Wives"
Evelyn Varden "Pinky"

As you see, my list does include one performer from PINKY. But it’s neither of the Ethels. For me, the supporting actress standout in the picture is Evelyn Varden. She’s Melba Wooley, an especially nasty old jolt of southern discomfort. Progressing (if that’s the word) from corrosively funny to completely despicable in record time. A vicious boll weevil in full destructive mode. This performance and her equally effective display as a gossip-spewing harridan in Charles Laughton’s NIGHT OF THE HUNTER constitute a memorably spiteful one-two punch unlikely to be topped any time soon. If you haven’t seen Evelyn Varden – try to imagine a kind of evil sister to dear old Verna Felton. And if you haven’t seen Verna Felton, then, on behalf of Hilda Crocker, all I can say to you is "Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo".
None of the Smackdown films were new to me. But my reaction this time to PINKY surprised me a little. I’d last seen it maybe 20 years ago. And knowing even then about the multiple acting nominations, I guess I’d expected to be blown away. That didn’t happen. This time, approaching it with somewhat lowered expectations, I found PINKY had aged rather well. For one thing, it’s a great looking film. All studio backlot – but the level of visual achievement is sky-high. Outdoor shots capture the appropriate hot and dusty feel – but there’s always a nice sense of space. The camera’s forever on the prowl. Indoor recreations accomplish a lot with the confident, masterful use of light. Night scenes achieve a nice blend of reality and artifice,vibrating with sound , shadow, ominous possibility. In the late 40’s the technicians at 20th Century Fox scaled some pretty impressive heights when it came to beautifully mounted and photographed black & white productions (THE GHOST AND MRS MUIR, DRAGONWYCK, PRINCE OF FOXES). PINKY holds its own in this heady company.
The script is wide-ranging and well-written - the dialogue thoughtful, the drama frequently effective. But the most fascinating point of interest turns out to be Jeanne Crain. I’ve seldom seen a performance so difficult to assess fairly. She plays the title role, a young, light –skinned mulatto who returns to the South after several years of successfully "passing" for white up North. Her life’s in turmoil. For one thing, she’s emotionally involved with a white man who wants to marry her but doesn’t know her background. She comes home for some breathing space, to get her head around the situation, to weigh her options, maybe recapture –briefly – what she remembers as a simpler time. Needless to say, Pinky’s return only complicates the snarls in her life.
Physically, the casting is - to some degree - absurd. There’s nothing at all in Jeanne Crain’s appearance to suggest Pinky’s racial background. She was Fox’s All-American girl next door. Sweet. Virginal. And, as one observer noted "the whitest actress on the lot". But she also seemed to be overtaking Betty Grable as the studio’s most popular female attraction (Marilyn Monroe hadn't really happened yet). Mega-hits like STATE FAIR and MARGIE had made her a huge favorite with the public. Fan-mail was arriving in truckloads. And certainly studio head Darryl Zanuck saw her as a gilt-edged company asset. He believed PINKY was a project that could elevate her to a whole new level of acclaim. If it didn’t torpedo her popularity altogether. It was a gamble – but a feasible one, Zanuck felt, with the potential rewards, artistic and financial, outweighing the risks - slightly. And he probably saw Crain’s participation in the film as a kind of box-office insurance for a potentially perilous venture. The actress herself – known among her colleagues as a kind and gentle soul – must surely have been intimidated by the challenge. And director Elia Kazan was hardly enthusiastic about the casting. After all, up to now, she’d played a steady stream of sweet ingenues – undeniably charming, very very pretty. But no one had ever accused her of being an acting powerhouse. Commentators have been very vocal, mostly in the years since the movie’s release, about Crain’s physical unsuitability. Wasn’t Linda Darnell - duskier, earthier – right there on the Fox lot? Or couldn’t they have borrowed Yvonne DeCarlo? Even better Ava Gardner. She'd have had little trouble resurrecting her natural Southern accent for the part. Less sensible were the incessant claims that Lena Horne or Dorothy Dandridge should have gotten the role. Both were, of course, beautiful and accomplished. Horne was essentially a singer , though. Never much of an actress. Dandridge , on the other hand, did have the dramatic firepower. Her under-rated performance in ISLAND IN THE SUN(1957) remains one of that decade’s best. But we’re talking about a character who convincingly "passes" for white – even in the hyper-racist South of the 40’s. Not something either Horne or Dandridge could have realistically done. Over the years there’ve been endless similar laments about Horne’s being cheated out of her rightful role as Julie in 1951’s SHOW BOAT. Complaints , it would seem, from people none too familiar with SHOW BOAT’s actual story. Yes, Lena could’ve done lovely things with the Kern songs. But Julie’s another mulatto who has spent years "passing" for white in the even more racist South of the nineteenth century. Ava Gardner carried it off with conviction. Casting Horne would have stretched credibility way past the breaking point .
But it’s PINKY we’re talking about. And it seems to be widely accepted that Jeanne Crain’s physical appearance is completely unsuitable for the role. To further complicate matters, she performs without the slightest attempt at a southern accent. Playing a bi-racial girl raised dirt-poor in a Deep South shantytown. Yes, her grandmother saved enough money to send her away to nursing school. But it’s still unlikely she’d have come back sounding like - well, Jeanne Crain in APARTMENT FOR PEGGY. The look and the lack (of a southern accent). Those are the two giant elephants in the room. Factors that should, by all rights, disqualify Crain from being taken seriously here. So, why then, is she so genuinely compelling - so very effective in the role?
Certainly, a great deal of the credit must go to Elia Kazan. He already had a reputation as a superb director of actors. And here he seems to have helped Crain build on her strengths – a basic sincerity and decency. What’s new is a no-frills underpinning of tenacity. And beyond what’s strictly in the script, Crain ‘s Pinky reverberates with believable disillusionment, with a sense of wariness that always keeps her semi-steeled for the next catastrophe. There’s a tension here that’s maintained with real skill. Crain herself later said that – from her earliest childhood - her mother had instilled in her the idea that racism was wrong. So it’s not unreasonable to think that the actress believed she could say something important with this performance. What was at stake here went way beyond whether she’d share a final clinch with Cornel Wilde. In 1949 the subject matter – race relations in the U.S. – was all but unheard of on the screen. So – even if today the film might be dismissed by some as Racial Harmony 101 – at the time, it was strong stuff. The fact that some of that punch lingers is mainly down to the artists involved. And Crain is definitely involved – to a degree way beyond her previous screen assignments. She and Kazan must have reached some agreement about whether she should try an accent. Perhaps she simply couldn’t do it. Not every actor has that particular ability at his fingertips. Just listen to Barbara Stanwyck’s unintentionally hilarious attempt at an Irish brogue in UNION PACIFIC. Yet I defy anyone to say that Stanwyck isn’t an artist of the highest calibre. Maybe Crain needed a clear channel to successfully access and express her emotions. And the pressure of maintaining an accent would’ve set up some sort of artistic log-jam. The fact that Crain’s degree of "whiteness" is not appreciably different from what she’d exhibited in STATE FAIR or any of her other cheerful hits - well, perhaps it eased some white audiences in ’49 into identifying with the character, vicariously sharing the experience of a black woman, before they quite realized they were doing it. And did black viewers summarily reject Crain because of her appearance? It’s possible that for both audiences, Crain’s supposedly unsuitable appearance acted as a kind of shorthand for the idea that - morally – race was irrelevant. Surely, key to the film’s message are the ideas that people are people and injustice is injustice. PINKY was Fox’s biggest box-office hit of the year. So presumably that message reached a pretty sizable audience. What Jeanne Crain captures – quite successfully – is the humanity of the character. There’s a tangible dignity to this performance – though there’s never anything holier-than-thou about Crain’s approach. Pinky’s almost always on the verge of losing her temper. No wonder. Every day presents her with one nasty racially-motivated affront after another. And even if some of them are only anticipated/perceived by her (on the basis of past experience), most are real. Crain’s Pinky is smart and sensitive. And knows enough about survival to bite her tongue when she has to. Crain communicates the frustration eloquently. We rankle right along with her. She lowers her voice just a shade for the part – and displays a nice instinct for just when to turn down the volume on a word or a phrase. Sometimes biting back anger, sometimes resigned, other times icily determined. Crain’s face, often a sunny blank in earlier films, takes on a surprising expressivity throughout PINKY. I love the way she simultaneously conveys both nostalgia and revulsion as she surveys Granny’s shack near the beginning of the film. And she gets the appropriate blend of "I love you … but" in her relationship with Granny ( Ethel Waters). The Waters character so often seems to want the right things for the wrong reasons, making incredibly difficult demands of Pinky, without much apparent awareness of what she’s asking. And Crain creates a memorable picture as she walks down Fox’s gloriously dressed Southern street, handkerchief ineffectually dabbing away at the heat and dust, aware that – even here in her birthplace - she’s perceived as neither fish nor fowl. No matter, she’s going to get Granny’s swindled money back – for the old woman’s sake and to assuage her own guilt over the sacrifices Granny’s made for her. I love her taut impatience with shady Jake (Frederick O’Neal) – she’s too ticked off and too tired to make a scene. Gritting her teeth through a protracted existential migraine. The fracas with the police outside Jake’s place has a shocking spontanaiety, especially in the sudden swatting contest between Crain and Nina Mae McKinney. With Pinky’s humiliation at the police station, the film strikes a stark, ugly note that few moviegoers could’ve been prepared for in ’49. There’s a scene early on where Pinky wakes from a nightmare, the camera capturing a harrowing close-up of Crain’s distraught face. Easily among the year’s most memorable images. As a matter of fact, PINKY seldom offers audiences much time to catch their breath before the next emotional wallop. The girl’s near-rape by two boozed-up white boys on a deserted road is as startling as a thunderclap. Presented with raw, unexpected intimacy , the scene incorporates – among other things – the N word and some pretty graphic (for 1949) groping. Pinky’s panicked nick-of-time escape has us practically helping her slam her clothes into that battered suit-case to get the hell out of there.

