tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-157288482024-02-18T18:55:27.034-08:00Vanwall LandMovies and Me - An Historia ObscuraVanwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14606489784189165989noreply@blogger.comBlogger9125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15728848.post-36575072829350010942011-02-18T21:50:00.000-08:002014-09-28T16:59:43.536-07:00<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin0q3oDsQmlVaZtHUKgbBmJfJXQKi7E2SY38gMjrv-S26aeX_GNffLdfWGsDIAXJoSoc-QmBj8BkLTDLcB2mSfLOlZEHPQtHPCr5k_pnBgHGOscbEgxcqrRYMW53rH0ROFCvr1/s1600/Noir+Westerns.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin0q3oDsQmlVaZtHUKgbBmJfJXQKi7E2SY38gMjrv-S26aeX_GNffLdfWGsDIAXJoSoc-QmBj8BkLTDLcB2mSfLOlZEHPQtHPCr5k_pnBgHGOscbEgxcqrRYMW53rH0ROFCvr1/s640/Noir+Westerns.jpg" height="302" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"> Noir madness, with spurs</span></span><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_666547163"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh8A1LgGNhzbYkQq43bEOrmncemopjqHEV2UNKHRNS9w-HQjqQh3Sn_VPAbJYKbecluANKOy_Sdci5T6uSptu7WdPajEcTAEoQB6VRp9Gy8AI4pG8JIPbE0si0KUN9lhhT1aYI/s1600/Donate+Button+200+x+120.jpg" /></a> <a href="https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=LAWFPAB4XLHAW"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></a><span style="font-size: small;"> <a href="https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=LAWFPAB4XLHAW">Donate right here, Pilgrim!</a> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> <span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span> <br />
<div style="border-color: -moz-use-text-color -moz-use-text-color rgb(79, 129, 189); border-style: none none solid; border-width: medium medium 1pt; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; padding: 0in 0in 2pt;">
<div class="underline">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="PadderBetweenControlandBody" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> “Power is a false light in the far desert.” - Dan Smith </span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> <i>The Hour of Fury</i>, by Ernest Haycox</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Part the second - </span></div>
<div class="PadderBetweenControlandBody" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="PadderBetweenControlandBody" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Just what kind of Western Stories would Holly Martins have been writing before Harry Lime brought him to be trapped in the <i>noir</i> of post-war Vienna? Pulp ones, no doubt!</span></div>
<div class="PadderBetweenControlandBody" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBMfg6i8X0caeZKtI6Rgm0ZYr58AQtzff4RUfEW3Lhj6pylKGOoaaBqj18SG7YSgBBzXOwS4gSdrr8qbS3XsFXsNfcW6zQuFJ2dKm8rFi0D9a_RUQExMuE7UHikBnaQ_7lFaLT/s1600/Yellow_sky+poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBMfg6i8X0caeZKtI6Rgm0ZYr58AQtzff4RUfEW3Lhj6pylKGOoaaBqj18SG7YSgBBzXOwS4gSdrr8qbS3XsFXsNfcW6zQuFJ2dKm8rFi0D9a_RUQExMuE7UHikBnaQ_7lFaLT/s640/Yellow_sky+poster.jpg" height="640" width="428" /></a></div>
<div class="PadderBetweenControlandBody" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>Yellow Sky</i> from 1949<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=15728848&postID=3657507282935001094" name="_GoBack"></a> is a little-known <i>noir</i> western by Bill Wellman that’s a gem, and based on a story by W.R. Burnett, which in turn is really a version of The Tempest, by some famous dead Englishman. Lensed by Joseph MacDonald, it has both sharp blacks and grays in the night scenes, and almost blinding brightness in the contrasting daytime desert scenes.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBMfg6i8X0caeZKtI6Rgm0ZYr58AQtzff4RUfEW3Lhj6pylKGOoaaBqj18SG7YSgBBzXOwS4gSdrr8qbS3XsFXsNfcW6zQuFJ2dKm8rFi0D9a_RUQExMuE7UHikBnaQ_7lFaLT/s1600/Yellow_sky+poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuf41xub03KillUYjlCnsoDSQs0XI9ngszTo4QroKSS27ScVqbZ5UnENgmCshB80E5imKWES1GcTU5dkZDzGeb4l4K5I4Gumkh4ulOmScnWaLsGdeJfjgNbBzYGlNtXC1PDPyz/s1600/peck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuf41xub03KillUYjlCnsoDSQs0XI9ngszTo4QroKSS27ScVqbZ5UnENgmCshB80E5imKWES1GcTU5dkZDzGeb4l4K5I4Gumkh4ulOmScnWaLsGdeJfjgNbBzYGlNtXC1PDPyz/s640/peck.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Gregory Peck is bank-robbing gang leader Stretch, a ruthless, amoral anti-hero, and Anne Baxter, in a wonderful portrayal, is the tomboy Mike, (she doesn’t like her given name: Constance Mae) who turns his heart around and almost incidentally her own. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg75K0npnhURb01iE6IOVRGW7iOnn05L-in4k6TEpRUDGnNooiTxdoLZd6Ug0Mv-xRZ2xzlMBJnFr3yc9hbbHXE4nGPRxWwVk8zC1VGc2gERiqUWOJ4vCeAW9Ir2CHI2xRRldbs/s1600/mike.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg75K0npnhURb01iE6IOVRGW7iOnn05L-in4k6TEpRUDGnNooiTxdoLZd6Ug0Mv-xRZ2xzlMBJnFr3yc9hbbHXE4nGPRxWwVk8zC1VGc2gERiqUWOJ4vCeAW9Ir2CHI2xRRldbs/s640/mike.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Among the others in Stretch’s gang, Tommy Udo…er…Richard Widmark, plays Dude, a colder, more calculating version of his signature thug. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJOQYJKTr5imN4_a0mUU8dO3MTEPDFwiPHbpaGoS46WM4DDLKqLmlZjjMRDAkluK8zIwtlJF1g0Pjpx_dKOJKhtZnITlu9CfJSi60eMQt7A30WDUrMc-Ic32K32oQDaHudq-M7/s1600/widmark.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJOQYJKTr5imN4_a0mUU8dO3MTEPDFwiPHbpaGoS46WM4DDLKqLmlZjjMRDAkluK8zIwtlJF1g0Pjpx_dKOJKhtZnITlu9CfJSi60eMQt7A30WDUrMc-Ic32K32oQDaHudq-M7/s640/widmark.jpg" height="482" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">It qualifies as a <i>noir</i> by the plot, violence, details and the photography, as the characters spend much of their time roaming the night or looking in the blackness of their souls. The acting is superb, and a desert scene where the gang has run out of water makes me thirsty thinking about it. Yeah, it has a sorta happy ending, and yeah, it has a very vague Hollywood look, but the characters acted like a gal had sex appeal, and the gal, who was as tough as she needed to be, acted like she could use more than a little physical fulfillment along those lines. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZAiqjnyC_bZPJbhDgkyqsQQdyl83LJxmEF5n0P7lgJvCxFT93xSfhade3_7Vh8Ad4krgJSyAhUXJZLQkaqVqDyjw0iUeFqfKIX25nau23fy6IEnQfmMmTxFAPi0nA1FS-Rrru/s1600/baxter_rifle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZAiqjnyC_bZPJbhDgkyqsQQdyl83LJxmEF5n0P7lgJvCxFT93xSfhade3_7Vh8Ad4krgJSyAhUXJZLQkaqVqDyjw0iUeFqfKIX25nau23fy6IEnQfmMmTxFAPi0nA1FS-Rrru/s640/baxter_rifle.jpg" height="448" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsfCB7clcPhYYpFgj_6nkCA2VMwaDH7gbN09iubWNmJvbrUSXyO-A4RPFo1PFuYxs12ONQKOkwg8Jrp5RYqFik2enLz6ejq-HiDe00IWglZR7oW7Fv8JA7xvIrFJhiJLcT-Op2/s1600/peck_shirtless.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsfCB7clcPhYYpFgj_6nkCA2VMwaDH7gbN09iubWNmJvbrUSXyO-A4RPFo1PFuYxs12ONQKOkwg8Jrp5RYqFik2enLz6ejq-HiDe00IWglZR7oW7Fv8JA7xvIrFJhiJLcT-Op2/s640/peck_shirtless.jpg" height="449" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">It has a helluva ghost town setting, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGYEJyvs5zf6Esw7zuctvqfWAzW5GXDXCc5apds4ReQ6XC9yQ7Mw4CLBuHBITWGmPo4o3Su9vGy-uQP-AYRS5Vs7WElg4LYZm-YrbP4sdC7HVzO2Bdw2mnRMQMfubepUctATmJ/s1600/ghost.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGYEJyvs5zf6Esw7zuctvqfWAzW5GXDXCc5apds4ReQ6XC9yQ7Mw4CLBuHBITWGmPo4o3Su9vGy-uQP-AYRS5Vs7WElg4LYZm-YrbP4sdC7HVzO2Bdw2mnRMQMfubepUctATmJ/s640/ghost.jpg" height="482" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">double- and triple-crosses, gunplay, dirt, dust, and is way ahead of its time in that respect – almost a sixties western feel to it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Strangely enough, though, my favorite scene is almost like something from the silent era – The gang and Mike’s grandfather are at an arms-length standoff, and Stretch has already staked a claim on her, while Dude has designs on the gold the old man is hiding. It’s night, and Mike wanders into the corral to look out over the far desert in the moonlight, not realizing Stretch is behind in the shadows watching her. The grizzled older member of the gang, played by Charles Kemper, is singing the doleful little ditty “I’m Sad and I’m Lonely” in the background, and Mike is taking in the atmosphere – the shot is face-on to Baxter, and for a few seconds her face relaxes and her eyes soften.