Showing posts with label Columbia Pictures. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Columbia Pictures. Show all posts

Pre-Code vs Post-Code: "The Criminal Code" and "Convicted"

The title of the 1931 film"The Criminal Code," based on Martin Flavin's 1929 play, refers to two different codes -- the one in the law books, cut and dried and in black and white, administered by men like district attorney Martin Brady (Walter Huston). The other is the unofficial code among prison inmates to protect each other, even if it leads to physical abuse or solitary confinement.

Bob Graham (Phillips Holmes) is one of those inmates. He was sent up the river by Brady, and when Brady is named warden of the prison where Graham is serving his time, their paths cross again, as do the paths of Graham and Brady's daughter, Mary (Constance Cummings).

The 1931 film, directed by Howard Hawks, has an Oscar-nominated screenplay by Seton I. Miller and Fred Niblo, Jr. And it's a much bleaker view of prison life, with morally dicey characters to match, than its 1950 remake, "Convicted." (Miller and Niblo are also credited with the screenplay of "Convicted," along with William Bowers.)

In "Convicted," Broderick Crawford is the D.A.-turned-warden, here named George Knowland. And Glenn Ford is the inmate, here named Joe Hufford. Dorothy Malone plays Knowland's daughter, Kay, even though in real life Crawford was only 14 years older than Malone.

The characters of Brady and Knowland are similar on the surface -- assured, self-made men who believe in the system and in the sanctity of the law. But Brady has rougher edges -- he smokes stogies as opposed to Knowland, who prefers a more professorial pipe. And Brady is a bit of a politician -- he is given the warden's job as consolation for a losing race for governor, and he's always worried how things will look to his enemies. By contrast, Knowland is more able to see life's gray areas, if just barely.

The movie begins with a death -- the son of a prominent political figure has been killed by accident in a nightclub fight. The character played by Holmes and Ford -- we'll call him Bob/Joe -- is the "killer," although both prosecutors know that the act was accidental and in self-defense.

"Tough luck, Bob," Brady tells Bob in the 1931 film, "but that's the way things go ... you gotta take 'em the way they fall."

But Bob doesn't have to take 'em that way, and Brady knows it -- but he doesn't tell Bob.

"If that kid belonged to me," Brady tells his assistant (and no one else), "I'd make a plea of self-defense and fight it out. I'd get him out ... he'd never serve a day. A thing like this is liable to happen to anyone."

Brady is content to "let things fall" and let Bob face the music. Bob's counsel is just this side of incompetent -- he's a corporate attorney, hired by the brokerage house Bob works for, who knows nothing about criminal law. And Brady offers no guidance whatsoever.

In the 1950 film, Knowland at least advises Joe's attorney to hire a criminal lawyer. But it's for naught.

As expected, Bob/Joe is convicted of manslaughter and sentenced to 10 years in prison. In the 1931 film, Brady stands stoically by as the sentence is passed and a bailiff picks his teeth. Bob's useless attorney blows off the whole thing with a simple "the best man won, I'm afraid" as Bob is taken away to the big house. In the 1950 film, Knowland at least shows some pangs of conscience -- he tells off Joe's lousy lawyer -- and his humanity is further emphasized by having daughter Kay with him, noting his sadness:




In prison, Bob/Joe makes friends with his two cellmates. One plans to escape; the other (Boris Karloff in the 1931 film, Millard Mitchell in the 1950 film) wants to off the yard master. Seems the head bull caught the prisoner, just after he was paroled, having a beer. Thanks to that parole violation, the prisoner is back in stir -- for 12 years. (That's one heck of a beer.)

Despite all that, Bob/Joe's best friends are his cellmates, and between them they illustrate that other criminal code -- the one that isn't in the law books.

Bob has been in prison, wasting away, for six years before Brady becomes warden; in the 1950 film, Joe has only been in for three years before Knowland's arrival. Because Brady/Knowland is responsible for putting so many of the inmates behind bars, they greet his arrival with "yammering" -- a long, loud series of growls. Both men decide that the only way to deal with the uprising in the prison yard is to confront the yammerers:




Meanwhile, Bob has been falling apart in prison. He works every day in the prison's dirty, dusty jute mill, spinning fiber into burlap. Then he receives word that his only contact with the outside world -- his mother -- has died. This leads to a breakdown in the jute mill and, after a doctor's intervention, Brady appoints Bob as his chauffeur.

