Summer-Gab, Summer-Gab Sum-Sum Summer-Gab

Wise: Howdy, Werth.  It's Memorial Day weekend and the beginning of summer.  Do you have your flip flops, towels and sunscreen ready?  

Werth: Um, don't you mean my mosquito repellant and travel wine?  

Wise: I forgot that while I'm taking in some seaside sun, you'll be headed to the mountains.  But there's one thing we can always agree on: Great Summer Movies!

Werth: My pick this week might have been great, but too many choice ingredients made Suddenly, Last Summer (1959) a sweaty hodge podge of a movie. Suddenly's pedigree certainly pointed towards greatness. You could have swung a dead cat and hit a legend. Directed by Joseph L. Mankiewicz, with a script written by Tennessee Williams and Gore Vidal, and starring Katharine Hepburn, Elizabeth Taylor, Montgomery Clift and Mercedes McCambridge, producer Sam Spiegel must have smelled Oscar gold. But his nose would wind-up smelling something less fragrant.

Wise: Maybe that dead cat you're swinging around. 

Werth: Suddenly opens in the moist setting of New Orleans where brain surgeon Dr. Cukrowicz (Clift) is summoned for an audience with hospital benefactress and all-around rich bitch, Violet Venable (Hepburn). Venable descends in a two-floor elevator to tell the good doctor that she will give money to his failing hospital if he retrieves her niece Catherine (Taylor) from a nun-run mental institution and promptly give her a lobotomy so she will stop saying crazy things about Venable's beloved dead son, Sebastian. 

Wise: Because nothing says "I love you" more than severing the frontal lobe. 

Werth: As Venable gives Cukrowicz a tour of the Eden-ic garden that her son designed, we get the sense that Sebastian and his mom were a little too close for comfort. And when Cukrowicz meets Catherine to find not a raging lunatic, but a fragile, willful beauty who has been shocked into amnesia regarding Sebastian's mysterious death, Cukrowicz smells something fishy. It doesn't help that Catherine's own mother (McCambridge) urges her to get the lobotomy so that they won't be written out of Violet's lucrative will. 

Wise: I'm sure that fishy smell wasn't her White Diamonds perfume. 

Werth: Cukrowicz of course falls in love with Catherine because it's impossible not to fall in love with the luminous, young Elizabeth Taylor, and has a final showdown in front of the family where a little sodium pentothal reveals what really happened to dear Sebastian... kind of. 

The ending of Suddenly was as ripe for parody as it was for head-scratching and contributed to the overall sense of audience and critical confusion about the film. The offscreen history probably didn't help. Clift was still in recovery from a car accident that messed up his face and found it difficult to perform long takes. Mankiewicz was rumored to have been so cruel to Clift, that at the end of shooting, Hepburn spit in Mankiewicz's face. 

And troubles with the Production Code meant Williams and Vidal (but apparently entirely Vidal) had to write the script so it dealt with incest, cannibalism and homosexuality without pissing off the Legion of Decency. The film wound-up garnering Oscar noms for Hepburn and Taylor and for the art and set design of Sebastian's gothic garden. But overall, this summer film landed in the winter of Hollywood's discontent.

Wise: Summer Stock (1950) is not Judy Garland's best film, but it may be her sunniest.  As farmer Jane Falbury, she reluctantly allows her younger sister Abigail (Gloria DeHaven) to bring a theater troupe to stay at the farm to rehearse a new show; in return, the actors promise to lend a hand around the struggling farm.  The director of the troupe, Joe Ross (Gene Kelly), notices Jane's singing and dancing talent and encourages her to perform in the show the troupe is rehearsing, 

much to the chagrin of Jane's stodgy fiancé Orville (Eddie Bracken) and his even stodgier father Jasper Wingait (the always wonderful Ray Collins).  The town fathers attempt to drive off the theater folk, but eventually cooler heads—and some swinging dance numbers—prevail.  

Werth: Dance numbers always prevail.

Wise: The plot may be silly, but Summer Stock is chock full of great music and performances.  Kelly performs a career defining solo in a darkened barn, using a creaky board and an old newspaper as props.  The concept doesn't sound very promising, but Kelly's ability to transform the ordinary into something transcendent became part of his signature style. 

He and Garland share one of their best dance duets in "Portland Fancy" by turning an old folk tune into swing.  Phil Silvers has some fun comic moments as Kelly's sidekick, but the best laughs go to Marjorie Main as Garland's housekeeper.  