That’s when the Ethel Barrymore character comes into play. As usual she’s the old lady who lives in the mansion. This time out the name's Miss Em. And Pinky’s already mentioned her with contempt and anger. For her, Miss Em’s a symbol of racial oppression. Case closed. Crain has a brief, indelible moment when she fails to comfort the little black girl who stands in transfixed exile outside Miss Em’s gate. Pinky relives a similar scene often enough in her own memory;she's not about to interject herself into someone else’s replay of it. And later, Crain scores points in a speech she hurls at Barrymore "What am I then? You tell me. You’re the ones that set the standards, you whites. You’re the ones that judge people by the color of their skins. Well, by your own standards – the only ones that matter to you – I’m as white as you are. That’s why you all hate me!".
Another scene that’s handled for maximum effect occurs in the general store when Pinky encounters vicious Mrs. Wooley, who’s determined to humiliate her. The atmosphere doesn’t just crackle because Evelyn Varden’s so good at being nasty. Crain deserves plenty of credit for absorbing all Varden’s venom and turning it back on her in a display of quietly steely resistance.
When fiance Tom (William Lundigan) tracks her down, she tells him the truth. And he still wants to marry her. The man she loves is offering her an escape route back to a world where she can live without the endless race-based barrages. What’s more, when the legacy Miss Em leaves her is contested in court, Tom stands by her through the whole emotional mess. Pinky’s dilemma is a tough one. And – to the film’s credit – we don’t get expository voice-overs. Or preaching. We can see she loves Tom. We know the South offers a future where the only sure thing is that there’ll be trouble. But we also know Tom wants her racial background to be their "secret". They’ll relocate. Start over. And Pinky realizes in spite of the comfort she’ll find with Tom, there’ll also be the daily strain of hiding something she has no reason to be ashamed of. What about children? Will Tom want to preserve their little secret by not having any? By adopting? Will the relationship be eroded by the constant threat of exposure ? Will Pinky be able to live with herself? And - conversely - would she be able to find any fulfillment or happiness in the South – without him? None of these questions are spoken aloud. Yet they’re all there in Crain’s face and in her performance. And I don’t find the ending a cop-out. Pinky’s choice seems like one she might genuinely make. There’ll be a certain amount of fulfillment. And undoubtedly a lot of trouble and she’ll have plenty of sleepless nights. But they won’t come from being forced to live a lie. Today Pinky would have options and opportunities that just weren’t there in the 40’s. The Pinky of 60 years ago had to make decisions based on the world she lived in. And whether she cared about making a difference in that world.
I’m still not sure whether I’d have nominated Crain for the Oscar that year (those elephants are still in the room). But I find myself glad that she was nominated. Yes, Kazan had initial trepidations about her casting. But in later years he pronounced himself extremely pleased with how effective Jeanne Crain turned out to be. I love the fact that she stretched herself. She looked like she cared; she made audiences care. And she did it in a movie that mattered.

SMACKDOWN ALERT

Get ready to join Stinkylulu and party as they paddle their way up the cinematic Zambezi once again for the monthly Supporting Actress Smackdown. This weekend they’ll be examining the flora and fauna of 1939. A year highly regarded in film history. Expect GONE WITH THE WIND to dominate. It has two superb candidates in the hunt –Olivia deHavilland and Hattie McDaniel. Both in tiptop form. I doubt the other three ladies will even give them much of a contest. Certainly it’s a trio that wouldn’t have been on my ballot in ’39. I suspect the Academy (and the New York Critics) were cowed by WUTHERING HEIGHTS’ literary pedigree. I can think of no other reason this dreary bog of a movie attracted such an inordinate amount of attention during awards season. Geraldine Fitzgerald – a fine actress – made a far stronger impression in the same year’s DARK VICTORY (and many times later). I wouldn’t have let Maria Ouspenskaya anywhere near a nomination – ever. But the LOVE AFFAIR nod was her second. Edna May Oliver did her delightfully outlandish thing as expertly as ever in DRUMS ALONG THE MOHAWK. But there were other ladies out there in ’39 whose work was even more deserving. Among the stellar contributors that year – Kay Francis (IN NAME ONLY), Butterfly McQueen (GONE WITH THE WIND), Verree Teasdale (FIFTH AVENUE GIRL), Irene Hervey (DESTRY RIDES AGAIN) and Jane Bryan (INVISIBLE STRIPES). As a matter of fact, the class of ’39 was so strong even they wouldn’t have made it to my final five. For me the ballot would’ve read as follows:

OLIVIA deHAVILLAND "Gone with the Wind"
MARGARET HAMILTON "The Wizard of Oz"
HATTIE McDANIEL "Gone with the Wind"
HELEN PARRISH "First Love"
LUCILE WATSON "Made for Each Other"

A list to reckon with! And –sometime soon – I hope to talk a little more about at least one of those splendid performances. In the meantime, head for the Smackdown and grab a first-row seat for the second coming of 1939.