In "Convicted," Joe is close to his father. and while he's in stir, Kay visits the old guy, creating a bond between she and Joe even before they meet. As opposed to Bob's stint in the jute mill, Joe works in the prison laundry -- not a perfect setting, but at least it's cleaner. Joe's breakdown occurs when he learns of his father's death, and as a result he's put into solitary -- it isn't until he's released from there that he joins Knowland's staff as chauffeur.

Still, Joe's time in solitary doesn't seem to affect him as much as Bob's. In general, in fact, Holmes looks like hell for a good part of this movie, while Ford looks like ... Ford.

As the prison chauffeur, Bob/Joe spends more time driving around the warden's daughter than he does the warden himself. And things start improving as prisoner and daughter are drawn to each other.

Then comes a crisis, one involving both of Bob/Joe's cellmates. One attempts to escape, only to be shot and killed because one of his co-conspirators was a stool pigeon. The other cellmate -- the one determined to kill the yard warden -- also sets his sights on the stoolie.

Warden Brady/Knowland is hiding the stoolie in his office.

"I gotta get him off my hands," Brady says to the head of the parole board. "Pardoned, paroled transferred -- anything!" So he has no hesitation about letting the guy go. Knowland is more principled -- he wants the guy transferred, but not set free.

This guy doesn't need Frankenstein makeup.
But it ends up being a moot point very quickly, because Bob/Joe's cellmate, who works as the warden's cook, sneaks into the warden's office and knifes the pigeon. (Karloff is supremely scary as the cellmate in the 1931 film; in the 1950 film, Millard Mitchell seems a lot more comfortable as a convict than he does as a studio head in "Singin' in the Rain.") The only witness to the murder is Bob/Joe, who won't talk, and he ends up in solitary, as much to save the warden's pride as anything.

It falls to the warden's daughter to set her father straight:




Bob/Joe is released from solitary and paroled, and the "happy" ending fits each film's tone -- Brady looks a little uneasy at the idea of his daughter marrying a convict, even a noble one; and Knowland and Joe joke about his picking up the daughter as nonchalantly as if it was a Saturday night date.

"Walk East on Beacon!," or Boston Commies

Everything below this logo is made up.

INTEROFFICE MEMO

July 7, 1952

From: J. Wellington Lockjaw, Studio-FBI Liaison

To: Harry Cohn, President


Mr. Cohn:

I have just come from a high-level meeting with J. Edgar Hoover at Madame La Tour's Dress Shop FBI Headquarters regarding our latest cinematic triumph, "Walk East on Beacon!" As you know, the film is based on a story that Hoover wrote for Reader's Digest, and therefore he is especially interested in the film's authenticity and verisimilitude.

Hoover also says he would like his check immediately, or else some embarrassing photos of you and Penny Singleton taken after hours on the set of "Beware of Blondie" will surface.

I screened the film the other night for Hoover and his overall impression was favorable. He did, however, offer a few suggestions, with the proviso that if they aren't followed, some embarrassing photos of you and Evelyn Keyes taken after hours on the set of "The Jolson Story" will surface.

1. Hoover asks that the promotional material for the film somehow include a mention of his new book, 50 Shades of Red, about the need for eternal vigilance against the Communist menace. I told him that wouldn't be a problem. He then expressed a desire for an endorsement quote by Sen. Joseph McCarthy. I also said that wouldn't be a problem, given McCarthy's anti-Communist sentiment. Hoover said that if it doesn't happen, some embarrassing photos of you and Adele Jergens taken after hours on the set of "Ladies of the Chorus" will surface.

2. While watching some of the film's auto chase scenes, Hoover expressed irritation at the chaotic traffic patterns and cluttered intersections and wondered if they could be cleaned up. I told him that was because the film was shot on location in Boston, and that's just the way they drive there.

3. Hoover also had some qualms about our leading man, George Murphy, who plays FBI agent James Belden. He asked if Murphy was Jewish and I replied that not only is he not Jewish, he is Irish Catholic, a lifelong Republican and born on the fourth of July. Hoover seemed pleased but added that if Murphy didn't check out, some embarrassing photos of you and Ann Savage taken after hours on the set of "Jungle Jim on Pygmy Island" will surface.


4. There is a scene in the film where an FBI agent is in his office and has a charcoal drawing of Hoover on his desk. Later in the film, in a Soviet spy's office, there is a portrait of Stalin. Hoover wants his picture to be the same size as Stalin's. 