Werth: Don't forget handsome MGM musical chorusboy Carleton Carpenter. He's a delightful gentleman who can add old school glamor to a night at Marie's Crisis.

Wise: In some ways, it's surprising that Summer Stock is Garland's last film at MGM, the studio that had nurtured (and occasionally tortured) her from adolescence and into stardom.  She sings with gusto and brings both her crack comic timing and her tender vulnerability to a role that was designed to be an easy fit after her spectacular flame-out in the preparation for Annie Get Your Gun.  But off-screen, all the familiar problems plagued the production, and once the shoot was over, Garland and MGM parted ways.  

Even so, Summer Stock contains some memorable performances, including an impeccably timed number on a tractor and the legendary "Get Happy" which proved that Garland could sizzle hotter than the August sun.  

Werth: All this talk about summer is making me want to turn on my AC and strip down to my unmentionables.

Wise: Tune in next week for more fun in the sun with Film Gab!

It's Miller Time!

Wise: Howdy, Werth.  Have a piece of cake!  

Werth: Is it already birthday time again at Film Gab?  No wonder I can't fit into my Z. Cavaricci jeans.

Wise: Quit your bellyaching and put on these tap shoes.  It's Ann Miller's birthday.  

Werth: Why didn't you say so in the first place?  Make it a big piece of cake and I'll break out my dancing fan.  

Wise: Just be sure to leave some room for soup.  

Werth: All that's missing from that number is a giant saltine.

Wise: Miller's career really took off in the late 40's when she landed at MGM.  Her tough girl style and gorgeous gams injected a jolt of electricity into the sumptuous musicals produced by Arthur Freed, but few films take as full advantage of her talents as On the Town (1949).  The film follows three sailors on shore leave—Gene Kelly as Gabey, Frank Sinatra as Chip, and Jules Munshin as Ozzie—as they sing, dance and find sweethearts while exploring New York City.  

Miller plays Claire, an anthropologist with a penchant for prehistoric man, who eventually falls for Ozzie, while Chips falls for Hildy (Betty Garrett) and Gabey falls for the elusive Miss Turnstiles, Ivy Smith (Vera-Ellen).  This was the first movie that Gene Kelly co-directed with Stanley Donen, and his signature, muscular style of dancing infuses the film with the kind of aggressive exuberance that was so much a part of his persona.  

Werth: You say aggressive exuberance, I say unrelenting ham.

Wise: At Kelly's insistence, a fair amount of the film was shot on location in New York—most notably the American Museum of Natural History, Rockefeller Center, the Statue of Liberty, and the Brooklyn Bridge—instead of recreating those landmarks in the studio, and, surprisingly, the juxtaposition of the real and the manufactured works incredibly well.  

Cinematographer Harold Rossen makes the city look like a picture postcard, transforming the streets and avenues into a fantasy landscape that blends seamlessly with the Hollywood sets.  


Werth: The one downside of shooting on location was the crowd of screaming fans that showed-up wherever Sinatra appeared.

Wise: The screenplay by Betty Comden and Adolph Green is full of zest and wit while highlighting each member of the leading sextet.  Sinatra shares a duet with Betty Garrett that manages to be both funny and touching, and Kelly leads Vera-Ellen in one of the dream ballets that were rapidly becoming part of his movie signature.  

But it's Ann Miller who steals scene after scene, not just with her top notch dancing skills, but with the incredible force of her personality as it bursts from the screen.

Werth: Before Miller was known for tap-dancing her way through scenery, she appeared in 1938's Best Picture Oscar-winner, You Can't Take It with You. Based on the Pulitzer prize-winning George S. Kaufman play of the same name, You Can't stars Jean Arthur as Alice Sycamore, a secretary who has a yen for her young boss, Tony Kirby (a pre-Mr. Smith James Stewart.) Their romance is running hot and heavy until Tony tries to introduce his upper-crust mother and father to Alice's bohemian family.

Wise: This is beginning to sound like the plot to a Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell flick.

Werth: Besides the fact that the Sycamore clan is a bunch of artistic, anarchist goofballs led by the folksy Grandpa Vanderhof (a usually seated Lionel Barrymore), their home is the last holdout on the block that Tony's dad (Edward Arnold) is attempting to buy out before demolishing it to make way for his new munitions plant. 

This makes for an uncomfortable dinner, made even more uncomfortable by sister Essie's (Miller) clumsy attempts at ballet in the living room. According to her teacher, Kolenkhov, "Confidentially, it steenks."