TOSHIA MORI

TCM’s recent spotlight on Asian Images in Cinema has got me reminiscing about some of my own favorite Asian actresses. There’ve been quite a few over the years. And those that set their sights on Hollywood careers have all – to one degree or another – faced the same hurdles, dilemmas and frustrations that confronted Anna May Wong during her assault on stardom.
One of the ladies I like – and I like her a lot – was pretty much a contemporary of Anna May’s. A silvery beguiler called Toshia Mori. If anything, her story’s even more intriguing because it remains largely – almost wholly – unrecorded. Onscreen you might describe her as a fleeting apparition. Sightings were rare and unexpected enough to make her seem like some sort of beautiful ava raris. Traces of her presence evaporated like dew drops leaving behind an impression of brief incandescence.
One version of her story has her born in Kyoto, Japan on January 1, 1912 and emigrating to America (with her family, one would imagine) at the age of ten. Her birth name (allowing for the usual phonetic roadbumps in the journey from Japanese to romanji) was apparently Toshia Ichioka. Perhaps her family settled in the Los Angeles area. Because – by the late 20’s - she was getting work as a bit player in Hollywood films. Who knows what avenues led her there? It definitely wasn’t what the average Japanese-American teenager was up to. But, certainly, in appearance at least, Toshia was anything but average. She’d developed into a striking beauty. Looking in her own mirror might’ve been enough to convince her she had a future in pictures. And in a town full of agents and operators, it’s not unlikely that somebody noticed her and gave her his card. Maybe she was blisteringly ambitious (though – when she's onscreen – gentle and languid are the words that come to mind). Maybe her father was a carpenter at one of the studios and somebody spotted her bringing him his lunch. Who’s to say? Still – somehow – she was there. Occasionally she even got billing, though they never seemed to settle on a consistent spelling. The last name, Ichioka, stays the same but in MR WU(1927) she’s Toshia, in STREETS OF SHANGHAI(also 1927) it’s Toshyie, and in THE MAN WITHOUT A FACE(1928) they juggle it around a little more to come up with Toshiye. Whatever, she persevered. And unlike so many others survived the transition to sound. Not in any kind of glorious "Garbo Talks!" way, with studio trumplets blaring and cymbals crashing. But when she was given a line to speak, she spoke it beautifully,revealing a lovely voice – cool ,clear, low and refreshing. Toshia also embarked on her talkie career with a new moniker. Oddly enough, though her last name was the one the billing-fairies had always managed to spell right, that’s the one she elected to change. She entered the sound era as Toshia Mori.
For any young girl – and Toshia would be nineteen or twenty now – Hollywood was a minefield.
The streets were lined with smooth talkers, con-men, lechers, tricksters and just plain bad eggs , usually promising a career in pictures . Mostly these promises were empty. Ferreting out the legitimate job opportunities was a task that required determination, sharp instincts, a strong stomach and lots of luck. And those who actually made it through the brambles then had to prove they had talent or at least a marketable substitute for it. There were a finite number of roles. And an infinite number of girls angling for them. Conservatively speaking, for all practical purposes, 99% of those roles were off limits to Toshia Mori purely on racial grounds. Theoretically she could serve tea to Madge Evans or sell her a jeweled Buddha or plunge a dagger in her back. But she couldn’t be Madge Evans. In Hollywood, leading lady roles were strictly the preserve of Caucasian actresses. One can only imagine the frustration someone as genuinely talented and beautiful as Toshia Mori must have felt watching pallid namby-pambies play roles she could’ve glistened and gleamed in. Even if the character was supposed to be Asian, casting directors’ imaginations inevitably ran to Myrna Loy or Loretta Young and dollops of exotic eye make-up. For example, Young negotiated her way prettily through 1932’s THE HATCHET MAN as Sun Toya San, beloved of China’s favorite son Edward G.Robinson. But an uncredited Toshia Mori had to settle for a silent bit as somebody’s secretary. In the same year’s ROAR OF THE DRAGON she fared slightly better. True the spotlight was firmly on RKO’s latest candidate in the Dietrich/Garbo sweepstakes, the alluring but unlucky Gwili Andre. But Toshia Mori at least got to play a character with a name – even if that name was the none too imaginative Butterfly.
Still, 1932 was to offer Toshia Mori brief, unexpected prominence on another front. The Western Association of Motion Picture Advertisers was a Hollywood group that (from 1922 to 1934) gave itself an annual pat on the back with an affair called "The Frolic". One pictures a bunch of noisily cavorting conventioneers with prominent pot-bellies, cigars and fezzes. Whatever, the main feature of the event was the annual announcement and subsequent parading of the WAMPAS BABY STARS, thirteen lucky? ladies who’d been chosen as the year’s most promising starlets. It remains a matter of queasy speculation as to who chose them and how. But there was a lot of giddy press coverage. And tons of photo ops. Over the years, some of the group’s choices had been pretty impressive. During the 20’s, Clara Bow, Eleanor Boardman, Jean Arthur and Joan Crawford had all been WAMPAS babies. In 1932 one of the chosen was nifty Lillian Miles (who later got to sing "The Continental" in  THE GAY DIVORCEE and take a memorable header from a tall building in REEFER MADNESS). But apparently an impulsive last-minute wedding made her drop out of the proceedings. WAMPAS Central immediately went into over-drive looking for a replacement. And either Toshia Mori – or her agent – must have been doing something right. Because she got the golden phone call. Whisked straight into the hub-bub, she posed endlessly alongside fellow anointees Ginger Rogers, Gloria Stuart, Patricia Ellis et al. She perched on a float, shook hands, smiled at a sea of gawkers and generally radiated glamour. And if the actual activities of a WAMPAS baby entailed as much gritting of teeth as basking in glory, it was still perceived as a red-hot opportunity for any ingenue who wanted to swim with the goldfish instead of the minnows. And it was heartening to see a non-Caucasian face among the elect. What’s more, for Toshia Mori the whole WAMPAS jamboree may have actually led to the most promising role of her career. For shortly afterwards, she was cast in Frank Capra’s THE BITTER TEA OF GENERAL YEN. The story involved the erotically charged relationship between a lady missionary (Barbara Stanwyck) and a Chinese warlord (Nils Asther). But the script also featured a vital character called Mah-Li, a gorgeous concubine whose sophisticated scheming throws a spanner into the plots and plans of those around her. The picture was beautiful to behold – drenched in exotic Sternbergian atmosphere. And though, of course, Capra’s more famous today for his Americana, BITTER TEA still maintains a neat reputation among vintage film fans. What's more, Toshia Mori delivered the goods – taking charge of all her scenes with an insinuating and silky authority. She also looked glorious – a flash-point of beauty in an already good looking film. Capra and Columbia, both extremely happy with her work, awarded her third billing. And the final icing on the cake came with Time Magazine’s review: "Stanwyck is satisfactory … but the most noteworthy female member of the cast is Toshia Mori, a sloe-eyed Japanese girl…" Things had never looked brighter for her. Even if Time couldn’t resist saying that Capra had discovered Mori working in a Los Angeles curio shop. Publicity poppycock, I’m sure. But if she was moonlighting in retail, I’d say any magical little curio shop with Toshia Mori installed behind the counter would’ve had to cope with some pretty awesome line-ups.