5. Hoover was also concerned that Finlay Currie, who plays a scientist being blackmailed by the Reds, had a foreign accent. I explained that was because he was supposed to be from Eastern Europe.

6. Finally, the chief says that his contract with Columbia for the original story includes two stipulations that we must honor. 1. The Communist agent must never show a sense of humor or a glimmer of compassion. There is a scene of one Red agent smiling that Hoover says must be removed immediately. 2. The chief gets a pair of Rita Hayworth's silk stockings, sent to "J. Elaine Hoover" in a plain brown package to a secret address. And Hoover says that if word about that gets out, some embarrassing photos of you and Dee Green taken after hours on the set of the Three Stooges short "Mummy's Dummies" will surface.

That's all for now.

Awkward Early Talkie Theatre: "The Younger Generation"

Despite its title, Frank Capra's 1929 film "The Younger Generation" is really mainly about an old guy -- Julius Goldfish, a junk dealer from New York City's Lower East Side, played by Denmark's own Jean Hersholt. (A Dane playing a Jew -- Hollywood!)

The Goldfish family -- papa Julius, mama Tilda (Rosa Rosanova), daughter Birdie (Lina Basquette) and son Morris (Ricardo Cortez) -- are living the American dream, only, as Papa might say, it ain't so dreamy. They have moved on up, moved on up, to the Upper East Side, to a deluxe apartment in the sky-hi-hi because Morris, inheriting Papa's junk business, has become a fancy-schmancy antiques dealer and the family has moved in with him.

Based on a story by Fannie Hurst, who also gave us "Imitation of Life" and "Back Street," "The Younger Generation" has its own kind of Hurstian family heartache -- Morris dominates his family and orders them to assimilate or else! This means Papa has to dress for dinner and bathe a little more regularly than he's used to. Mama loves her new life, but Papa finds himself schmoozing with the delivery men because it reminds him of his old, simpler life.

Little by little, in fact, Papa's heritage is being taken away. Morris becomes the family's alpha male, forbidding his sister to see the struggling musician she's loved for years. Then Morris makes an announcement -- he's changed his surname to Fish. (Here we see a little jab at rival producer Sam Goldwyn, aka Sam Goldfish.) Papa and Birdie commiserate:


BOOM

And still there's more! Morris ostracizes Birdie and makes his parents think that Birdie has deserted them. As a result, Papa wastes away, a prisoner on Fifth Avenue:


But WE know differently -- that Birdie has married her musician, who's in jail for a jewel robbery, and they have a daughter:


By the time Papa finds out the truth, he has faced the final indignity -- he has become an object of embarrassment to his meshugenah son:


"The Younger Generation" is a part-talkie, and the transitions between silent and talking sequences are a little bumpy. But director Frank Capra is already demonstrating his skill in mixing heart and humor, and in peppering "The Younger Generation" with the same salt-of-the-earth types that show up in his later films. And the ending is a killer -- Morris, left alone after everyone has moved out, covers himself in Mama's shawl and suddenly looks much older in front of his massive fireplace.


Here are the complete credits.


"Scandal Sheet," or Greed All About It

From out of the blue of the western sky comes ... Motion Pictures Told Through Still Pictures with Goofy Captions! Today's entry: the 1952 film ... 

"Scandal Sheet" takes place in a mythical world
where people still read newspapers.
Rush Limbaugh plays Mark Chapman, hard-driving
newspaper editor.

Chapman has made the New York Express a circulation
juggernaut by emphasizing misleading headlines ...

... sensational stories ...

... and a comics page with "Marmaduke." People just
love that doggone pooch!

The stockholders don't like Chapman's sleazy approach,
but they very much like their big dividend checks. Chapman's
goal is to reach 750,000 -- readers, not scowls.

The newspaper's star reporters are Donna Reed,
biding her time until a sitcom comes along ...

... and John Derek, biding his time until
he marries someone named Bo.

At a lonely hearts dance sponsored by the paper,
Chapman runs across the wife he abandoned years ago.



They begin discussing old times.

But Chapman's wife's head gets discussed right into
an iron pipe, and she is killed.

At least it makes for a nice story.

Derek and his photographer sidekick, Col. Potter
from "M*A*S*H," set out to solve the case.

You'd sweat, too, if you felt the long arm of justice reaching
right up into the bowels of your guilty conscience.

In the end, the reporters get their man ...

... and the circulation of the Express
finally reaches 750,000 because of the story ...

... and the addition of "The Lockhorns" to
the comics page.