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwmnb7I7LA2gjnlJrw2CiRWs9ckQ5oZuxCUxxHPqR8q8rOzO2g7IpasWZRP5gHqFovRSHPOMIgxdk6KfRdDxEc2guNKeybkFKvpxeTAboCwqu4QlLEVJBwT8dlCu-_LkgW4WEn/s1600/peckandbaxter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwmnb7I7LA2gjnlJrw2CiRWs9ckQ5oZuxCUxxHPqR8q8rOzO2g7IpasWZRP5gHqFovRSHPOMIgxdk6KfRdDxEc2guNKeybkFKvpxeTAboCwqu4QlLEVJBwT8dlCu-_LkgW4WEn/s640/peckandbaxter.jpg" height="448" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Then Stretch silently comes up behind her without touching Baxter in any way, and her facial expressions as she realizes he’s there run the gamut from reverie, to surprise, to narrow-eyed hatred in just seconds, before she whips around to confront Stretch. It was a minor masterpiece of visual communication without a word spoken and done so subtly, that it becomes better than any speachifyin’ could ever have done. The kicker is when they finish smooching, (yeah, she surrenders her will for then and ever after in a great clinch) go up and into the ranch house – Dude steps out of the shadows, quite unknown to the lovers, and the look of calm avarice on his face is priceless. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIzrTwSDihAV9OzvKjYC9sTTMRcMVswBxqhzjh030kKalXKZNAOFfU8rkMMC9WkDmxwbtuhbCgAK-zudzF8wILtqZWED46UBNa5OTmAr-mg6HiA0-v1NbTXZOpjBnpaZlOxcS4/s1600/widmark2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIzrTwSDihAV9OzvKjYC9sTTMRcMVswBxqhzjh030kKalXKZNAOFfU8rkMMC9WkDmxwbtuhbCgAK-zudzF8wILtqZWED46UBNa5OTmAr-mg6HiA0-v1NbTXZOpjBnpaZlOxcS4/s640/widmark2.jpg" height="448" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">There’s a climactic shootout in the dark, as well, something other westerns wouldn’t have tried for a few more years, if at all. And just take a look at this shot:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzFE2bRAKKX4bSP8i3DNIeH8hh4pyFDAvJrFtfiejd-XAr583W0VcL3BZ10gcIPEMuOJxWtr5Gjw6u0-BJO5q4TegwEWd3tc55EGyJgQoWFErVkmlreHU7yTaPIE892w2FK25T/s1600/yellow+sky+2+shot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzFE2bRAKKX4bSP8i3DNIeH8hh4pyFDAvJrFtfiejd-XAr583W0VcL3BZ10gcIPEMuOJxWtr5Gjw6u0-BJO5q4TegwEWd3tc55EGyJgQoWFErVkmlreHU7yTaPIE892w2FK25T/s640/yellow+sky+2+shot.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>Musketeers of Pig Alley</i>, anyone? Just how old is <i>film noir</i>, anyway?</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnskPsGVfekfE1Sz0_YMOcJRc3DPveRJ4SoHW_Ult9EIZ2OsONp2S6teZTSHv0YNPVQPHS2CaYI79UWvYPVMa6MS8hbWA7eax0Tex2tbJtTsMx3mOKULloPXeddoYcEH_Fy4g7/s1600/pig+alley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnskPsGVfekfE1Sz0_YMOcJRc3DPveRJ4SoHW_Ult9EIZ2OsONp2S6teZTSHv0YNPVQPHS2CaYI79UWvYPVMa6MS8hbWA7eax0Tex2tbJtTsMx3mOKULloPXeddoYcEH_Fy4g7/s1600/pig+alley.jpg" height="476" width="640" /></a></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">!950 was a good year for Westerns with a <i>noir</i> flavor, Anthony Mann’s <i>Devil’s Doorway</i>, an unusual Western for the time with a Native American protagonist, and John Alton as DP giving it a very <i>noir</i> look while preserving the vastness of the Wyoming setting. Robert Taylor plays the Shoshone Civil War Hero who comes home to find he’s being cheated out of his land, and it’s very easy to view the film as a contemporary critique of African American civil rights. The supporting characters are fairly cardboard, and it has more of a H’wood feel than a pulp one, but the dialog is very much in the Haycox and Short vein, with Louis Calhern as a predatory, bigoted lawyer.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>The Gunfighter,</i> also from 1950, directed by Henry King, written by William Bowers and André de Toth, with Gregory Peck as Jimmy Ringo, a doomed fast gun trying to see his wife and son he’d left eight years before, Millard Mitchell as the local sheriff and an old friend of Ringo, (much like <i>Stagecoach’s</i> Ringo!) and Skip Homeier in an early role as a town sociopath, braggart and back-shooter who becomes what he will most fear – the man with a fastest gun reputation. The <i>noir</i> starkness of Arthur C. Miller’s cinematography is matched by the lean script, which is more about people and relationships and how time breaks these down, rather than gratuitous action.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi74QcZgF8edB3z3PzZEY7EqmOPSE99wr00uylmPGiV48_XM3ZQFKvYvVs4upJnOup11jRZjd9_SFJyxkxOg8vbxNrVxfVzPol1168zSQRzI-0jrcIW5J6QlSHkDknd86AV7t3P/s1600/Poster+-+Winchester.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi74QcZgF8edB3z3PzZEY7EqmOPSE99wr00uylmPGiV48_XM3ZQFKvYvVs4upJnOup11jRZjd9_SFJyxkxOg8vbxNrVxfVzPol1168zSQRzI-0jrcIW5J6QlSHkDknd86AV7t3P/s640/Poster+-+Winchester.jpg" height="640" width="434" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The topper for 1950 for me, though, is <i><span style="color: black;">Winchester '73,</span></i><span style="color: black;"> Anthony Mann’s psychological </span><i>noir </i>Western, with William H. Daniels doing the shooting, giving the film a sharp-focused look that brought out all the details that Mann used to give the film authenticity, even if you only see them for a split second. <span style="color: black;">James Stewart is a megawatt star as Lin McAdam, </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioIa_jjpe_OLkZpubgZpnWmSNoAIS8d4kmitt6NYScfsZEczxkbZZGFEzTdc-Kn-s00mry6kJud8c9eJUbqSJD7HUounbfRDM7wPpjegkHk3-K1UIzlMyhCwnnFRQbgluQHAAD/s1600/lin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioIa_jjpe_OLkZpubgZpnWmSNoAIS8d4kmitt6NYScfsZEczxkbZZGFEzTdc-Kn-s00mry6kJud8c9eJUbqSJD7HUounbfRDM7wPpjegkHk3-K1UIzlMyhCwnnFRQbgluQHAAD/s640/lin.jpg" height="640" width="502" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">a man with hidden streak of madness who’s hunting his father’s killer, played with a sadistic flair by one of the great film specialists in villains, Stephen McNally. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7M0JkdCtnIEvtXc7jmLtYOToWiHUx3vxP3E9bSxZtvP1pnmIc-gbRjgEdzJWFHKfsSO5g2lEWwflbusMuIx-uWzkC9PoyvXb4bhQXarOl05HUboRjacfMYWq_LEmYcftqwlAH/s1600/steve-mcnally-in-winchester-73.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7M0JkdCtnIEvtXc7jmLtYOToWiHUx3vxP3E9bSxZtvP1pnmIc-gbRjgEdzJWFHKfsSO5g2lEWwflbusMuIx-uWzkC9PoyvXb4bhQXarOl05HUboRjacfMYWq_LEmYcftqwlAH/s1600/steve-mcnally-in-winchester-73.gif" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">His pseudonymous Dutch Henry Brown is just as crazy as or worse than Lin. The reason revealed is a family connection between them, which makes their conflict even more twisted. Millard Mitchell is Lin’s saddle pal, High Spade, and it is one of Mitchell’s signature roles. Stuart Lake scripted the adaptation of Borden Chase’s story, and it’s in fine modern Western pulp style. There’s a great little scene where Lin is walking into a saloon in Dodge City with Will Geer’s Wyatt Earp, and Lin and Dutch Henry see each other at the same time, and slap leather simultaneously, both forgetting they had surrendered their guns upon entering Dodge City - the looks on their faces are the first hints of the hatred that both men can barely control.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> The film almost belongs as much to Dan Duryea, playing psychopathic killer Waco Johnnie Dean, (he’s almost always called this in the film, like a presidential assassin’s name!) as it does to Stewart – Duryea’s performance is amazingly vital and alive, he’s smiling madness on a short leash. He likes to kill people, and goads and forces even his own men into deadly gunfire, or kills them himself in an offhand manner. He easily steals every scene he’s in. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDYxO-M9IulmzHfLOlxnTuRJOv6weDxa7qpyFJKDsp7rh9It3hHBZukLUB2ZFePVFJq2Avx5-MaqqGCMqYAniGiokKagiZ2NvOcd8ks9Uom0k89tVUsKTbPrsVdGIiY6yA73Cn/s1600/duryea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDYxO-M9IulmzHfLOlxnTuRJOv6weDxa7qpyFJKDsp7rh9It3hHBZukLUB2ZFePVFJq2Avx5-MaqqGCMqYAniGiokKagiZ2NvOcd8ks9Uom0k89tVUsKTbPrsVdGIiY6yA73Cn/s640/duryea.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">The plot device is a valuable, custom Winchester Model 73 rifle that Lin wins in a shooting contest by beating Dutch Henry with a trick shot. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdo_mIXJcCWscwBgralpO1lhCYkdg7Q7hDKWW1MfUmp0talOzPwvzmWbHUj_bRnsEcdZUVrlmEFcz4fsOo__Fuwd0-deiyUqbkPvEtG4oY0ZbtDXC8FqrdBTrxUH-i76qKgceZ/s1600/winchester73-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdo_mIXJcCWscwBgralpO1lhCYkdg7Q7hDKWW1MfUmp0talOzPwvzmWbHUj_bRnsEcdZUVrlmEFcz4fsOo__Fuwd0-deiyUqbkPvEtG4oY0ZbtDXC8FqrdBTrxUH-i76qKgceZ/s640/winchester73-6.jpg" height="398" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Dutch doesn’t take kindly to this, steals the rifle, and the chase is on. Dutch Henry loses the rifle to a card sharp Indian Trader, </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXSCxWiUXkKxqmeUUwTlP4jWDbc_JmO38ZnQQUSp4mw5Z97nYGteFUUfh2BOv1Kmhc6XZ-1-NpaeaTx7RetcWu4BSju0lBG1shJR3YldTyFazf7xMuX1Tvx9h75bfQ9TOqwhjh/s1600/rikers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXSCxWiUXkKxqmeUUwTlP4jWDbc_JmO38ZnQQUSp4mw5Z97nYGteFUUfh2BOv1Kmhc6XZ-1-NpaeaTx7RetcWu4BSju0lBG1shJR3YldTyFazf7xMuX1Tvx9h75bfQ9TOqwhjh/s400/rikers.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">and then it travels in other, avaricious hands for most of the film, for a while in Waco’s possession after he kills cowardly fellow gang member Steve to get it. Shelley Winters plays Lola, Steve’s girl, </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXos_NRB3hATM3d0zgnrT7mUb78d5PNuUdH0OsVVVNfHlC5zZgbp2bLeBlmUau3dkdQEGfLed7eyoe9hLQkOE6mmDDaJOQA9Vzr25_xex_fX25lsSnH0iZVIsZQCAzARjSMmdn/s1600/lola.