Her triumph in BITTER TEA should’ve been the first of many. But it wasn’t. The racial rigidity of Hollywood’s casting system couldn’t bend to accommodate even someone as gifted and as special. She continued to work. But as a sort of Oriental Toby Wing, popping up momentarily - sometimes billed, often not – to add a visual kick to conventional proceedings. These were "blink and you’ll miss her" appearances. But those lucky enough not to blink saw one of the great beauties of the era – captured - if ever so briefly – on the silver screen. In THE PAINTED VEIL(1934), one of my favorite Greta Garbo films, Toshia Mori’s not part of the plot, but she suddenly materializes as the centerpiece of "The Moon Festival" sequence, an extravagant slice of Cedric Gibbons chinoiserie. She’s only there for a minute or so – but during that minute you don’t think about Garbo.
Then in 1936 something curious happened. Fox’s Charlie Chan series had been underway for some years, offering reliable entertainment to audiences and regular employment to Asian actors (albeit in supporting roles). Part of the fun in CHARLIE CHAN AT THE CIRCUS comes from eager beaver son Lee Chan’s romantic pursuit of Su Toy, a sexy contortionist – highly resistant but with a neat line in snappy comebacks. Every bit of onscreen evidence identifies Su Toy as Toshia Mori. But the name on the end credits is Shia Jung(???). Then a year later in CHARLIE CHAN ON BROADWAY, the ever-enthusiastic Lee gets himself hooked up with Ling Tse, pert employee of the Hottentot Club, obviously played by the same delightful eyeful he’d pursued at the circus. Except this time the name on the credits is Tashia Mori. That’s right, as if matters weren’t complicated enough, the "o’ in Toshia gets kicked out to make room for an "a". After this – silence. Except that two years later, Monogram tossed out a quickie called PORT OF HATE with Polly Ann Young (Loretta’s sister). I’ve never managed to see it. But fourth in the cast list is a character called Bo Chang played by one Shia Jung. Wrapping up our girl’s career, it seems, in a see-saw of confusion, complicated identity switches and possible spelling mistakes.
The internet’s done very little to clarify matters. Moviefone.com mentions that Toshia Mori sometimes appeared in films as Shia Jung, casually seeming to confirm the onscreen evidence. But they also say that after her movie career, she worked as a research assistant on Robert Ripley’s "Believe It or Not" short subject series. Yet, as far as I know, the Ripley films didn’t extend past 1932. There was a brief TV series in ‘49/’50. But I’ve found no evidence of Toshia Mori’s involvement in that. Nor in the program’s 80’s manifestation with Jack Palance.
Furthermore – and here’s where the thickets get really deep – imdb.com doesn’t include CHARLIE CHAN AT THE CIRCUS or PORT OF HATE among Toshia Mori’s credits. Not only do they list Shia Jung as a completely different actress. They give her a totally different career, mainly in China. For them, Shia Jung was born on March 10,1916 in Lantau, Hong Kong, China and died on March 26,2003 in Victoria, Hong Kong during the SARS epidemic. While Toshia Mori first opened her eyes in Kyoto, Japan on January 1,1912 and closed them for the last time somewhere in the Bronx on November 26, 1995. What’s more Shia Jung’s career graph, as presented by imdb, seems highly suspect. Born in China, she somehow manages to make her movie debut in a Hollywood silent. Then after decamping to China to continue her career, suddenly gets beamed down in Hollywood for CHARLIE CHAN AT THE CIRCUS speaking perfectly snappy English and looking exactly like Toshia Mori. The Chinese career continues until it’s interrupted for an emergency trip across the Pacific for the all-important Monogram cheapie PORT OF HATE. Then back to China for good. It just doesn’t sound right.
There are any number of possible keys to the muddle. For instance, in the mid-30’s, Toshia Mori, weary of treading water career wise, may have decided to jump-start things with a name change. Perhaps it seemed judicious to make her name sound more Chinese. Because the Charlie Chan series was in full swing, offering regular opportunities for Chinese actresses. Lee Chan was assuming increasing importance in the pictures and the very modern Toshia was born to banter with him. Or maybe the impetus for a name change came with the much ballyhooed casting search for MGM’s superproduction THE GOOD EARTH. Pearl Buck’s novel had been a blockbuster and the movie promised to be one too. What’s more, all the characters were Chinese. Anna May Wong certainly considered the role of O-Lan the part she was born for. And campaigned vigorously. In the end, MGM cast Austrian Luise Rainer (whose work in the film, it must be said, was pretty terrific. It won her an Oscar). Wong was doubly disappointed when MGM refused to give her the subsidiary role of seductive second wife Lotus, (some said) on the grounds that she wasn’t beautiful enough. Certainly Toshia Mori could never have been disqualified on that score. Lotus would’ve been a perfect fit for her. The critical reaction to her similar role in BITTER TEA proved she was more than up to the dramatic demands of the part. And MGM had their own PAINTED VEIL as proof positive that Mori was a vision onscreen. It’s impossible to think Toshia Mori didn’t yearn for the role. As it was, in the end, MGM cast Austrian dancer Tillie Losch - an odd duck who looked like what you’d get if you asked for a side-order of Sondergaard at a place that couldn’t supply the real thing. Indicating , ultimately, that MGM was bound and determined to confine its casting of the major female roles in THE GOOD EARTH strictly within the Vienna city limits.
Maybe – and this is a long-shot – Toshia Mori was politically prescient enough to sense decaying relations between the U.S. and Japan. And thought a more Chinese sounding name would be advisable all-round. If so, she was way ahead of the rest of Hollywood – and the country . Because Fox was just launching its popular series about Japanese detective Mr.Moto, pictures which continued to pack‘em in till the end of the decade. And, by the way, wasn’t Mori a natural for the Moto series? Certainly dour Peter Lorre could’ve used the kind of pulchritudinous pick-me-up she’d have undoubtedly supplied.
As for the choice of name. Perhaps she’d somehow heard of Shia Jung. Maybe even seen one of her Chinese films. Or just read the name and liked the sound of it. And "shia" could stand as a contraction of her own name. Maybe it was just a coincidence that she picked the name of an actress already working on the other side of the world. Yet a year later in CHARLIE CHAN ON BROADWAY she’d reverted to her own. Sort of. Because at this point it’s impossible to know whether Tashia (with two a’s) was her choice or just a studio typo.
All in all, it’s a case for Charlie Chan. But he can’t assemble all the involved parties in a room and tease the truth out of them. Because the parties involved - including Toshia Mori/Shia Jung -are no longer with us. And what happened to Toshia Mori post-Hollywood? Did she leave the country? Did she spend time in a Japanese-American internment camp? One hopes not. Did she marry a plumber and have lots of little WAMPAS babies? Or a potentate – and spend the rest of her life living on velvet? Who knows? Except that somehow the story seems to have ended in 1995 in the Bronx. I’ve never found evidence of a Toshia Mori interview. Maybe there are children or grand-children who could supply the answers. But no one’s ever asked them the questions. At least in print. Leaving us with a fragrance of mystery – and a few light but ever so luminous footprints in the sands of Hollywood’s past.