"Let's Rock" and the Julius La Rosa Story


The 1958 film "Let's Rock" is undoubtedly the finest film ever to feature someone fired live on the air by Arthur Godfrey.

All right, so that's a very limited category -- this is a very limited movie. It's one of those drive-in quickies with a plot so lightweight that the script was printed on Kleenex. Several times during the movie, things screech to a halt so that the hottest rock group of that day can lip-sync to its latest 45. The sets are roughly the size of someone's basement, and most scenes look like they were shot in one take.

And yet, "Let's Rock" offers something kind of unusual -- a long look at Julius La Rosa.

La Rosa was a popular crooner in the 1950s, with a clear, pleasant voice in the manner of Tony Bennett or Perry Como. He had his own short-lived TV show and appeared on all the big variety shows of the day.

And he was the guy who helped trigger the downfall of Arthur Godfrey. More about that in a minute.

La Rosa is the star of "Let's Rock," playing, basically, himself. He's a popular singer named Tommy Adano whose gold records are all ballads. But 1958 is not a ballad age -- it is the age of Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis and Chuck Berry. Tommy is reminded of it every time he turns on the TV!

"Rock and roll is here to stay," says Tommy's agent Charlie (Conrad Janis). "Do I have to spell it out for you?"

"No, I know how to spell it," Tommy replies. "L-O-U-S-Y."

When Tommy appears on a TV variety show and is overshadowed by Paul Anka (as himself, lip-syncing his latest hit), his dilemma is vividly demonstrated. Screaming teenagers swamp Anka at the stage door while Tommy and his manager stand alone. Until:



Tommy is approached by Kathy Abbott (Phyllis Newman), a fan, but also a songwriter. She has written the song that is on the flipside of Tommy's latest flop. Tommy thinks she is a "kook," but there's a spark there.

Meanwhile, Tommy mopes around, watching from the wings while upstarts like Danny and the Juniors (singing their hit "At the Hop") eat his lunch. The sorrowful look on Tommy's face seems pretty realistic -- this is the same problem that La Rosa was facing at this point in his career.

Tommy's groupie doesn't seem unbalanced at all!
Tommy asks Kathy to help cheer him up, but she can't get off work. So he goes home with a rather offbeat groupie, but he escapes from her clutches before any harm is done. He and Kathy reunite, and she convinces him to try a rock-and-roll song called "Crazy, Crazy Party." All is well.

"Let's Rock" features plenty of artifacts from the late 1950s, including performances by Anka, Della Reese and Roy Hamilton. It even gives us Wink Martindale as himself! (This was from his deejay days, before he became the host of the 1970s game show "Gambit.")

This was also one of Newman's few movie roles -- she was much better known on Broadway (she would win a Tony Award in 1963) and on TV, where she was a semi-regular on New York-based game shows like "To Tell the Truth" and "What's My Line?" She was married to composer-screenwriter Adolph Green (of Comden and Green) from 1960 until his death in 2002.    

And the movie also features a bit of New York City location shooting, including a scene at Central Park where Newman and La Rosa are clearly freezing to death. It's kind of sweet, and their scenes together have a nice, ad-libbed quality -- the movie doesn't make a big deal about it, but Kathy is smarter than Tommy. Still, "Let's Rock" is decidedly in a minor key.

Now to La Rosa's story -- and it's a story that, at first, prominently features Arthur Godfrey.

He's not well known today, but from the late 1940s until about 1954, Godfrey was HUGE. No entertainment figure was more fawned over by the media, and no performer was more visible on radio and TV – Godfrey hosted a daily morning show on CBS, a Monday night talent scouts show, a Wednesday evening variety show and, for a brief period in 1950, nightly ukulele lessons. (Godfrey’s love of the uke spawned a boomlet of amateur ukulele-rs at that time.) Advertisers loved Godfrey, who pitched their products with a unique mix of irreverence and credibility. And because advertisers loved Godfrey, CBS loved Godfrey, too – he was the network’s biggest moneymaker for years.

Godfrey had a unique style on the air -- he was always himself, for better or worse. He had a reputation for being irreverent and even a little spicy (leading to some FCC warnings) long before Howard Stern. And because he was on the air daily, watching or listening to Godfrey could be a little like living with an alcoholic parent – you were always on the lookout for his “moods.” The performers who worked with Godfrey – he always referred to them as “the little Godfreys” rather than by their names – must have felt the same apprehension. His shows were part variety, part psychodrama – who was Godfrey peeved at (or proud of) today?