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXos_NRB3hATM3d0zgnrT7mUb78d5PNuUdH0OsVVVNfHlC5zZgbp2bLeBlmUau3dkdQEGfLed7eyoe9hLQkOE6mmDDaJOQA9Vzr25_xex_fX25lsSnH0iZVIsZQCAzARjSMmdn/s640/lola.jpg" height="464" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">and then an accidental companion of the rifle as it wends its way from player to player, until Dutch Henry ruthlessly takes it from Waco, who tells Lola, “I’ll get it back from old Dutch, just like I got it from old Steve.” </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Waco’s craziness meets its match, though, towards the end when Lin and High Spade track Dutch Henry to Tascosa, where the gang plans to rob a bank. Waco is tossing back whiskeys in the bar across the street from the bank as Lin sees Lola there, and she points out Waco. Lin grabs Waco’s arm and bends it around backward while grinding Waco’s face into the bar, and this absolutely maniacal look is on Jimmy Stewart’s face like you’ve never seen before! When I saw this as a kid I was shocked, it was and is a defining Western <i>noir</i> moment.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNcCjdubd5RLmVxnycYcX8a6DgCieSZ4Qz-0EEtvafRXXjLzHNOQ9Ha8UkafTg4ytlOHfKI-t8rrW77L0dATExuvTA1FLljuwsgdaUtO-Z2XJ9NEnSOr7PXEB3mNWtweYaDZW5/s1600/crazy+lin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNcCjdubd5RLmVxnycYcX8a6DgCieSZ4Qz-0EEtvafRXXjLzHNOQ9Ha8UkafTg4ytlOHfKI-t8rrW77L0dATExuvTA1FLljuwsgdaUtO-Z2XJ9NEnSOr7PXEB3mNWtweYaDZW5/s640/crazy+lin.jpg" height="468" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc8IVCkJxN75T0qdiw1D9ZnmJsFxS0yCg7wXdmQ1nBo5QUvqCtkNqzZiKJ_NrDAKuEG50PrmAzpYfKP6wjfg4MsXC7sWED7TCDGZAmb0c13BjtMo8vcC8S-An16abZ6Mt_V3e9/s1600/crazy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc8IVCkJxN75T0qdiw1D9ZnmJsFxS0yCg7wXdmQ1nBo5QUvqCtkNqzZiKJ_NrDAKuEG50PrmAzpYfKP6wjfg4MsXC7sWED7TCDGZAmb0c13BjtMo8vcC8S-An16abZ6Mt_V3e9/s640/crazy.jpg" height="494" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/bFDoXUhpNPg?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> Winchester '73 Trailer </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">The robbery is blown, and Lin chases Dutch into the saguaro cactus-studded canyons and mountains, and here is where Mann’s direction and settings are breathtaking, with not just depth of field, but also literal depth, as many shots are from high above and use the heights to reinforce the vastness of the West. The weakest part of the film involves the run up to and eventual Indian attack, it’s almost ludicrously cardboard. Contrast this set piece with Dutch Henry and his gang members as they visit a lonely tavern, Riker’s, while on the run in the middle of nowhere. Steve Brodie, one of the great supporting players in the movies, is one of the outlaws, and he’s as wholly believable as a saddle tramp gunman here as he is a gangster or thug in any of his number of standard, city <i>noirs</i>. The tavern owner Riker is played in amazingly laconic style by the under-rated John Alexander, </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl1LOLElPWc-Dkq8PjTbSe4WRa-SSFiay2crVFeR-rV3IXOYzuP78llYhpRRWPpvoElQyMJ9R-paqMEbyDHPlhKjT3pWesfFZmCY43H8uyYuqzy5thNXOYgdyTNJqZVc8QK9wP/s1600/riker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl1LOLElPWc-Dkq8PjTbSe4WRa-SSFiay2crVFeR-rV3IXOYzuP78llYhpRRWPpvoElQyMJ9R-paqMEbyDHPlhKjT3pWesfFZmCY43H8uyYuqzy5thNXOYgdyTNJqZVc8QK9wP/s400/riker.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">who makes the most of his bit part, and John McIntire is the gunrunning Indian Trader who fleeces Dutch, who doesn’t take kindly to that and tries to pull his gun. Riker was anticipating that. Riker, pointing a shotgun, “Ya should’na done that Dutch. You can have one on the house before ya leave.” Dutch Henry, getting pissed off, “Who said I’m leavin’!?!” Riker, stolidly, “Yer leavin’.” That dangling cig is just marvelous. This scene is what <i>noir</i> is all about, frankly. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">We’ll jump ahead some to 1954, and another Anthony Mann / James Stewart <i>noir</i> Western collaboration, <i>The Naked Spur. </i> Stewart’s Howard Kemp throws in with Millard Mitchell’s crusty miner Jesse Tate and Ralph Meeker’s soldier Roy Anderson as bounty hunters after a killer. Janet Leigh is Lina Patch, who thinks she’s in love with the killer they pursue and eventually capture: Robert Ryan’s evil Ben Vandergroat, one of the best psycho villains ever in film, a laughing sociopath who manipulates and kills in ice-cold blood. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">This film, and <i>Winchester ’73</i>, is more widely seen than a lot of the <i>noir</i> Westerns, and both have been heavily dissected and studied, but I just have to say Ben is an absolutely amazing performance, Ryan morphing into a sadistic murderer like he was born to it, and matching Duryea’s Waco performance as a scene-stealer. This film has all the <i>noir</i> requirements, as far as I’m concerned, and the trees and rocky defiles substitute well for the claustrophobic, cheap rooms and artificial canyons of the cities. The pulp elements are there, too, and Short and Haycox would recognize it as one of their progeny.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS0PWOnzwxFD8Pg2wsqr70sMTBaaN-YSqOov319Ny5o3oXtcNLGPLbs_9ymyCcOdMSHwZbsua9vI9c3cPChbc0BjJW12UiMd8avVtcnqEE0cECmojo2FUjpbkN7PRBhbygp2M5/s1600/tallt00.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS0PWOnzwxFD8Pg2wsqr70sMTBaaN-YSqOov319Ny5o3oXtcNLGPLbs_9ymyCcOdMSHwZbsua9vI9c3cPChbc0BjJW12UiMd8avVtcnqEE0cECmojo2FUjpbkN7PRBhbygp2M5/s640/tallt00.jpg" height="640" width="398" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="color: black;">The Tall T </span></i><span style="color: black;">from 1957 is one of Budd Boetticher’s very adult noir Westerns, starring Randolph Scott as Pat Brennan, a small time rancher who’s down on his luck. Brennan passes through a stagecoach way station on a trip into town and banters with the manager and his young son. This is the set-up for his stopping by there on his way back, and finding the boy and his father have been murdered and thrown down a well by Richard Boone’s Frank Usher and his gang, who plan on robbing a passing gold stage. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX3BIqGLVsTLxS_rCzJmsSp9NLaINCaXIJapM27CjogIGzk4PSZGOGJRve1SLfqY8GI0YO_QxTsfI7iZNxvGuH0VRNdJLGVypadJCFWuHfKFOQaOTX4cVz4XhIsgQ1ndEd9jx6/s1600/tall+t2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX3BIqGLVsTLxS_rCzJmsSp9NLaINCaXIJapM27CjogIGzk4PSZGOGJRve1SLfqY8GI0YO_QxTsfI7iZNxvGuH0VRNdJLGVypadJCFWuHfKFOQaOTX4cVz4XhIsgQ1ndEd9jx6/s640/tall+t2.jpg" height="344" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXE7BBeuO69gyd683OTA_80509DjJr4huhrGpG3_QZAZfbKWJlGOzWQn2N-hvmVFyvjeo5h2ubwuT0CkfMS8DZPMSTAzmVOMmFOnp9yWGXQLehq0VjRRaCTQfUkjcaPmaCMzhQ/s1600/tallt00.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Old maid wallflower Maureen O’Sullivan’s Doretta and her cowardly new husband stop there too, and are held for ransom, as her father is rich. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVftqgDOE2SU_gnTTtVRc_bXpP9cn9ML3eSWbRoA02Ngwv_y6deT5f1SNlMw8uq63TNAhDrJUTAEiQMqAh4myIDnRuWo_fR_5nuy8K190G2EcXqJ-hCkHCG7g6yeUNJUq74P3E/s1600/buddb1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVftqgDOE2SU_gnTTtVRc_bXpP9cn9ML3eSWbRoA02Ngwv_y6deT5f1SNlMw8uq63TNAhDrJUTAEiQMqAh4myIDnRuWo_fR_5nuy8K190G2EcXqJ-hCkHCG7g6yeUNJUq74P3E/s640/buddb1.jpg" height="346" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Henry Silva plays Chink, (I know, it grates, but that kind of casual racial degrading wasn’t uncommon back in the day) a killer who really likes killing, more than sex. Pat sets himself up as protector for Doretta, and O’Sullivan plays her as a woman resigned to disappointment, but Pat see something stronger in her that she doesn’t even see herself. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6uo9HN4UjPSJ_K3mEsRundDHcJh8soUDQr8QnmkMDw9xNz6ILjQcAPCjOJVEwtxElv1K46mso7WCUXvTXyZ-waLXYtfP-5ghiDMf_UbOG8QJptMLekSz9_V955Ij-niMJYqZr/s1600/tall+t.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6uo9HN4UjPSJ_K3mEsRundDHcJh8soUDQr8QnmkMDw9xNz6ILjQcAPCjOJVEwtxElv1K46mso7WCUXvTXyZ-waLXYtfP-5ghiDMf_UbOG8QJptMLekSz9_V955Ij-niMJYqZr/s640/tall+t.jpg" height="456" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Skip Homeier plays Billy Jack, who isn’t particular about who he sleeps with, and lusts after Doretta, which leads to his death when Pat sets him up while Frank is out picking up ransom money, and Chink is away from the hide-out. Chink is a troubling character, and not just because of the name, Silva had a knack for playing characters that are just a second or two from mass murder, it seems like. In <i>The Bravados, </i>released the next year, even his Mexican character, while not a saint, still has that edgy explosive ability of Silva’s. As mentioned before, Chink’s real lust is killing, and he’s fooled into a trap and shot down by Pat who’s figured a way to goad him. The adaptation of an Elmore Leonard story is well done, and Leonard’s Western writing was always hard edged and <i>noir</i> itself.