ANNA MAY

Recently TCM’s been showing a string of films featuring Chinese American actress Anna May Wong – as well as a documentary about her unique life and career. Whether you’re a fan or not, knowing even a little of her story, it’s impossible not to be impressed by the lady’s awesome determination and focus. With so many forces arrayed against her – chiefly, of course the pervasive and unapologetic racial exclusionism of heyday Hollywood – she somehow managed to carve out a film career that stretched from the silents to the 60’s, spanned two continents and even made her famous in China, though she never filmed there. There’s no denying her movies ranged wildly in quality. But Wong often achieved prominent (and sometimes top) billing. People knew who she was. A genuine – albeit marginalized – movie star. The roles she was offered were – more often than not - ciphers or stereotypes. Dragon ladies or doomed butterflies. But she committed to them and consistently elevated the material with her marvelous stillness and intensity. In Sternberg’s SHANGHAI EXPRESS(1932), she holds her own with Dietrich – no mean feat. Marlene’s operating on all cylinders but Wong matches the insolently seductive Dietrich cool with plenty of her own. In retrospect, Anna May Wong’s miracle picture was E.A. Dupont’s PICCADILLY made in Britain in ’29 – and certainly the best British silent I’ve ever seen. Wong has a large supporting part. But it’s the film's key performance - one that lingers in the memory. Intriguing work - nuanced, sympathetic, alluring, dangerous, touching. And the chemistry she creates with (under-rated) leading man Jameson Thomas is really superb. Far beyond anything nominal star Gilda Gray can muster. If the Oscar had introduced its supporting category this early, I’d have unhesitatingly given the trophy to Wong that year. What an amazing alternate universe awards show that would have been!. With Anna May Wong honored for her Shosho and Louise Brooks carrying off the Best Actress trophy as Lulu in "Pandora’s Box". An alluring embarassment of icons. As it was, the supporting category wasn’t around till ’36 and the ’29 Best Actress trophy went to Mary Pickford in "Coquette", surely the worst performance ever to win an Academy Award. But that was then and now is now. Milestone has a lovely print of PICCADILLY available on DVD. Do yourself a favor. Rent or buy it soon. And watch Anna May Wong shimmer.

The Overlooked - 1953

For the past ten days or so I’ve been popping out posts at a furious (for me) clip. They’ve all been about 1953. Each intended as a modest sidebar to Stinkylulu’s upcoming Supporting Actress Smackdown. But since these posts were all so full of digressions and detours, I never did arrive at my intended destination. Which was to be a discussion of the overlooked performances from ’53. The ladies who didn’t get so much as a look-in. Not even a chance to say they were happy just to be nominated. ‘Cause Oscar didn’t do right by them . I have a list of deserving ladies for ’53. And one actress on that list actually did have an Oscar win in her past. As for the rest, they may have enjoyed various degrees of fame, fortune and fulfilment – but they all wound up with just as many Oscars as you and I have. Unless, of course, there are some Oscar winners reading this. Which I somehow doubt. Anyway, I dragged myself in from work late tonight only to realize that the Smackdown goes into orbit tomorrow morning. And I still haven’t written a thing about my intended subject. So, now, fuelled by diet Coke and Lipitor, I make an eleventh hour stab at it. The clock’s ticking – and I may fade out. But here goes.
First of all, in 1953, movie musicals were still going full-tilt. I mean in a year that produced something as perfect as "The Band Wagon", can you tell me anyone seriously believed that the entire genre would soon be more or less consigned to the scrap heap? A whole generation of musical film stars seemed to go out of style overnight – most of them in their prime. Suddenly a legend like Gene Kelly couldn’t get a lead. Ladies who’d been ruling the roost at Metro just seemed to vanish. Esther Williams’ pool was drained. Kathryn Grayson made her last film in ’56. She was only 33. Jane Powell left movies a year later. At 28. Nowadays, so many of the "serious" pictures that helped dethrone these stars seem dated and naïve, actually trivilalizing important issues with pat solutions and lots of pussyfooting, 50’s style. The musicals had an intentional innocence but the best ones managed to express that quality with wit and charm; the musical elements took you places words couldn’t go, of course. But a generation of pros before the camera and behind it, people who understood and loved the genre, often managed to bring all the facets together, creating bubbles that seem more iridescent as the years go by. As timeless as something out of the Arabian Nights. 1953 produced a bumper crop of blithely entertaining musicals. Besides "The Band Wagon", there was "Calamity Jane" and "Gentlemen Prefer Blondes". Not to mention breezy, under-rated pleasures like "Dangerous When Wet" "The Farmer Takes a Wife" " I Love Melvin"and "The Beggar’s Opera". All films I never get tired of. Even the ones that disappointed me a little like "Kiss Me Kate" had incredible things going for them – great casts, sensational scores – beautifully orchestrated and performed. No surprise that Kathryn Grayson rocked that Eleanor Parker wig from "Scaramouche". But who knew Howard Keel would look so good in tights? And, oh what I’d give to see that "Kiss Me Kate" choregraphy in its original 3D!
But the Academy rarely liked to nominate musical performers. And - I mean - in what year during the 40’s wasn’t Judy Garland nomination worthy? Yet during that whole decade her name never once made it to the ballot. Yes, I know Jean Hagen pried a nomination out of the Academy for "Singin’ in the Rain". But she has little or nothing to do with the film’s musical segments. I certainly don’t think of her as a musical performer. I believe Debbie Reynolds has gone on record as saying she’ll never quite come to terms with the fact that Donald O’Connor wasn’t nominated for that picture. Me neither. And could Fred Astaire have possibly been more sublime than he was in "The Band Wagon"? What did he have to do to get a nomination? Oh, right. I forgot. Totter around near a towering inferno .
