When costars reunite

Answering a question about Tyrone Power, George Sanders once said, “He was just someone I knew. One knew lots of people. Every film is like an ocean voyage, a transatlantic crossing. You swear you will meet each other again. But you never do.” And while it’s true some costars don’t cross paths again, there are notable exceptions.

In 2016, photographers were on hand when Billy met Meg. They first met when he was Harry and she was Sally.

Jack Oakie was always the life of the party. In this photo from 1971, he is seen having a drink with his old costars John Payne, Cesar Romero and Fred MacMurray.

Dean Jones went for another ride with Herbie in 1998. There had been a lot of oil changes since their last film together.

Sometimes costar reunions are better than expected. When Fay Wray first worked with King Kong, she had a lot of fear. But on the 50th anniversary of their classic movie, she was much more receptive to his charms.


Essential: GASLIGHT (1940)


This month I am looking at psychological thrillers and starting with the original film version of Patrick Hamilton’s ‘Gas Light.’ Gaslighting is where a victim’s mind is manipulated into believing things that are not true. Specifically in Hamilton’s play, the heroine’s sanity is related to the levels of light in her home– which can be looked at literally and figuratively. Hamilton’s story resonated with audiences, and he had a hit on the London stage in the late 1930s. It was even more popular on Broadway in the 1940s with several long-running productions.


In the summer of 1940, British National Films released the first screen adaptation, starring Austrian actor Anton Walbrook and English actress Diana Wynyard. Both performers already had strong reputations, and they give memorable performances. MGM remade it several years later, with French actor Charles Boyer and Swedish actress Ingrid Bergman taking over the main roles. But I think the earlier production with Walbrook and Wynyard is superior for reasons I will cover below.


What makes the 1940 version of GASLIGHT so extraordinary is the intensity with which Walbrook approaches his character. There’s an unrelenting hardness his portrayal of a bigamist-murderer; and at the risk of comparing him to Boyer, he brings a much fiercer interpretation to the screen. His passion is a form of brutality that can only be unleashed violently. He doesn’t seem to despise his bride like Boyer does in the remake; instead, she is an object– a strange fetish in his desire to gain power and get off on that power.


But Walbrook’s work is only half of it. Wynyard perfectly balances his brutal behavior with her own soft, exquisite suffering. Anyone who watches both versions will see that Ingrid Bergman is mimicking Diana Wynyard’s best scenes. However, Bergman lacks the softness and delicate quality that Wynyard displays. She is oddly valiant, because she believes her suffering is noble and believes it will ultimately bring dignity to her husband. If she fails to elevate him through her own pain, then she fails herself. It isn’t until she finally realizes all the destructively heinous things he’s done that she reluctantly agrees to aid in his arrest.


The cruelty she experiences at his hands is almost nothing compared to the heartbreak that comes when she must face the failure of the relationship as a whole. This is something Bergman really doesn’t seem to tap into at all. The second film is about her liberation. But the first film is about her failure, and I think it is more thought provoking.


GASLIGHT was directed by Thorold Dickinson and can be streamed on Amazon Prime.

Coming up in October

When costars reunite…reunions are about catching up on old times, especially in Hollywood.

RKO superstars…a two-part column about the studio’s biggest and brightest talents.

“Forgive me for I have sinned”…classic movie confessions.

Biker flicks…some people were born to be wild.

Agee’s horror reviews…
critic James Agee comments on Val Lewton’s productions.


Join me in October!

Recommended classics vol. 10


The first fifteen or twenty minutes seem clichéd and the sets are sparsely furnished to indicate the humble origins of Grace Moore’s character. But it gets better once the musical selections are played. The sets also improve as her character becomes more successful in the opera world. Moore is a very strong vocalist, and in some ways, she’s even better than her contemporary, Jeanette MacDonald. The extended scene halfway into the picture where she performs Bizet’s Carmen is excellent.

The film is also helped by the casting of Lyle Talbot as a would-be suitor, Jessie Ralph as the maid, and Jane Darwell as Moore’s mother. The leading man is played by Italian actor Tullio Carminati and his interpretation of the Svengali-like manager is quite good. The finale, where he encourages her to overcome her stage fright and she sings from Puccini’s Madame Butterfly, is exquisite and triumphant.



For anyone who doesn’t know what the title means, it’s certainly spelled out in the picture’s story. It’s fairly interesting the way George Brent’s character explains his ideas of “living on velvet” to his wife, played by Kay Francis. They both suffer a lot in this film, but since this is a melodrama geared for female audiences, her torment is designed to be a lot more noble than his. Warren William, billed over Brent, appears as the couple’s best friend, in more of a supporting role; he probably suffers too but his reduced screen time doesn’t allow us to glimpse his particular turmoil and neurosis.

For the most part the performances are sincerely played, and the woman (Helen Lowell) cast as Kay’s impatient aunt is particularly good. Some of the denouement doesn’t make sense in the last few minutes, because a character who was supposed to die is suddenly allowed to live (per Jack Warner’s wishes). Even if said character had died, I am not too sure how it would have reinforced a point the writers were trying to make. Maybe it was all supposed to lead to a realization that pain and suffering can somehow be erased, once you stop living on velvet.



Jean Arthur is enjoyable in many films and makes motion picture acting look effortless. But it must be said that she gives a particularly extraordinary performance here. She more than makes up for Preston Sturges’ script, which is dated– by modern standards, and probably when it first was shown back in the late 1930s. As always with a story by Sturges, the humor is over the top. But Arthur and her costars are able to inject much-needed doses of realism.