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG9EN37el5cnDIUXst262YO6OHUAUSGA7lnT-Cjfy1x0xXUr3t7alK9gqmTpBE0lL6Bcgs3WeTHLdUN16YpzooGEIQL3UzuIWkK9YMYqDzUvDZ4vmIHYAG3NQ1UGWkDhUqsgDy/s1600/face+of+a+fugitive+poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG9EN37el5cnDIUXst262YO6OHUAUSGA7lnT-Cjfy1x0xXUr3t7alK9gqmTpBE0lL6Bcgs3WeTHLdUN16YpzooGEIQL3UzuIWkK9YMYqDzUvDZ4vmIHYAG3NQ1UGWkDhUqsgDy/s1600/face+of+a+fugitive+poster.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Last <i>noir</i> Western I’ll write about is 1959’s <i>Face of a Fugitive</i>, directed with a nice touch by Paul Wendkos, who had an incredibly long and fruitful career in TV, with a few big-screen credits. Wendkos was talented enough to make this tidy little <i>noir</i>, with Fred MacMurray playing bank robber Jim Larsen, a cool customer who’s on his way to jail, but just as he’s tricked the deputy and can escape from a train, his younger brother Danny appears, unwanted. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq8DVGbMMAj0iWncO59EAVVtCeWeGBwk5o8u7s8Z9n5jB55FUIbpoB0XNNkR3RhE6hNWG7d1y97zXwd6rEdLtlTBV_1kyxOobfE1Ed8cK4HALqYJSKky3dsOV5WbF2XOxgnXxl/s1600/face+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq8DVGbMMAj0iWncO59EAVVtCeWeGBwk5o8u7s8Z9n5jB55FUIbpoB0XNNkR3RhE6hNWG7d1y97zXwd6rEdLtlTBV_1kyxOobfE1Ed8cK4HALqYJSKky3dsOV5WbF2XOxgnXxl/s640/face+5.jpg" height="444" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">In trying to free Jim during the escape, Danny kills the deputy, who in turn fatally wounds Danny. Jim pulls him into a freight car on a passing train where Danny dies as Jim bitterly blames himself. Jim is desperate, and bundles the body into a canvas bag and tosses it off the train into a river. He manages to insinuate himself into a passenger car on the train, which is headed for Tangle Blue, the home of a chatty little girl, Alice Bailey, whom Jim befriends as a way to blend in. He carefully plies the little girl with questions and bluffs his way through hers, establishing an identity right there as Ray Kincaid, one of the “blasted mine inspectors”, and it even fools a deputy when the train is stopped and searched for a murderous bank robber – Jim himself! </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2gzmPqf_v69V82AgqStYZYTN2knquzDEcRV8l1TSbgkzQk7iZ5J2OOzq9m4hH-eo1QD3rFD4ttJu6L47PV4eSkuXQo8KYwWeB7dbukHp4xKANpYunxrSeFuxLrOM_73lqOAgw/s1600/FACE-FUGITIVE--1-.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2gzmPqf_v69V82AgqStYZYTN2knquzDEcRV8l1TSbgkzQk7iZ5J2OOzq9m4hH-eo1QD3rFD4ttJu6L47PV4eSkuXQo8KYwWeB7dbukHp4xKANpYunxrSeFuxLrOM_73lqOAgw/s640/FACE-FUGITIVE--1-.jpg" height="356" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">With his new identity, he figures on passing through Tangle Blue and getting out fast, but after buying new clothes, a new gun, (he tossed his when the train was searched.), and a new horse, he meets the sheriff, Alice’s uncle Mark Riley, played by Lin McCarthy. Riley is a bookish lawyer turned lawman who has deputies at all the exits from town, keeping everyone there until wanted posters show up the next day on the morning train. Jim had a shave, and bluffed the barber into thinking he knew him as Kincaid, which reinforced his new identity in town, and met Alice’s widowed mother, Ellen. She’s intelligently played by little-known beauty Dorothy Green as a woman who isn’t afraid of coming on to man, a very <i>noir</i> kinda woman. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsvPdbe-S72XVX8BOrEIMVheHRLy0ar_UrYXbpa_4yNvsKsoNyUsExrzqmwHVvQLjRzKu1H3ScNgrEs3bw2-l9pbvcZowmZMiGX6Bh68gYy2Zl6VLDdIWT569Y_LmUE_jq-EYp/s1600/face+cast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsvPdbe-S72XVX8BOrEIMVheHRLy0ar_UrYXbpa_4yNvsKsoNyUsExrzqmwHVvQLjRzKu1H3ScNgrEs3bw2-l9pbvcZowmZMiGX6Bh68gYy2Zl6VLDdIWT569Y_LmUE_jq-EYp/s320/face+cast.jpg" height="320" width="284" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Ray is attracted to her as well, starting to feel safe in his new identity, and when a local big-time cattleman, Reed Williams, comes into the store where she works, Jim is concerned that he subtly threatens her brother Mark. He’s hoping to scare her into stopping the sheriff from cutting Williams’ illegal fencing, and says it’ll lead to shooting, regardless of who’s the law. Then he sees Williams’ men push the sheriff around, and starts to see Mark as somewhat like Danny, Jim’s dead little brother. One of the Williams cowhands, Purdy, is played with a kind of joyful menace by James Coburn in an early role. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM0aVKealQOsGiABE6bDgTYtsgbqJvZtqpOJzsEbDpXYxro7UHoSZLeze6UjZurRLWiigCG7dm1OYKXIngWJlnZPPDmqqzySS37mTMDnhNMuTYsKAO63v8bi43TyXosOcKaL-5/s1600/FACE-FUGITIVE--3-.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM0aVKealQOsGiABE6bDgTYtsgbqJvZtqpOJzsEbDpXYxro7UHoSZLeze6UjZurRLWiigCG7dm1OYKXIngWJlnZPPDmqqzySS37mTMDnhNMuTYsKAO63v8bi43TyXosOcKaL-5/s640/FACE-FUGITIVE--3-.jpg" height="336" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Jim manages to get a job as a deputy, planning on running as soon as he can, but while he’s in town, he beats up Williams, get beaten himself by the cowhands, talks Mark into marrying his sweetheart and is his best man, and falls hard for Ellen. And then the morning comes. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR-pltiIu2wWBgkU_BFTBOCvuc2_97IOTT-HG-8NtHztxldIYHZeVWYnagwP9WeUHMO8akxWy89QbabtxbSjSvLKoVrpD6U4qkZbFzgwkA9Qv2S6GYJsSXvPuzWulEB6VYQ8SV/s1600/face_of_a_fugitive_1958_685x385.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR-pltiIu2wWBgkU_BFTBOCvuc2_97IOTT-HG-8NtHztxldIYHZeVWYnagwP9WeUHMO8akxWy89QbabtxbSjSvLKoVrpD6U4qkZbFzgwkA9Qv2S6GYJsSXvPuzWulEB6VYQ8SV/s640/face_of_a_fugitive_1958_685x385.jpg" height="358" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Jim must decide if leaving Mark to be surely killed is right, and finds his humanity in the process. There’s a great chase over rooftops and realistic shootout in a room of shadows in a nearby ghost town. Jim kills Williams and his men one by one. Even though Jim is badly wounded in the end, and the wanted posters arrive with his face on them, Ellen loves him and Mark vows to go to bat for him in court. This all sounds simplistic, but the adaptation of Peter Dawson’s story, (he was Luke Short’s brother, no less) is very convoluted, and full of nighttime imagery. While Jim is taking Ellen and Alice home in the evening, he passes by some men who’ve discovered a body floating in a bag –Danny! </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcivJ8RsYT-V1snzLmwWL1IRpxC-wOopdfH0RpHre5zevFk1bvlXDNseGAh3Bl2XTxNYK4EOyeFKyjs1HW2KLlB3W29x2Asc3w8My5bqqdfaT4stIT-d-oxT2909LNpw2bZsJL/s1600/face+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcivJ8RsYT-V1snzLmwWL1IRpxC-wOopdfH0RpHre5zevFk1bvlXDNseGAh3Bl2XTxNYK4EOyeFKyjs1HW2KLlB3W29x2Asc3w8My5bqqdfaT4stIT-d-oxT2909LNpw2bZsJL/s640/face+1.jpg" height="474" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Jim has to deny knowing the mystery corpse, and all through the rest of the movie, subtle little scenes involving Danny’s body pop up as reminders of the fatalism that permeates the film. Ellen practically invites Jim in for the night, but he’s trying not to become entangled in Tangle Blue – a useless endeavor, as he’s already in love with her. MacMurray is great as a cool-headed criminal, often quietly rolling a cigarette when danger is near, and he coldly analyzes everything before he makes a move. The film is set mostly at night, with shadows and danger, and it’s an interesting comparison to the godawful <i>Oregon Trail,</i> released later the same year, and also starring Mac Murray, which has all the classic bad things H’wood could bring to Westerns- it’s the anti-Haycox western. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">The <i>noir</i> tradition, pulps - both hard-boiled and Western, and their influence on Western films is only natural; Race Williams, Carroll John Daly's prototypical hard-boiled pulp detective that liked shooting as a solution, was only carrying on the literary traditions of the Old West legends, just morphed into a modern, realistic way of writing that lead to Hammett, Chandler, Woolrich...oh, yeah and <i>film noir</i>. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">______________________________________________________________________ </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Vanwall's Western Noir musings are in support of <b>For the Love of Film (Noir), the Film Preservation Blogathon</b>, hosted by the lovely and talented movie mavens, Farran Smith Nehme, the <a href="http://selfstyledsiren.blogspot.com/">Self-Styled Siren</a> herself, and Marilyn Ferdinand, the schoolmarm of <a href="http://www.ferdyonfilms.com/">Ferdy on Films</a> - she'll learn ya, blogs that are both excellent reasons for a good read for all seasons. The Facebook page for the blogathon is raht cheer: <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/For-the-Love-of-Film-The-Film-Preservation-Blogathon/269318823764">For the Love of Film (noir)</a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Also a shout out again to my film pal and proofreader, Amanda Howard - again, thankee kindly, for the suggestions and commentary, you improved things immeasurably.