Anyway, the "overlooked" choice I’m spotlighting here is a musical lady who provided additional snap crackle and pop to one of the year’s very best films. That would be Nanette Fabray in "The Band Wagon". This was a picture that made a big impression on audiences and critics in 1953. And quite deservedly. As I said, the golden age of the movie musical was nearly over, even if nobody knew it then. And that observation’s especially poignant when you re-watch "The Band Wagon", probably the greatest of all Metro’s musicals. Certainly I’d rank it that way. Just as people often say silent films were reaching a climax of achievement when sound came in to deliver the death blow, so musicals were enjoying a rich, creative heyday in the early 50’s. Nowhere more so than at MGM. And there was no finer director of musicals anywhere than Vincente Minnelli. He and the famous Freed unit seemed to find special inspiration in The Band Wagon" ’s Comden and Green script about putting on a show. A new theme by no means. But no musical ever had a better screenplay. In this case performed and mounted with passion and affection by people who really were the best in the world at what they did. Dialogue and musical sequences achieve – and sustain - a kind of zen show-biz serenity that makes it almost impossible for a lover of movie musicals to watch it without smiling and/or tearing up. Liza Minnelli has commented on her father’s awesome ability to combine a sense of reality with theatricality. "The Band Wagon" illustrates that from beginning to end. You really care about the characters. Certainly, Astaire never had a better written role. And though it might not be right to say he rises to the occasion, considering his permanently buoyant state of grace, he does seem to play Tony Hunter, aging (and fading) musical comedy legend with an extra level of personal investment. If Norma Desmond had had a sense of humour about herself, and had reacted to changing times by covering up the insecurities with a little rueful insouciance and modesty , well I guess she wouldn’t be Norma Desmond anymore. But she’d be an awful lot like Astaire’s Tony Hunter.
Nanette Fabray is joined at the hip for most of her scenes in "The Band Wagon" with Oscar Levant, a classical musician who had about the same connection to acting as Zsa Zsa Gabor does. In the 40’s and 50’s he parlayed his celebrity into a small string of movie appearances, inevitably the cynical Sad Sack, alternately courting and deflecting approval. Fabray and Levant play Lily and Lester Allen, a kind of affably frantic version of Comden and Green. Irascible Levant wasn’t known as a high energy team player, so I’d have to guess that a great deal of the vim and vigor generated by Lily and Lester comes from Fabray and Minnelli. However they got it, they got it. Lily and Lester get progressively (and hilariously) more shell-shocked as they watch wunderkind director Jeffrey Cordova, (Jack Buchanan, another nomination that shoulda been) turn the little musical comedy they wrote into a combination Greek tragedy/ Wreck of the Hesperus. From her first appearance at the train station, brandishing a slapped-together " Tony Hunter Fan Club" sign, Fabray’s a joy. One of those people who can mug and make you want more. Then dial it down ever so nicely. And - largely thanks to Fabray’s authentic warmth - you genuinely believe, right off the bat, that Lester, Lily and Tony really are old friends. The whole picture communicates a feeling of camaraderie, a sense of community and shared purpose, in the face of chaos.
Fabray isn’t, of course, the leading lady. That spot’s reserved for willowy Cyd Charisse. No, Fabray’s definitely a second banana here. Plucky –and similar in some ways to earlier MGM examples of the type. Though not as man-crazy as Betty Garrett . And definitely not as sour as Nancy Walker, who often came off like some kind of shrunken head hanging from the belt of whatever musical she was attached to. Like them, Nanette Fabray was no glamour-puss. But she was cute enough to have been considered viable as a Warner Brothers starlet in the late 30’s. You can see her - in vintage Technicolor - as one of Bette Davis’ ladies in waiting in "The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex". After that initial Hollywood foray, Fabray headed for the stage, eventually becoming a much admired musical comedy star on Broadway. She was a gifted comedienne that didn’t have to sing at all to be terrific. But sing she did. Her speaking voice is easy to recognize. There’s a certain quality that makes you think she’s not getting quite enough air. Or maybe someone’s pumped just a little bit of helium into her. I can’t quite put my finger on it. But it’s distinctive – and definitely part of her appeal. When she sings, you get the sense of a great big Broadway voice coming through a funnel. But it sounds great. Fabray is down-to-earth , one of us. Attractive but no picture perfect beauty queen. Her clothes in "The Band Wagon" suggest the housewife down the block, 1953 style. Yet, at the same time, it’s crystal clear she’s a Broadway Baby through and through.
Onscreen she’s an eager beaver – but one you’d definitely want to spend lots of time with. Considering it’s a supporting part, it’s amazing how many highlights one remembers from Fabray’s performance. That fabulous scream in the back alley behind the theatre! Her conflicted reaction as Cordova woos the backers with his one-man version of the show. This is great!/ Help! Get me out of here. And of course, she shines in the musical numbers. Can you believe how quickly she arranges that kerchief on her head in the "I Love Louisa" number? The camera's only off her for moments. Plus, of course, she carries off every bit of musical comedy business like it’s no sweat. That "Triplets" number couldn’t have been easy to do. But she makes you want to get up there with her. I’m glad she gets the spotlight firmly on her for one number. It’s "Louisiana Hayride". I’ve always loved the song – and I’ll forever associate it with her. Of course, the Technicolor’s a dream. But so’s she. In great voice, too. And I love every single piece of comic schtick she pulls out during that roll call bit. "Sweet Pea Oglethorpe" "Ah is hyuh" "Jonquil Jezebel" " Mmm hyuh" . Moving through the whole thing with the unerring instinct and assurance of a Broadway legend.
The entire performance is warm, funny, smart, resourceful, charismatic. And she hits bull’s-eyes in every one of her musical sequences. Yet never once tries to stop her co-stars from shining too. If all this isn’t worth a supporting actress nomination, what is? I love this woman. I also love "The Band Wagon". And the fact that if Nanette Fabray could only be in one MGM musical, it was the best one ever.