Mitchell Leisen’s superb direction helps, and his background in art design pays off handsomely, since the plot involves relocating our gal from a run-down apartment to a posh hotel suite. The hotel set is elaborately decorated, and it fosters the illusion that in these digs, life is easy to live.

Essential: THE PROUD REBEL (1958)


THE PROUD REBEL was made in the late 1950s by Samuel Goldwyn Jr. It came along at a time when TV westerns were quite popular, but it offered something that could only be found on the big screen– a sweeping story about post-war life told in Technicolor. At this stage in their careers, the two stars were no longer playing young romantic leads, and what develops is essentially a mature romance with an interesting historical backdrop.


Alan Ladd is cast as an ex-Confederate soldier heading north to Minnesota after the Civil War. Except for his pride, he has lost much of what he once had. Traveling with him is a young son (Ladd’s own real life son David) who is now mute. Due to traumatic shock, the boy hasn’t uttered a word since the end of the war. It is the elder Ladd’s hope that they might find a doctor in the Midwest with a cure. But when they speak to a physician (Cecil Kellaway), they’re told the boy’s inability to speak might be psychological, not physical.


Outside the doctor’s office, they get into a fight with some men trying to steal the boy’s dog. This leads to an arrest and quick trial. A judgment is rendered against them, and a $30 fine is imposed, but they have no money to pay it. A solution presents itself when a farm woman (Olivia De Havilland) steps forward. She will provide lodging for both of them, if they do jobs on her land to pay off the fine. Soon tender feelings are shared between the two adults while she forges a special bond with the boy.


The film presents several unique character studies, and the situations are simple but realistic. We watch southerners exposed to prejudices in Midwestern territory, and we also see a conflict escalating between De Havilland and a neighbor sheep baron (Dean Jagger). In addition to this, there is hope the boy’s voice might be restored if he undergoes an operation. As the story unfolds, it is clear the two Ladds have found more than just a temporary refuge with De Havilland. They’ve found a place where they belong, a place they can call home.


THE PROUD REBEL was directed by Michael Curtiz and can be streamed on Amazon Prime.

The production code and profanity

In some old movies and TV shows, it’s obvious characters would swear on screen if they could. But because of the production code, there is no profanity– not even in war films, where one might expect to hear it.

By the way it was General Patton who made this statement: “You can’t run an army without profanity…an army without profanity couldn’t fight its way out of a ****-filled paper bag.” (I’ll let you figure out the four-letter word.)

Recently I watched a 1942 MGM comedy-drama starring Marjorie Main. If you’ve seen TISH, you know why I’m mentioning it. One of the running gags is that she cusses when she gets frustrated. Every time she cusses, a maid is right behind her with a swear box, and she has to deposit a few coins. We believe a pig-headed woman like Main would use colorful language. And the scriptwriters find a clever way to indicate she’s swearing. They just have her mumble a bunch of made-up words, which do not violate the code, but clearly let the audience know she isn’t speaking like a lady.

Usually we can guess what a character really means to say. In an episode of a classic sitcom, Lucille Ball ends up in a vat stomping grapes with a rough-looking Italian woman. It’s obvious the two gals have moved beyond formal introductions, when a fight occurs and they start tossing each other around. Lucy isn’t allowed to say what is clearly on her mind. That might be too shocking, so the episode just ends with a single word that gets the point across:

I suppose a TV network in the 1950s didn’t want to offend its audience. Though as General Patton and Marjorie Main’s Aunt Tish would agree, it’s a bear to watch your tongue in polite company.

Another look at Barbara Stanwyck

Barbara Stanwyck was directed by some of the best. She worked with Frank Capra five times, which certainly benefited her career. And she was in films made by William Wellman, Mitchell Leisen, Douglas Sirk and Billy Wilder. She gave extraordinary performances while collaborating with these men. But there were some roles that didn’t work out so well. She was always decent, even in the misfires. All Stanwyck’s movies were imbued with her customary style and her professionalism.

But why did she agree to make ESCAPE TO BURMA? Perhaps it was the chance to reunite on screen with Robert Ryan. She previously worked with him on CLASH BY NIGHT, and they shared a strong chemistry. But the BURMA script was mediocre at best, and to be honest, her technique leaves a lot to be desired in this picture. Maybe she knew it was a routine programmer and nothing she might do could elevate it.

When she is supposed to register surprise or terror or confusion, anything that erases the smile from her character’s face, she resorts to shouting her lines to convey the emotion. There is some attachment to the character and the character’s situations, but overall, it just sort of falls flat.

One gets the same feeling watching her in Republic’s THE MAVERICK QUEEN, which she did a short time later. Probably she was drawn to the role because she liked doing westerns. In some ways, playing a tough-minded gal on the frontier must have reminded her of ANNIE OAKLEY, a part she did twenty years earlier.

This was something she could do easily, but again, she doesn’t seem to take the character in any interesting direction. The performance lacks a real meaningful emotional core. Ultimately, she turns in an acceptable performance as THE MAVERICK QUEEN, but it would appear to be work that is beneath her talents.

Not every attempt in front of the camera came off as it should have. Barbara Stanwyck still remains a legend, but perhaps we can look at her more realistically now. It’s like Walter Neff no longer seeing Phyllis Dietrichson for the first time.