</span></span>Vanwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14606489784189165989noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15728848.post-63406192943599479312011-02-14T23:47:00.000-08:002014-09-28T16:29:34.239-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFJkat9SXA0lybIv6874hGYO-rTQ2g1Uxnz0UjYwlGx276KvKxZVf6_2JQmvnhLF9sI78W9GDxMqdvR35hPnzW2mQkskQ9MWbtDk2SUXfsdCwUksoZMlbNmyIrAu-Aj9XQeqx7/s1600/Noir+Westerns.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFJkat9SXA0lybIv6874hGYO-rTQ2g1Uxnz0UjYwlGx276KvKxZVf6_2JQmvnhLF9sI78W9GDxMqdvR35hPnzW2mQkskQ9MWbtDk2SUXfsdCwUksoZMlbNmyIrAu-Aj9XQeqx7/s640/Noir+Westerns.jpg" height="302" width="640" /></a><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_666547163"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh8A1LgGNhzbYkQq43bEOrmncemopjqHEV2UNKHRNS9w-HQjqQh3Sn_VPAbJYKbecluANKOy_Sdci5T6uSptu7WdPajEcTAEoQB6VRp9Gy8AI4pG8JIPbE0si0KUN9lhhT1aYI/s1600/Donate+Button+200+x+120.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=LAWFPAB4XLHAW"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
Donate right here, pilgrim!</span></a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=LAWFPAB4XLHAW"> </a></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc23XpHozFfKNqhhZPvA1KcewV85ZxVX0K5y0PCtZCcnhSHrd2K3C4dIF8DryjvfIv1U4NKnGMm25nGE8yL_4lal5xIpJyTBsLnpxwpm9XXxMcE0xSDg_RpQDw1E7qvRs3aeNx/s1600/Noir+Westerns.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a></span></div>
<div class="WordSection1" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"></span> <br />
<div class="Publishwithline">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: large;">Personal meditations on the influence of pulp stories on noir Western films </span></span></div>
<div style="border-color: -moz-use-text-color -moz-use-text-color rgb(79, 129, 189); border-style: none none solid; border-width: medium medium 1pt; padding: 0in 0in 2pt;">
<div class="underline">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="PadderBetweenControlandBody">
<br /></div>
</div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" /> </span></span> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> <span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">“Power is a false light in the far desert.” - Dan Smith </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> <i>The Hour of Fury</i>, by Ernest Haycox</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Part the first - </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Growing up in a place that labeled itself ”The West’s Most Western Town” meant a certain amount of fake cowtown was always right around the corner just when you thought you’d ditched it like a bad tail job. The aspect of most Hollywood Western films seemed to echo that kind of pseudo-verisimilitude, and Westerns in general became things to avoid when the TV was on, especially singing ones – never did like them. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Being bombarded by that Hollywood view of the Wild West was an everyday occurrence, what with half the TV shows being an oater of one kind or another, and the legion of ‘B’, ‘C’, and down to ‘Z’ Western films were the staple fare for the movie times on every channel, it seemed. I won’t go into the amazingly long list of these, just keep in mind that they helped the better films stand out tall and lean, looking narrow-eyed out over the vast wasteland. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">As I grew up my resistance to Westerns grew as well, until I had cut out the worst of the herd, which was admittedly most of it, and was left with the experience of having seen so many but valued so few. At the same time, I was watching a lot of <i>noir</i> films and reading a lot of old detective and mystery stories, and in following the lines of influence from the pulp days, I found many of my favorite Westerns, like many of the best private eye stories, were actually very <i>noir</i> influenced themselves. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I've written up my impressions of a few of the best, and some of the most overlooked, <i>Noir</i> Westerns, so sit back, I'll let you borry my rockin' chair as Ol' Mose would say, and I'll try and run some clips or two, but If'n I can't find any of one or t'other, why, light out and go find the movie and watch it! Meanwhile, I'll give ya my two bits about <i>noir</i> and The Wild West.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1aVcr6UUAJJEQ6r_NhOjPitAPMprqNA8Ah12qb6tegY_JeScHX8DgkI3qRqttc-kRdyXzt92JTNu4c0O7W9vVLYQT93V5ItgCh5_XPuZVQwjVxq2uRMG50VByjoTcHMc47eK4/s1600/sam+cherry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1aVcr6UUAJJEQ6r_NhOjPitAPMprqNA8Ah12qb6tegY_JeScHX8DgkI3qRqttc-kRdyXzt92JTNu4c0O7W9vVLYQT93V5ItgCh5_XPuZVQwjVxq2uRMG50VByjoTcHMc47eK4/s1600/sam+cherry.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Western pulp art by Sam Cherry</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> The pulp magazine has an almost legendary reputation among the various early influences on film noir. The <i>noir</i> staple hardboiled dick began life there, written by guys who worked for maybe a penny or two a word, tossing off stories that should’ve been slapdash and formulaic, ephemeral works that were meant to be as temporary as the pulp-wood paper they were printed on. In spite of this, some managed to be influential and long lasting, with a new style of writing the English language; a shiny, dark, slangy way, with a clipped cadence and hard-bitten use. This was a laconic idiom that was practically dragged out of the men of few words who were the stories’ main players, stories that were the products of hundreds of rejection letters before they finally landed on the pages of dime magazines. The great stylists that wrote novels of angsty post-war Americana in the Twenties and Thirties had nothing on these so-called hack writers who were shaping the way people thought and acted from the ground level, even while aspiring to work in the “slicks” – the <i>Saturday Evening Post</i>, <i>Collier’s</i> and such that paid enough to give up the day job and be a full-time writer. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkZEE_PGgEYqh9ZFNieCgy7ukR6WmZtmnu7HAmzBUAawJjxv2ulO5GqZ3E_B3oTPPrK8Q0Fme9D7pemHlGRPTfHfHgjD2U_OcF4XwOERbpwnemRBUY-25a3af5xbNW92le9hBD/s1600/10-story-western-magazine-pulp-movie-poster-1020409826.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkZEE_PGgEYqh9ZFNieCgy7ukR6WmZtmnu7HAmzBUAawJjxv2ulO5GqZ3E_B3oTPPrK8Q0Fme9D7pemHlGRPTfHfHgjD2U_OcF4XwOERbpwnemRBUY-25a3af5xbNW92le9hBD/s1600/10-story-western-magazine-pulp-movie-poster-1020409826.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> <br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Many of these same writers of Detective and Action tales also wrote Western stories, which along with Romance stories, were the real driving engines for the publishers of pulp magazines. The style of these same writers is evident in the many of Western pulps, with a huge change in a short period of time away from the florid and stodgy way of writing about cowpokes and critters from before the Great War, to the more natural and approachable-sounding pulp Westerns. Curiously, much of the direction the editors and publishers wished – fewer<i> </i>words, which meant a smaller payroll, but plenty of action and output - shaped the way the Western, along with the rest of the pulps, changed. New writers who had a more realistic take on the Old West also had new ideas on how to portray the heroes and heroines of the wide outdoors: cowboys that weren’t two-gun supermen, heroines that weren’t just sexless chattels waiting for a man. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> When the movie industry began looking for new ways to market the tired ‘B’ oaters that they’d flogged since the silent days, they landed upon some of the Western pulp writers who’d graduated to the slicks, and even written a novelette or two, or maybe a novel—all new fodder ready to be adapted into a product for the masses. Two of the early efforts at adapting one the best of the new style Western writers, Ernest Haycox, provide interesting comparisons to map the various directions the Studios had in mind. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Haycox wrote his stories based on his early life working in the final days of the Old West, with the U.S. Army on the border with Mexico, and also on his careful research and travels in the American West after the Great War. His stories were filled with the requisite action and horses, six-guns and Indians, but to a great degree, contained less stereotypical portrayals than most Westerns of the time. Here's as <i>noir</i> a piece of writing from Haycox's <i>Trouble Shooter</i> as you'd find anywhere, and it is cinematic in it's dark simplicity:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">"Silence flowed around him....Somewhere along the hall a board squeaked and small as that sound was, it was like a dynamite explosion to Frank Peace. he wheeled in his tracks, ramming his fist into his coat pocket to grip the revolver he carried there. A doorway across the hall swung quietly back on its hinges. He saw somebody moving in the depths of that room's blackness and immediately he swayed aside. At the same moment a round bloom of ragged light burst through the doorway. The breath of the bullet licked across his face and the whole building swelled and shook with the detonation. The slug struck into the wall behind Peace with a small, snoring report.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Peace dropped to the floor, his long, loose body flattening against the boards; the marksman across the way let out a windy sigh and began to rake the room with rapid, plunging fire." </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7T23baoykRxXubDyusoQSu2kk76W8YsOFHGtI4Qu6aPkR9V-8CRftGXno2l-9OGcN2DX7BuavdhKKUerkTZ4A7kehIzS7mWsEudV22-Kt_JJ4-WUGwfq7A5bnuatO86R3nArS/s1600/union-pacific-movie-poster-1020143567.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7T23baoykRxXubDyusoQSu2kk76W8YsOFHGtI4Qu6aPkR9V-8CRftGXno2l-9OGcN2DX7BuavdhKKUerkTZ4A7kehIzS7mWsEudV22-Kt_JJ4-WUGwfq7A5bnuatO86R3nArS/s1600/union-pacific-movie-poster-1020143567.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> <br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Trouble Shooter </i></span><span style="font-size: small;">was one of his serialized novels from <i>Collier’s</i>, and was adapted into the Cecil B. DeMille blockbuster-style film, <i>Union Pacific</i>, released in 1939, and is considered by many to be the most influential Western of its time, leading the Western film to the ‘A’ level. I’ve always had trouble with this film, even though it’s great in reputation and has Barbara Stanwyck, Joel McCrea and Robert Preston in it, because it could’ve been so much more. I’ve seen it all the way through a couple of times over the years, which may be one too many. I know there are clips out there to view, I just don't care to have any on my blog. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy3BF5s6f_3Nji5mFoqauoQOVA370NrYbJwzuveDSeDyUxO3jXP48JCcBJa-JLE0YNzbE9OwT21rgJ49F0gCiycb42Q5S6lP-4akaUhgNY7S_Ksbzctx1lECojbD5fHAOp-pgZ/s1600/up+heads.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy3BF5s6f_3Nji5mFoqauoQOVA370NrYbJwzuveDSeDyUxO3jXP48JCcBJa-JLE0YNzbE9OwT21rgJ49F0gCiycb42Q5S6lP-4akaUhgNY7S_Ksbzctx1lECojbD5fHAOp-pgZ/s320/up+heads.jpg" height="236" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> <br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Joel McCrea, Barbara Stanwyck, Robert Preston</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Haycox wrote it with a dark, yes, <i>noir </i>edge to it, full of the evils and ambivalent behavior that was ever-present as the railroads marched to bring the East to the West, with whores and whiskey, back-shooting and quiet heroics, making the hero in the book, Frank Peace, a flawed and human protagonist. The Production Code, of course, eviscerated it, taking out the natural human emotions and motivations, and Paramount reduced the complex plot into a simple all-for-one, jingoistic, anti-Native American film, with lots of train wrecks that wasn’t much different than the ‘B’ Westerns of the time; so what if it had a bigger budget?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyPEtB_3t8ZmHiNuaQlyKLBHtYJEJMMfd8IPozDJKV4MRSEt5vtJ45kaqplUPHTXGzD4dHJRipik6JFCn3ubHiHM94mDVriXRxzjv8i8oT3Uqa1_HOfObBhCGVB4L7ASQduBqF/s1600/stagecoach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyPEtB_3t8ZmHiNuaQlyKLBHtYJEJMMfd8IPozDJKV4MRSEt5vtJ45kaqplUPHTXGzD4dHJRipik6JFCn3ubHiHM94mDVriXRxzjv8i8oT3Uqa1_HOfObBhCGVB4L7ASQduBqF/s1600/stagecoach.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Compare this with another Western from the same year, <i>Stagecoach</i>, the excellent John Ford-directed adaptation of Haycox’s short story “Stage to Lordsburg,” a film which has left intact the edge that Haycox wrote, and more, with John Wayne’s Ringo Kid an escaped convict as the hero, and his eventual love interest, Claire Trevor’s heroine Dallas, (Was there ever a better dance-hall-girl’s name in a Western film? I don’t think so!) is a whore being run out of town by the “better class” of citizens. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyPEtB_3t8ZmHiNuaQlyKLBHtYJEJMMfd8IPozDJKV4MRSEt5vtJ45kaqplUPHTXGzD4dHJRipik6JFCn3ubHiHM94mDVriXRxzjv8i8oT3Uqa1_HOfObBhCGVB4L7ASQduBqF/s1600/stagecoach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmqgBFMw76Tb3pA7Pkzd_TSaimXBlPfQMwQTKicxGWGz7J54o0raEHOOlJ3VFuAT6M9r53iMeIpWFGy0sR2OCqG6e6iNC_CySQWRFnXdl5xDOfLy69TNGcRe00kp8DKKvvlkoa/s1600/stagecoach+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmqgBFMw76Tb3pA7Pkzd_TSaimXBlPfQMwQTKicxGWGz7J54o0raEHOOlJ3VFuAT6M9r53iMeIpWFGy0sR2OCqG6e6iNC_CySQWRFnXdl5xDOfLy69TNGcRe00kp8DKKvvlkoa/s640/stagecoach+2.jpg" height="496" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> <br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Ford's favorite, Monument Valley</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">One of the greatest, star-making entrances ever. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBUgH_5_y3_UWCF9QKSPlGS_NwLiAqOBxVrYqW8yUXDVTKo5XSKOA7CrDJeAXifyiDlinX3Y9oArYr94Jmnj9G60_wt6BRU3BEy89uT22a4susFPragPvK285S5U6Iy4J85Z26/s1600/stagecoach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBUgH_5_y3_UWCF9QKSPlGS_NwLiAqOBxVrYqW8yUXDVTKo5XSKOA7CrDJeAXifyiDlinX3Y9oArYr94Jmnj9G60_wt6BRU3BEy89uT22a4susFPragPvK285S5U6Iy4J85Z26/s1600/stagecoach.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJvtX9vOn7_V9w9HUXQWGxtGOxNY8Yl7V37ibxhyKu5_yiFhvTQRIxHaUPTK7HA9U9rMUpaUbMCd3RdVvH38jwqeEp7BVQ5TanII1NFzf5MdirB4atPNn_J7OJhdL8IEurjzT9/s1600/stagecoach3.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJvtX9vOn7_V9w9HUXQWGxtGOxNY8Yl7V37ibxhyKu5_yiFhvTQRIxHaUPTK7HA9U9rMUpaUbMCd3RdVvH38jwqeEp7BVQ5TanII1NFzf5MdirB4atPNn_J7OJhdL8IEurjzT9/s400/stagecoach3.jpeg" height="357" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu08UT6MsHIT3iGH1_7eJK-eOxUc8Cgbl_XUGaKRrz49cXkyHGuw6O9dKN64GYU_sa42QS1QJ_g4kbjpUYtlF5YgET0jg7aICjoaWLsHCEmzWgeDPbC6LFt1WnWo3ruKNATz5i/s1600/stagecoach+coffee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> George Bancroft, John Wayne, Claire Trevor </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9lKDh1jhoXHO2hDrVMmNXHKK94uhGT4IYRfRlToTtjbKPHWI8MtWsbmUF7H801_KD9Zf0afBAzaKyvUP0LfbE67LH1QMvWnVQztCQS-hRi4NSjsmya4L-K1alePn407qmo0wP/s1600/stagecoach+coffee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9lKDh1jhoXHO2hDrVMmNXHKK94uhGT4IYRfRlToTtjbKPHWI8MtWsbmUF7H801_KD9Zf0afBAzaKyvUP0LfbE67LH1QMvWnVQztCQS-hRi4NSjsmya4L-K1alePn407qmo0wP/s640/stagecoach+coffee.jpg" height="476" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Dallas and The Ringo Kid</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZUb5UPzHR6U"></a></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">This is the proto-Western <i>Noir</i> film, and a sense of fatality and doom pervades the film, with the substantial nighttime camerawork of Bert Glennon adding to the feeling of menace, and Ford’s remarkable eye for interiors is almost claustrophobic. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPUJaEWv6XWuFzjjv3QmMSqKaI4UOavz7dZhDSI4BLJq8vft5qEqLUUz6RTVTmv2W1dywT6CG2xhgI3wioShKHB1QmJgqqXdwWeXO_IlJD4LIsXNcIMm46ayYKt27N5Nwv175e/s1600/stagecoach+doorway.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPUJaEWv6XWuFzjjv3QmMSqKaI4UOavz7dZhDSI4BLJq8vft5qEqLUUz6RTVTmv2W1dywT6CG2xhgI3wioShKHB1QmJgqqXdwWeXO_IlJD4LIsXNcIMm46ayYKt27N5Nwv175e/s640/stagecoach+doorway.jpg" height="404" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Ringo will follow Dallas out, in one of Ford’s wonderful doorway scenes. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbq-3aFV2MbptLI_0nFnIaW3ZCIEhb2gxGXm2Zi-l7jDO-dMN23_Y48kPejZYDmHgJXcRe5GysTjg8LMwoItwVwSQzp8wgJvyS0JNa0Gw9LpGnxS0R7EVjsWu7The4P9weCq9i/s1600/stagecoach1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbq-3aFV2MbptLI_0nFnIaW3ZCIEhb2gxGXm2Zi-l7jDO-dMN23_Y48kPejZYDmHgJXcRe5GysTjg8LMwoItwVwSQzp8wgJvyS0JNa0Gw9LpGnxS0R7EVjsWu7The4P9weCq9i/s640/stagecoach1.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> <br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Ringo and Dallas share a moonlight moment.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYvzYO4xsnTWfTdyk3jdLC9sbNbqfjDTITrTeGfM6cG9OxjXzTH-as-v_FKH52eZxBcF0cCMRGuEwHsetrZvu0_S8jl9R2wcXKJKdsJvVfZ7g7lIBaqKxm_FFDlE7TGOEyd3G1/s1600/stagecoach+table.