That’s it. I’ve run out of steam. No energy left right now to properly praise my other "overlooked" ladies of ’53.



Check out Stinkylulu’s Smackdown tomorrow ( I mean, later today)



The nominees that year were:
Grace Kelly "Mogambo"
Geraldine Page "Hondo"
Marjorie Rambeau "Torch Song"
Donna Reed "From Here to Eternity"
Thelma Ritter "Pickup on South Street"



Reed was the eventual winner. See who gets to wear the Smackdown crown.
My guess would be Ritter. But who knows?



And finally, my 1953 ballot would have read this way
Nanette Fabray "The Band Wagon"
Grace Kelly "Mogambo"
Allyn McLerie "Calamity Jane"
Jeanette Nolan "The Big Heat"
Teresa Wright "The Actress"



Now I lay me down to sleep..

Happy Just to Be Nominated

My last post turned out to be not so much Last Post as 21 Gun Salute to Grace Kelly’s work in 1953’s "Mogambo". The general idea being that - of the five supporting actress performances nominated that year – hers was the only one to merit that level of recognition. Even situated as it was – in a pretty ordinary jungle potboiler –it’s impressive . Nervous energy, cleverly informed and shaped by instinct, discipline and a certain amount of daring. Definitely work of considerable promise. And the mere three years of career she had left were hardly enough to fully deliver on that promise. Still, it would be wrong to say the other four nominated performances were bad. They were actually all quite okay. But, honestly, not much more than that.
For instance, Geraldine Page in "Hondo". As in Grace Kelly’s case, the picture was an early screen credit for her. But Page’s movie career lasted decades and left us with a raft of memorably etched performances. F.Murray Abraham may have been the only one kneeling onstage on Oscar night, 1986, when Page picked up her trophy for "The Trip to Bountiful". But discerning audiences and most of her professional peers had been doing it – figuratively - for years. She was, by common consensus, the definitive actor’s actor. When you heard Page was in a film, you automatically started thinking Oscar nomination. And though the Academy limited her to a merely sensational eight nominations, several more wouldn’t have been out of order ("Toys in the Attic", "Dear Heart","I’m Dancing As Fast As I Can" are titles that spring to mind immediately). Even more impressive when you realize that Page was primarily a stage actress – one of the theatre’s most admired. And though her filmography isn’t all that extensive, really just a number of thrilling punctuation marks in a long stage career, what she did manage to commit to film stands as enduring proof of an amazing talent. How incredible it would have been to see her onstage! I wonder if she ever did "The Glass Menagerie"? Every time I think of that play, I imagine what a wonderful Amanda she’d have made.
"Hondo" wasn’t technically her movie debut. Alert viewers will notice her brief appearance in a Fox programmer called "Taxi" with Dan Dailey But her screen credit in "Hondo" read "introducing Geraldine Page". And for most movie-goers this was their first look at her. The picture was hardly an indicator of the actress’ future film career. For one thing it was a western. And she didn’t make many of those. And it’s always a little surprising to realize that an actress who was to become so celebrated made her official film debut in a 3D movie. Then again, come to think of it, so many of her later performances were a lot like 3D, providing audiences with simultaneous multiple perspectives. If you hankered for the giddy pleasure of a heightened movie experience, Page was the lady who could give it to you. The tics, the mannerisms, vocal and visual, the quicksilver transitions, the unique, eccentric energy – they were Page trademarks. But she knew when to use them and when not to. When to dole them out and when to drown you in them. For "Hondo", she kept them pretty close to her vest. Tennessee Williams it wasn’t. But it was a well put together western, handsomely shot, skilfully written and very entertaining, charged with a nice forward momentum. Page plays a frontier wife and mother – basically on her own with a young son (her husband’s a chronically absent gallivanter). Leaving her to run a homestead and raise a child in remote Apache country. Page makes a solid impression – straight, clean and stalwart – with few hints in her performance of the dramatic filigree she’d become famous for in later years. And if there are no great fireworks with John Wayne (Maureen O’Hara was pretty much the only one to ever pull that off), the teaming was smooth and believable. And though the performance didn’t convey the compelling promise that Kelly’s did in "Mogambo" – or give much indication of the heights Page would later scale, it was, nevertheless, assured and appropriate. Still, I’d say it was a little over rewarded with that Oscar nomination.
Which brings us to the 3 R’s. Not, in this case, "Readin, Ritin’ and ‘Rithmetic" but rather the three other ’53 nominees who weren’t Grace Kelly – Rambeau, Ritter and Reed. The Joan Crawford curio "Torch Song" - unlike "Mogambo" – was no box-office smash. It’s intriguing to speculate what audiences who did go made of it in 1953. The whole point of the exercise seems to have been to celebrate the – at this point - Medusa-like charms of its star. But it’s a doggedly glum celebration . And Marjorie Rambeau is little more than a splash from the mud puddle as Crawford storm-troops her way through a series of airless drawing rooms and grim musical numbers. Rambeau’s contribution – quickly checking off a few standard blowsy mother-of-the-star cliches

– was competent but hardly stood out. Years before, she’d played a similar part - and one that gave her a lot more opportunity to shine. That was in "The Primrose Path"(1940). And she was best thing in the picture (though, admittedly, the film itself was only marginally better than "Torch Song"). That netted her an Oscar nomination too. A deserved one, I’d say. But, here, the nomination’s a real puzzler. Was it backstage studio politicking at work? Was Rambeau really that well liked by her colleagues? Or was it just another example of the vagaries of the Academy’s odd multi-tiered nomination process at work? Whatever the case, speculations on how this nomination even happened remain more interesting than the performance itself.
Thelma Ritter’s work in the goodish (but not that goodish) "Pickup on South Street" provided more likely nomination fodder. The beloved character actress was already developing into a perennial Oscar bridesmaid . And voters were eager to hand her a trophy. (They never quite succeeded – 6 nominations, 6 losses). Yet, oddly enough, they often ignored her finest accomplishments ("A Letter to Three Wives", "A Hole in the Head" and – above all – her sublime contribution to "The Misfits")
Except for a touching final scene, Ritter’s Apple Annie style character in "Pickup" doesn’t really rank with her best work. She’s a kind of urban Mammy Yokum, not so much a believable character but , rather, a walking slice of contrived local color. It doesn’t help that she’s presented as a shady street peddler who basically supplements her income by regularly informing on fellow con-artists. Everyone seems to know it, yet, for the most part, they all stay pretty chummy with her. Doesn’t make sense. One wouldn’t have thought that the distance between Ritter’s patented Bronx-y wisecracks and Damon Runyon would be that great. Yet the faux Runyon dialogue she’s saddled with here boxes her up , constricting her normal speech patterns just enough to rob them of their usual naturalness. Admittedly, the studio could have found even less hospitable roles for her. Someone once asked her why she left Fox in the mid-fifties and Ritter reportedly quipped, "I don’t look that good in a toga". So, no, this wasn’t as extreme as ,say, plunking her down into the Coliseum with Demetrius and the Gladiators. But it still wasn’t an entirely comfortable fit. That pretty much comes down to the writing, I think. But the end result’s that a role meant to spotlight Ritter only succeeds in diminishing her a little. Too bad. Still, as I said, she asserts her distinctive talent beautifully in that final scene, breaking through the role’s constraints to give the picture its one thoroughly effective emotional jolt. Me, I’d still withhold the nomination though, on the basis that the performance remains essentially compromised by those earlier scenes.
I don’t like "From Here to Eternity" – a dull soap opera chock full of its own ( supposed) importance. The Oscar for Sinatra’s unexceptional performance at least re-ignited his professional confidence and popularity, inspiring him to a series of performances that really were Oscar calibre – "Man with the Golden Arm", "The Joker is Wild", "Some Came Running". Burt Lancaster does another of his overstated takes on understatement. Clift’s in early haunted mode. I really don’t think he got that right till ’61 in "The Misfits" and "Judgment at Nuremberg". Here it’s just agitated navel gazing. Donna Reed actually won the trophy that year for her Alma, dance-hall

hostess (read hooker). It’s a sensible performance, and Reed ‘s conscientious about conveying Alma’s mix of steely determination and vestigial sweetness. But though her work represents one of the film’s better features, it’s not particularly memorable. This is an earlier example of the Shirley Jones/"Elmer Gantry" syndrome. An actress identified with virginal good girl roles accepts a racy bad girl part and is rewarded – not so much for playing it well – but just for playing it at all. Audiences and voters seemed over-awed by the celebrated reputation of James Jones’ novel. That certainly played a part in the film’s popularity. And it may have been a contributing factor to Reed’s Oscar win. Oddly, the parallels between Reed and Shirley Jones didn’t end here. Both later achieved their greatest success as stars of innocuous but wildly popular TV sitcoms. And in spite of the essentially flimsy nature of their respective vehicles, both blossomed beautifully as actresses during the course of their long runs. Beyond revealing impressive reserves of charm and beauty, the two became experts at comic timing and droll line readings. And both ladies could bring off a quiet, reflective moment with the best of them. I know I’m talking about "The Partridge Family". But check it out sometime. Jones is really good in it. As is Reed in "The Donna Reed Show". Two classy and talented ladies who, for years, conveyed more about the joys of good acting – and on a weekly basis, too – than pretty much anything I’ve been able to extract from either "From Here to Eternity" or "Elmer Gantry".
At any rate, for a wider range of opinions on the Oscar nominated ladies of 1953, be sure to visit Stinkylulu’s next Supporting Actress Smackdown this coming Sunday (April 27).

GRACE UNDER PRESSURE

Fond as I am of 1953, I don’t think the Academy managed to spotlight many of its actual highlights when they chose their

supporting actress nominees that year. With one exception.