Wise: I'm sure Ann Miller mostly smelled of Jean Naté and shoe polish.

Werth: Social stratum collide in a courtroom and love has to find a way to overcome the gap between the haves and the have-nots all while Essie twirls and falls on the carpet. The little man versus corporate greed story was one that director Frank Capra made his stock in trade. 

He'd already won two Oscars for Best Director (It Happened One Night (1934) and Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936), and the Academy would add another one to his mantle for You Can't. Capra had a knack for kooky characters, like the denizens of the Sycamore home, and created supportive, tough communities on screen that resembled his ideal of America.  

You Can't isn't as compelling as Mr. Deeds, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939), Meet John Doe (1941), or It's a Wonderful Life (1946), partly because it feels preachy in a way that those other films don't. But it's still a great example of the successful post-Depression/pre-WWII films that gave cinematic voice to the political struggle going on in America, all while audiences munched away on their popcorn.

Wise: And on that note, I think I'll try to hunt down a video of Ann Miller with Mickey Rooney in Sugar Babies.

Werth: You're welcome. Tune-in next week for more fancy footwork here at Film Gab. 

 

 
 

A Gab of Thousands

Werth: What's up, Wise?  

Wise: Ugh, I'm having a weird craving for smorgasbord.  Kind of like the place near my parents where busloads of seniors come to feast on a mile-long buffet of food.  And afterward maybe I could catch a showing of Movie 43 because sometimes the only thing that will satisfy is an overflowing serving of mixed delights. 

Werth: According to early reviews, you might not want to mix food and Movie 43. Might I suggest you curb your hunger pangs with our own festival of ensemble films?  

Wise: Will there be an all-you-can-eat sundae bar included?  

Werth: I'm afraid you'll have to bring your own frozen treat.

Wise: Well, I suppose I could do worse than Lucille Bremer's chilly mug in one of the greatest line-ups of MGM stars ever assembled: Ziegfeld Follies (1946).

Werth: Ann Miller lovingly dubbed Bremer, "Arthur Freed's whore." 

Wise: But she was at the apex of her professional life in Ziegfeld.  Paired with Fred Astaire in two elaborate musical numbers, she joined a cast that included some of the studio's best song and dance talent, including Gene Kelly, Astaire, Judy Garland, Cyd Charisse and Lena Horne.  

The film also included some of the studio's top comedy stars with the likes of Lucille Ball, Fanny Brice and Red Skelton dishing out the laughs.  William Powell reprises his role as the titular Broadway impresario from The Great Ziegfeld (1936) and envisions casting one of his legendary revues with the top stars of the day.  

Werth: A white-haired Powell replaced the original opening which included puppets doing blackface and a talking Leo the Lion.

Wise: Fred Astaire opens with "Here's to the Girls," a confection of song and dance that includes a carousel of live horses, the requisite Ziegfeld girls bedecked in frothy layers of pink tulle, and a ballet solo by Charisse.  Later, Ball emerges from the chorus and takes up a sequined whip to tame a pack of black-spangled dancers in puma costumes.  

Werth: It's nice to see they used a little restraint in the first number.

Wise: Producer Arthur Freed had spent years assembling a team of top talent at MGM, and his production unit had proven itself with hits like Babes on Broadway (1941) and Meet Me in St. Louis (1944); Follies capitalized on that success and predicted two decades of the most sophisticated and popular movie musicals ever made.  

And at the center of the Follies is a Judy Garland number titled "A Great Lady has an Interview" where she parodies a certain type of self-serious, Oscar-winning actress (think Greer Garson) who would much rather play a Betty Grable role.  The segment was directed by Vincent Minnelli, choreographed by Charles Walters, written by Kay Thompson, and epitomizes the kind of smart, yet exhilarating, movie entertainments that came from Freed's wildly talented collaborators on both sides of the camera.
  

Werth: Another film that seems to have just about everyone in Hollywood in it is Stanley Kramer's 1963 epic comedy, It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World. After a group of travelers survive a car smash-up on a Southern California highway, they witness the last words of crook Smiler Grogan (played with bucket-kickin' glee by Jimmy Durante), detailing the whereabouts of a stash of hot loot. 

Soon, it's every funny man and funny lady for themselves as they take cars, planes and even a little girl's bicycle to find the mysterious "big W" in Santa Rosita State Park.