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYvzYO4xsnTWfTdyk3jdLC9sbNbqfjDTITrTeGfM6cG9OxjXzTH-as-v_FKH52eZxBcF0cCMRGuEwHsetrZvu0_S8jl9R2wcXKJKdsJvVfZ7g7lIBaqKxm_FFDlE7TGOEyd3G1/s640/stagecoach+table.jpg" height="492" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> <br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> What a great cast, all in one shot. In addition to Wayne, Trevor and Bancroft, the supporting players </span><span style="font-size: small;">here are Donald Meek,</span><span style="font-size: small;"> Andy Devine, Louise Platt, </span><span style="font-size: small;">John Carradine,</span><span style="font-size: small;"> Berton Churchill, and Thomas Mitchell in an Oscar-winning role. (In back there in the Cavalry outfit is Tim Holt, whose father was a Silent era film cowboy, and Tim himself went on to a slew of 'B' Westerns himself - but every so often, as in <i>Stagecoach</i>, and later in <i>The</i> <i>Magnificent Ambersons, My Darling Clementine</i>, and <i>The Treasure of the Sierra Madre</i>, he would get a nice role in an 'A' film, and never disappointed.)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The sheriff in the film is a pal of Ringo and the general feeling is of a fluid, amorphous ‘civilized’ law that changes with the situation from minute to minute. Yeah, it has the Hollywood-mandated Indian attack, and cavalry connection Ford so loved, but it’s almost clinical in its view of the climactic chase and running fight, which is a marvel of influential action and stunt work.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOY9I2mowwvsWSlnhZRBSqGOwektfnvSQTRvD5DPfFCcVSG8A-QKvLLOVyEz-iFzNuaCvJPvCf6n6u9SHnfKxHagSlaIzRm24O2c6oM61ivm1TlGUHYecJfhSSM_3Xo2xGvRSk/s1600/Stagecoach+three.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOY9I2mowwvsWSlnhZRBSqGOwektfnvSQTRvD5DPfFCcVSG8A-QKvLLOVyEz-iFzNuaCvJPvCf6n6u9SHnfKxHagSlaIzRm24O2c6oM61ivm1TlGUHYecJfhSSM_3Xo2xGvRSk/s640/Stagecoach+three.jpg" height="440" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> <br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">Ford was pulling out all the right stops for this chase.</span><span style="font-size: small;"> Done at speed, too! </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/X4jF3xTxKWM?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">In addition, it’s filled with little details of life in the desert, the costuming is before the stylized Hollywood Western look became prevalent, and it's wonderfully true, looking like the players just stepped out of contemporary photographs of the time, and the crowded barroom shots with plenty of Bull Durham smoke and lots of liquor flowing help define the edge of civilization mood.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/-wcuXBd6uQA?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> As noir a series of shots as you'll ever see, and Tom Tyler as Luke Plummer is amazing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK8kJf0KItHHI7xOUBRAKc6-le2fKu14L7U3WE2hIS1ndNCn9p_Fm6gYEOPXCQC92sdUUQ-kf0Ovq0KcWuD1oaciUaT8ywrHSWcU2m0WNYLtOjRXzV2-NOAVbRxG0dRzr_-fAA/s1600/stagecoach-trevor-wayne.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK8kJf0KItHHI7xOUBRAKc6-le2fKu14L7U3WE2hIS1ndNCn9p_Fm6gYEOPXCQC92sdUUQ-kf0Ovq0KcWuD1oaciUaT8ywrHSWcU2m0WNYLtOjRXzV2-NOAVbRxG0dRzr_-fAA/s1600/stagecoach-trevor-wayne.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Red Light Lordsburg</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> The final scenes, at night in good <i>noir</i> fashion, are at Dallas’ new neighborhood in the red-light district of Lordsburg, and then an influential gunfight at night tidies up the ending - almost; the last is the sheriff and Doc, the alcoholic supporting character brilliantly played by Thomas Mitchell, letting Ringo and Dallas escape to Ringo’s ranch while whooping and hollering. It’s positively subversive at its core, and one of the few John Wayne films I watch.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiynjyWQeIh1i0pw8LKI4lziDFzw1CeZjSUU0ySRh1VtC5aEEwkCySUpn93oEDAqkx07TDf-5Iy40VJWn3X1qQK6YsFMrOcyci1q3RUAsjoxLbQ5BwZjxR8Qix8K5KtyEBsZ7Nc/s1600/Ramrod_small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiynjyWQeIh1i0pw8LKI4lziDFzw1CeZjSUU0ySRh1VtC5aEEwkCySUpn93oEDAqkx07TDf-5Iy40VJWn3X1qQK6YsFMrOcyci1q3RUAsjoxLbQ5BwZjxR8Qix8K5KtyEBsZ7Nc/s640/Ramrod_small.jpg" height="640" width="422" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVlSYdx-loa4B8cNK2x6Y-0W2NUQL3vx-rvvy7vUU5LBaLaHJzAmjeLm7DSU2jjZOVzB9kh68zvcocn4S0Av_NpFKav7s1XXn55t8i1IUh8sR2q2nrZeEG2MKiF7WgmjnzMPOX/s1600/lake+ramrod.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVlSYdx-loa4B8cNK2x6Y-0W2NUQL3vx-rvvy7vUU5LBaLaHJzAmjeLm7DSU2jjZOVzB9kh68zvcocn4S0Av_NpFKav7s1XXn55t8i1IUh8sR2q2nrZeEG2MKiF7WgmjnzMPOX/s1600/lake+ramrod.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVlSYdx-loa4B8cNK2x6Y-0W2NUQL3vx-rvvy7vUU5LBaLaHJzAmjeLm7DSU2jjZOVzB9kh68zvcocn4S0Av_NpFKav7s1XXn55t8i1IUh8sR2q2nrZeEG2MKiF7WgmjnzMPOX/s400/lake+ramrod.jpg" height="400" width="340" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVlSYdx-loa4B8cNK2x6Y-0W2NUQL3vx-rvvy7vUU5LBaLaHJzAmjeLm7DSU2jjZOVzB9kh68zvcocn4S0Av_NpFKav7s1XXn55t8i1IUh8sR2q2nrZeEG2MKiF7WgmjnzMPOX/s1600/lake+ramrod.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">Veronica Lake as Connie Dickason</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Next up for Noir Westerns is a personal favorite, the dark, dark <i>Ramrod</i> from 1947, directed in fine <i>noir</i> style by <span style="color: black;">André de Toth, and starring Veronica Lake as Connie Dickason, the movie’s<i> femme fatale</i> who exudes sexual power and lust; Joel McCrea as Dave Nash, the conflicted hero; Don DeFore in a bravura performance as Bill Schell, who helps or hinders as he sees fit; Preston Foster as Frank Ivey, as cold a calculating villain as ever was in film; and Arleen Whelan as Rose Leland, in a thankless role as the curiously non-sexual heroine. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">One of the players in our <i>film noir</i> restoration project film, Lloyd Bridges, can be spotted as a supporting bad guy, along with a small role with a bit of a spark for long-time character actor Ray Teal, and you can spot craggy old Houseley Stevenson, a <i>noir </i>film staple, in a bit part. This adaptation of a story by the almost forgotten Luke Short keeps much of the subtlety and sexual conflict intact, and as you’ll see, started a run of interestingly <i>noir</i> Short works made into films. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> </span>Luke Short, the pen name of Frederick Glidden, had done his time in the Canadian wilderness and the American West, although well after it had lost its wildness. Short jumped first from the pulps to the slicks, and then to novels because of his talented evocation of the West with a modern and realistic understanding of its settings and people. His stories had the same gritty feel as Haycox’s best work, and other than a Western setting, many could’ve been written as crime or detective stories – in the <i>noir</i> West nights, all cats were gray.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_5Eo0iRamm8P19SYVKKoRuCvUvYQpYvH1rqGJWNOePw7GC8UGvJ54gR4kgUM0FXDn0ZcIx18w1Z-Et_FgXxCUwkRkAIMD5HIwVBO7VVukPyJchBSoKftVaTJJncjeMj16yw4W/s1600/Ramrod+Lake+legs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_5Eo0iRamm8P19SYVKKoRuCvUvYQpYvH1rqGJWNOePw7GC8UGvJ54gR4kgUM0FXDn0ZcIx18w1Z-Et_FgXxCUwkRkAIMD5HIwVBO7VVukPyJchBSoKftVaTJJncjeMj16yw4W/s640/Ramrod+Lake+legs.jpg" height="640" width="488" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Yes, this was a publicity shot for <i>Ramrod</i>. The general thrust of the film is right here.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuGPqHqvQ-tx8KXrZlb3yMS_Rmru3YZBeiuLl5zs0h_zY18WdXQ2OkaKECqkgPrsz1i6LC5ni2KwRbj8HhTj2QOibcV8lVpYPwWBxzyxSHZMUoTwd-_lMaMUPK3VMXkf1sq2Es/s1600/Dave+Nash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuGPqHqvQ-tx8KXrZlb3yMS_Rmru3YZBeiuLl5zs0h_zY18WdXQ2OkaKECqkgPrsz1i6LC5ni2KwRbj8HhTj2QOibcV8lVpYPwWBxzyxSHZMUoTwd-_lMaMUPK3VMXkf1sq2Es/s400/Dave+Nash.jpg" height="308" width="400" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> Joel McCrea's Dave Nash calmly going about his business. </span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> Connie wants to rule her own place in the sun that she can take from Ivey, and Dave, a recent widower fresh off a guilt-trip bender accompanied by Schell, is hired to ramrod her land grab. The film includes double-crosses, dark deeds by the light of the moon, and the loss or conflicted use of one’s honor in the Old West, as its major themes. In fact, the malleable application of it leads to the two best roles in this film: Lake’s Connie is almost feral in her manipulation and lust for power, a lust disguised as sexual power used for gain, rather than satisfaction, and it’s matched by DeFore’s amazing Bill Schell, a back-shooting, lusty cowhand who has his own agenda and morals.