Though "Mogambo" ’s a pretty pedestrian effort (action-wise, this particular African safari’s about as exciting as a trip to a water-cooler), up-and-comer Grace Kelly manages to turn it into something of a personal triumph. Ava Gardner’s role - wise-cracking any port in a storm play-girl - is certainly larger and showier. And – on the surface of it – the more dominant part. But maybe not. ’Cause in the script’s original incarnation ("Red Dust"{1932}), Mary Astor played the Kelly role and carried off a similar coup, turning an ostensibly supporting part into the picture’s real acting showcase. To her credit, Gardner is less cartoonish than Jean Harlow had been. For openers, the onscreen Ava generally projects a languorous, laid-back quality that’s easier to live with than most of Harlow’s shenanigans. The platinum blonde kewpie-doll exterior – candy-floss hair and three coats of paint – presents its own obstacles. But then there’s the curious diction – at once crass and high-falutin’. And the frequent onscreen tantrums – frantic mazurkas of charmless squawking. Harlow’s odd attributes were never more unconvincing than in the (all too frequent) outings when she played (if that’s the word) a socialite. At least in "Red Dust", she’s cast in a more down-market guise. Still, after all the Harlow bashing , let me add that she managed to balance her effects quite nicely in the excellent pre-coder "Red Headed Woman". And her work in "Wife vs. Secretary"(1936) – unexpectedly warm and rich - proved once and for all that there’d been real talent there all along. Making one wish Metro had used her more judiciously in the years preceding it. Still, whatever Jean Harlow was selling in the early 30’s, it was obviously something the public couldn’t get enough of. ’Cause at the box-office she was gangbusters. And a mellower, more realistic Harlow probably wouldn’t have raked nearly as much money into Leo the Lion’s coffers. Getting back to Gardner, I’d say the popularity of "Mogambo" is what finally cinched her status as a major league movie star . But it’s still not a very interesting performance. Yes, the beauty and the voice - with its powdery sensuality - are hard to ignore (and who’d want to?). But there’s a curious lack of spontanaiety in most of her dialogue. She often seems to be reeling off bits of some mildly raunchy class assignment. Delivered with more duty than conviction. The only snippet that really works for me is her wryly delivered re-entry line part way through the picture - something to the effect of, "Yeah, it’s me. The Return of Frankenstein". But, mostly, it’s just paint-by-number stuff. Ava had already played the bruised glamour girl - with less emphasis and greater effect - in "Show Boat" (She was a genuinely touching Julie). And would get it just right again – in the 60’s – in "Seven Days in May". But here it’s pretty much skin-deep. The film’s mammoth success and Gardner’s obvious upward mobility on the Hollywood scene – might explain her Best Actress nomination that year. But she’s not half as fascinating as onscreen rival Grace Kelly who, noticing the rest of the cast is half asleep, takes the opportunity to whip up an intriguing little cocktail of her own , equal parts prim and primitive. The picture’s a kind of Hemingway-lite soap opera with Gable as a safari guide, casually hooked up with stranded ( but adaptable) good time girl Gardner. He’s hired by a naïve young Brit – a kind of amateur scientist with more money than brains. The guy’s all gung-ho about some vaguely defined research project that involves tape recorders and gorillas. He’s a kind of Dian Fossey - but without the brains. What he does have, though, is a beautiful young wife, Linda (played by Kelly, a triumphant twenty-three at the time). She arrives, cheery and gracious – fully expecting to play young Lady Bountiful. But Hubby promptly takes to his bed with some sort of jungle fever. Leaving Linda to face about a dozen consecutive emotional and cultural blind-sides, not the least of which is the steadily escalating sexual attraction between her and Gable. I love how quickly Kelly’s flawless face goes from tabula rasa to rapidly changing emotional barometer. Expertly registering confusion, anger, jealousy, distress, desire and any number of variations thereof. There’s a fluidity of expression that’s quite startling . Really resourceful – and way beyond the call of duty for what amounts to a safari soap opera . Certainly beyond what might reasonably be expected of a young socialite dabbling in the movies, which is how Kelly was generally perceived up until "Mogambo". She hits every note she has to – with real aplomb. The imperious streak. The cattiness with Gardner. The progressive irritation with hubby, increasingly inneffectual in her eyes next to Gable’s elemental he-man. And there’s no shortage of stunning images capturing Kelly’s beauty blooming like a hot pink rose in the African landscape. Kelly even makes Linda likable. You catch yourself rooting for her. I love her embarrassed silence when Gable is forced to come to the rescue after she gets herself into a pickle with a panther. And when a coy question to The Great White Hunter gets a blunt response, her reaction’s beguiling.– a bit of smart, self-deprecating humour. "Not very gallant", she chuckles, "but understandable". Later as things between them heat up, she has no trouble handling her end of some sexually charged verbal fencing (as they sail suggestively down a fast-moving river). Linda knows what she stands to lose. A wealthy, comfortable, life. A secure future. But Gable represents excitement, adventure and probably lots of hot sex. And when nice, clueless Hubby urges her to live every minute and make the most of it, he probably means she should set up a tape recorder of her own near Gorilla Town. But it’s clear Linda’s putting an entirely different construction on his words. She’s pretty much decided to take the plunge. In the end, it’s Gable who just can’t bring himself to hurt Hubby. And when he gives Linda the kiss-off, she caps off her performance with a neat little display of hysteria, complete with gunfire. In the end, she quietly retreats with Hubby ( still blithely clueless). But Linda’s future is a toss-up. Has she been sufficiently burned that she’ll opt for permanent respectability in sleepy Devonshire? Or are the newly acquired perspectives and sharpened appetites going to make her increasingly restless? There never was a "Mogambo 2". So we’ll just have to go on guessing. Clark Gable may have put up gamely with the hardships of location shooting in Africa, but doesn’t seem to have extended his efforts to the point of stretching himself acting-wise. Except in his scenes with Kelly, where he seems genuinely surprised, impressed and – I don’t know – turned on, maybe, as Kelly finds increasingly creative ways to make her performance captivating. Interestingly enough, Gene Tierney was originally cast as Linda in "Mogambo". When she dropped out for health reasons, Kelly came onboard. Tierney would’ve been good. She usually was. But we’d have had to do without the striking blonde-brunette contrast the Kelly - Gardner combo provided. And more importantly, Tierney wouldn’t have been as stunningly youthful or as fluidly expressive. Nature wasn’t stingy, as far as young Grace Kelly was concerned. A striking beauty. Born to wealth and privilege. Smart. Charming. But who’d have guessed there’d be so much talent, too?. Grace Kelly was a very good actress. Besides the Academy Award nomination, she also won a Golden Globe for her work in "Mogambo". Oddly, I don’t think she ever had a richer showcase for her emotional versatility than this glorified jungle programmer. Certainly not " The Country Girl", drab talk periodically interrupted for some godawful musical numbers – even if it did win her an Oscar. Amazingly, her legendary career, just beginning to hit its stride with "Mogambo" was over three years later. Before her 27th birthday. The famous marriage in Monaco. The immediate and permanent withdrawal from films. A lot of actresses owe Kelly big-time for that decision. Elizabeth Taylor, say. Or most of the post ’55 Hitchcock heroines . It’s clear that with her phenomenal fame – and equally impressive qualifications – physical and artistic, Grace Kelly would have been the go-to girl for most of the big projects of the late 50’s and probably on through the 60’s. What’s more, it was a talent that may well have grown and deepened as she reached middle age and beyond. Grace Kelly’s career may have been brief, but she seems to have secured permanent status as one of Hollywood’s iconic figures. Not just beautiful. But special.