Wise: I'm usually watching out for bears when I'm outdoors. 

Werth: Following these cash hounds is Captain T.G. Culpeper (Spencer Tracy), who is hoping to end his career on a high note by finding the stolen simoleans. Mad World is truly madcap with several storylines breaking off and coming back together, then breaking off again before the big finish (three hours after it began) at a Long Beach hotel that is about to be demolished. 

If it sounds exhausting, it is, but it is worth it to have fun with some of the great comedic talents of the era. Sid Caesar, Jonathan Winters, Milton Berle, Buddy Hackett, Terry Thomas, Ethel Merman, Phil Sivers, Dick Shawn, Eddie "Rochester" Anderson, Peter Falk and that pint-sized ham Mickey Rooney trip, slap, insult and swindle their way across gorgeous Southern California. 

And if that's not enough talent for you, the cameos include everyone from Jack Benny to the Three Stooges, Buster Keaton, Zasu Pitts, Joe E. Brown and Wise favorite, Edward Everett Horton.

Wise: I cribbed all my best comedy bits from him and Laura Hope Crews. 

Werth: Mad World was a runaway smash and if it doesn't still hit all of its comedic marks today, it gives us some great nostalgia amongst the images of Mickey Rooney trying to fly a plane and Ethel slipping on a banana peel.

Wise: Speaking of bananas I'm ready to eat.

Werth: Strap on your feedbag and join us next week for another heaping helping of Film Gab!

Magic Gab

Werth: Howdy, Wise!

Wise: Howdy, Werth! You got your singles ready?

Werth: I sure do! Friday's release of Steven Soderbergh's much-hyped Magic Mike is likely to make male-stripper enthusiasts everywhere toss their money at the screen with gleeful abandon.

Wise: Filling the theater with the most squeals since Ned Beatty and Burt Reynolds went for a canoe ride in Georgia. 

Werth: With some of Hollywood's hottest male properties taking it all off, I thought we here at Film Gab should salute our favorite movies that celebrate the male form. Wise, if you please...

Wise: With pleasure!

Wise's Favorite Male-Order Movies

Splendor in the Grass (1961)— Natalie Wood and Warren Beatty play teenage sweethearts in rural 1920's Kansas: she's the town good girl who winds up in the insane asylum when Beatty's football star heads to Yale instead of the back seat of his Rambler with her. 

The Heiress (1949)—After years of romantic disappointment, awkward spinster Olivia de Haviland falls hard for doe-eyed possible gold digger Montgomery Clift who could make the dustiest old maid long to raise her petticoats.  

The Opposite of Sex (1998)—Christina Ricci takes sibling rivalry to new kinky lows when she seduces her brother's boyfriend played by bee-stung-lipped Ivan Sergei who spends most of his time tanning his abs by the pool.

Singing in the Rain (1952)— Normally I find Gene Kelly too brash to be beautiful, but when he looks past Debbie Reynolds and into Donald O'Connor's twinkling Irish eyes, I get a little short of breath.  Plus: dude could wear pants. 

The Talented Mr. Ripley (1999)— Patricia Highsmith's charismatic yet sociopathic killer may not be human enough to actually feel love, but Anthony Minghella's adaptation of her first Ripley novel transforms Jude Law into a golden object of desire that could stir feelings in even the blackest heart. 





Werth's Favorite Bare Beefcake Flicks

Dirty Dancing (1987)— If seeing Patrick Swayze dance in the water with his shirt off isn't enough, there's always the peek-a-boo bottom you see when he gets out of bed with Jennifer Grey.

Tarzan and His Mate (1934)— Olympic swimmer-turned Hollywood hearthrob Johnny Weissmuller swings, runs and wrestles through the jungle with his loincloth holding on for dear life.

A Streetcar Named Desire (1951)— I challenge anyone to find a man who is sexier in a t-shirt than Marlon Brando as Stanley Kowalski. He doesn't even need to take it off to raise your heart rate.

Querelle (1982)— Fassbinder is a stylistic perv. But the way his camera ravishes Brad Davis' cocky sailor makes you overlook the depravity.

Watchmen (2009)— I didn't think I could get excited by a giant, blue, CGI superhero, but Billy Crudup's nude Dr. Manhattan makes me want to request a physical.

Wise: Werth, after this post, I need to take a cold shower.

Werth: Go right ahead—just don't take your dollar bills in there with you. And make sure you're squeaky clean for next week's Film Gab!