La Rosa was one of the little Godfreys. He joined the show in 1951 after being discharged from the service. Virtually all of the little Godfreys were Godfrey discoveries, and he ruled their lives – and careers – like a benevolent dictator. They became stars through their exposure with Godfrey, but he also kept them humble by downplaying their talent and discouraging them from appearing on other shows.

La Rosa was Godfrey's most popular discovery, and after a few years he was appearing on the covers of fan magazines and becoming a teen heartthrob. He was also starting to make hit records -- without Godfrey's blessing.

In the summer of 1953, Godfrey took some time off from his shows to have a hip operation that was covered by the press in roughly the same detail as D-Day. When he returned in the fall, Godfrey was at the peak of his popularity, and reportedly irritated at La Rosa.

Everything hit the fan on October 19, 1953. Toward the close of that day’s morning show on CBS radio, La Rosa stepped forward on Godfrey’s command to sing a song. But first Godfrey had a few things to day. He reminisced about how he had given La Rosa his start, and how grateful La Rosa had been. Then he reminded La Rosa that there were no stars on his show. Then La Rosa sang “We’ll Take Manhattan.” And in the final moments of the show, as the closing theme played, Godfrey said, “That was Julie’s swan song with us. He now goes out on his own.”

Pandemonium erupted. And after the show, Godfrey made a comment that would haunt him for the rest of his life – that La Rosa had been fired because he “lacked humility.” Godfrey could be a great communicator, but he apparently was without his sense of irony that day.

Godfrey’s slide downhill following the La Rosa departure wasn’t immediate, but it was steady, especially in the wake of more firings of the little Godfreys and more reports of Godfrey's bad behavior. Then came formidable competition in the form of Walt Disney – “Disneyland” premiered opposite “Arthur Godfrey and His Friends” in the fall of 1954 and the series never recovered. Soon Godfrey was off TV altogether.

Godfrey died in 1983, but not before attempting a rapprochement with La Rosa. La Rosa himself is still alive and still singing. Here's a segment from the A&E "Biography" series about the firing:



"Five Against the House," or When My Baby Smiles at Me I Go to Reno

Herewith, another installment of Motion Pictures Told Through Still Pictures with Goofy Captions, because why not? This time around, it is the 1955 film "Five Against ..." well, see for yourself:

This is not a sequel to "Six Against the Sea," "Seven Against the Sea,"
"Nine Against the River" or "Ten Against the Sea." Look at the word "against"
for a long time. Doesn't it look misspelled? That's some craziness right there.

The five against the house are a group of college buddies
including Wild Bill Hickok ...

Uncle Bill from "Family Affair"... 

Future Sinbad (the sailor, not the comedian)... 

And county agent Hank Kimball from "Green Acres."

They have lots of fun together, going to casinos and such in between
classes at good old not-at-all-fake-sounding Midwestern University.

"Did I ever tell you I live with my orphaned nephew and nieces,
Buffy, Jody and Cissy?"

"Did I ever tell you I once saw Eddie Albert in his underwear?"

Anyway, those are four of the five. And the house they are against
is Harold's Club in Reno, which is a casino which is filled with money.

Oh, and this is important to know -- Uncle Bill goes crazy whenever
anyone tells him he has hair like Donald Trump.


The fifth member of the group is Kim Novak, who is Wild Bill
Hickok's girlfriend.


"Miss Novak, you're trying to seduce me!"


Future Sinbad is the mastermind of the heist, which involves
the incredibly complicated scheme of putting
a tape recorder into a cart.

The plan goes into action with a 1949 Ford, a psychotic war vet and what's left of
Lucy and Desi's house from "The Long, Long Trailer." What could go wrong?  


"... and then there was the time I was in Venezuela and my
manservant, Mr. French, had to take care of the kids ..." 


On the day of the robbery, the guys dress like cowboys.
Their quarry is a heavyset guy wearing his wife's western shirt.


Alas, the plan fails when Sinbad forgets to put batteries in the
tape recorder. And somebody calls Uncle Bill "Trump," so he
gets mad and runs into an elevated parking garage.


"Uncle Bill! It's me, Wild Bill! You're not standing behind me
with a loaded gun or anything, are you?"


Uncle Bill finally breaks down and agrees to consider medical care.
And he reveals his darkest secret:
"Did I ever tell you I once saw Eddie Albert in his underwear?"