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi67VVQkuYMCp9RWFL3TpeRLjttZvjbZfee8M8oPWNbs00pFKhXHnSOoP-6v84GlWtVSOSD4ugpQ7LUHhyphenhyphennnWwEo-1famK0NAf47dT4CjL3kEIT72Ayo3B9sIeUtxIXUWRzT4Mq/s1600/Bill+Schell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi67VVQkuYMCp9RWFL3TpeRLjttZvjbZfee8M8oPWNbs00pFKhXHnSOoP-6v84GlWtVSOSD4ugpQ7LUHhyphenhyphennnWwEo-1famK0NAf47dT4CjL3kEIT72Ayo3B9sIeUtxIXUWRzT4Mq/s640/Bill+Schell.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> Bill Schell, played by Don DeFore</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">His motivations actually mesh well with those of Connie, whom he loves enough to do terrible things for, and terrible things for her lust for Dave Nash – he knows she has the hots for Dave, yet he sacrifices himself to please Connie. DeFore is amazing in this role, his usually sunny, dim-bulb character nowhere in sight as he ruthlessly strides through the movie. I wish he’d had more roles like this one—it’s revelatory. It has the usual H’wood ending – guy gets “right” gal – but no other Western comes close to this one for sheer sexual power, as even McCrea has a solid, attractive sexual appeal, to say nothing of DeFore and his Bill Schell’s animal magnetism. And, yeah…I did just say that about Don DeFore, amazing but true. Russell Harlan’s cinematography can be as dark as Hades in the stifling sunlight, and the use of the expanses is intercut with wonderful canyon settings, where it feels like a dry-gulching is right around the corner – this was a defining Western, <i>noir</i> or not. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> <i>Pursued</i>, also from 1947, is directed by Raoul Walsh, with cinematography by</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> the great James Wong Howe, and </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">is a brightly, sunny looking film in a lot of </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">ways, about a dark, disturbing</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> theme from a tense script by Niven Busch. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYHIHfb5HhRaWwelxBH8kSVhHA-HnE6CzyaD3blSoIoJ8L-8sKNvNZlBv6EJW04EoXaIkaEQf4b-WB8-z3oThhsOL0CLv5lFWVhWW72MjgSCeVd0n7A8ZpXvoFgxJHr7BD20PJ/s1600/1947-Perseguido-ITA-MARTINATI.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYHIHfb5HhRaWwelxBH8kSVhHA-HnE6CzyaD3blSoIoJ8L-8sKNvNZlBv6EJW04EoXaIkaEQf4b-WB8-z3oThhsOL0CLv5lFWVhWW72MjgSCeVd0n7A8ZpXvoFgxJHr7BD20PJ/s640/1947-Perseguido-ITA-MARTINATI.jpg" height="640" width="444" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> </span><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> Italian Poster for <i>Pursued </i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgBSSWLrJYO4MNyoQv-X9IA7q0DoKuT5O1dIIGUwt8XGKHgK3GJOiUmu6hv7a6E-6rflzS75dvV_GZevcP22MdiISLSZjX3Q-ObdMs3KO1A2xyytt37il8Gq7Bgp_4JoJHUfim/s1600/PursuedMitchumClose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgBSSWLrJYO4MNyoQv-X9IA7q0DoKuT5O1dIIGUwt8XGKHgK3GJOiUmu6hv7a6E-6rflzS75dvV_GZevcP22MdiISLSZjX3Q-ObdMs3KO1A2xyytt37il8Gq7Bgp_4JoJHUfim/s640/PursuedMitchumClose.jpg" height="472" width="640" /></a></div>
</div>
<br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> Robert Mitchum is Jeb Rand -</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Brought up by the Callum family’s strong Ma, played by Judith Anderson, after a long-running feud has left him an orphan. </span></span><br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRhlPxk-C8VFfl03_Wtdessn_VOYos8crCs_yspoiibFzKTZwFLB-8nJphWd2P525c4ERfVDRpVGxgFKnNrUlyiyw-rEoie7ONWRL7xuflJ4tTYxUEQuLcpT63wJ1R3p89BAtY/s1600/pursued3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRhlPxk-C8VFfl03_Wtdessn_VOYos8crCs_yspoiibFzKTZwFLB-8nJphWd2P525c4ERfVDRpVGxgFKnNrUlyiyw-rEoie7ONWRL7xuflJ4tTYxUEQuLcpT63wJ1R3p89BAtY/s640/pursued3.jpg" height="498" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> Judith Anderson’s Ma was the toughest character in the film.</span></span><br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">He remembers only glimpses of the terrifying massacre as he was hidden behind a trap door, (a Walsh signature gimmick) not knowing who wiped out his family. Even though he thinks he’s safe as he grows older, it turns out the Callum’s in-law Grant, played in remorseless fashion by Dean Jagger, is the leader of the killers, and has a long memory. Teresa Wright plays Thorley Callum, with whom Jeb was raised and is in love with, but who thinks Jeb murdered her brother. By the end of the film she’s planning on marrying Jeb to kill him on their wedding night! </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHbsfr2mTmyCzdMG2oZb7Yjdqncssr05QFVK6MsPL4D-P3sgNWt2i6mLoJwOA5czU7Qlm0R_ilUWdoNHDGEskBtoh-_bI4H2UEGEZ1dVUZS69jEab8nRMS-P8e0a45xFGmBOST/s1600/1947-Perseguido-ITA-4f-MARTINATI+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHbsfr2mTmyCzdMG2oZb7Yjdqncssr05QFVK6MsPL4D-P3sgNWt2i6mLoJwOA5czU7Qlm0R_ilUWdoNHDGEskBtoh-_bI4H2UEGEZ1dVUZS69jEab8nRMS-P8e0a45xFGmBOST/s640/1947-Perseguido-ITA-4f-MARTINATI+2.jpg" height="640" width="450" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> </span><span style="color: black;"></span><span style="color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> Damn, those Italians get right to the point in this <i>Pursued</i> poster.</span></span><br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0itkbSd4zBsTFau78BOzBD1SfCUCoBEGoKlIgC20nXTT-pnyG9-BepQBub_3DD6Ozem7eNkbbSvhSI7twn41_dep0FDFCLB8F-xf2C-4yvC9UUw73dHYarvUgFYWpXZ-kCjVP/s1600/pursued+wright.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0itkbSd4zBsTFau78BOzBD1SfCUCoBEGoKlIgC20nXTT-pnyG9-BepQBub_3DD6Ozem7eNkbbSvhSI7twn41_dep0FDFCLB8F-xf2C-4yvC9UUw73dHYarvUgFYWpXZ-kCjVP/s400/pursued+wright.jpg" height="302" width="400" /></a></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> </span><span style="color: black;"></span><span style="color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> Teresa Wright’s Thor is thinking real hard about using that Colt.</span></span><br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAYqKqE_vldf3Z10y0JEYnNSRQHU1YCeWr5Pk9eyb2at3Bz77PsZPNDXN9JEFUJoH-tKI24WqlElVYmw4eXxxF0uvnXWymrzbKxHvSHjP_HczPeNGrIsOo68njYuEgEAWtRQrs/s1600/pursued2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAYqKqE_vldf3Z10y0JEYnNSRQHU1YCeWr5Pk9eyb2at3Bz77PsZPNDXN9JEFUJoH-tKI24WqlElVYmw4eXxxF0uvnXWymrzbKxHvSHjP_HczPeNGrIsOo68njYuEgEAWtRQrs/s640/pursued2.jpg" height="516" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> Wright and Mitchum had a spark in this film – you believed their motivations and actions. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Needless to say, Thor and Jeb find their moral compass, and the true, manipulative villains get their just desserts, but only after a convoluted plot that is worthy of Raymond Chandler. The look is full of interesting angles and lighting, and the performances are all strong, but Mitchum’s especially is full of the character’s insecurity, and the mental images thrown up to show his confusion mirror those in <i>Murder, My Sweet</i>. Unlike many <i>noir</i> Westerns, <i>Pursued</i> has an interesting soundtrack, and the haunting and fatalistic ballad, <i>The Streets of Laredo</i>, is a motif all through the film.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> </span><span style="color: black;"></span><span style="color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyvr2vD7o_p48r76-vBinacCABzsInToEtUt9V54iM78gCeZszxge4bDAaZARfSYE0rHyO5psDhMP98GnnmZbucwy1SoamyrPGlHb1QO4hnvDuQlgetg5bAYluZnHori_g1dT2/s1600/bloodonmoonposter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyvr2vD7o_p48r76-vBinacCABzsInToEtUt9V54iM78gCeZszxge4bDAaZARfSYE0rHyO5psDhMP98GnnmZbucwy1SoamyrPGlHb1QO4hnvDuQlgetg5bAYluZnHori_g1dT2/s640/bloodonmoonposter.jpg" height="640" width="498" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> 1948’s <i>Blood on the Moon, </i>another adaptation of a Luke Short work, is directed in a moody, fatalistic manner by Robert Wise and ably filmed by <i>noir</i> stalwart Nicholas Musuraca who helped define the look of <i>noir</i>, and again stars Robert Mitchum, as down-on-his-luck cowhand Jim Garry, who takes a job for old saddle pal Tate Riling, played with wicked zest by Robert Preston. Garry has unwittingly stepped into a range war, with a crooked Indian Bureau man and a gang of Riling’s thieves planning a complicated paper rustling of the Lufton herd by a ruse. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik4BVFa0HBECsWdo843yz0DFBJW7R86vnQIj1wvQZzVt5cID2S4qZCtZksNodMcJLQlRfaCQ9xKghwHV5ynNsGcrrs73ZwBldltXS5ebQCPloaq-DBFHgyq6X4pck4ZeFiwm0_/s1600/bloodmoonmitchumwhorse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik4BVFa0HBECsWdo843yz0DFBJW7R86vnQIj1wvQZzVt5cID2S4qZCtZksNodMcJLQlRfaCQ9xKghwHV5ynNsGcrrs73ZwBldltXS5ebQCPloaq-DBFHgyq6X4pck4ZeFiwm0_/s640/bloodmoonmitchumwhorse.jpg" height="466" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> Jim Garry, the hungry cowpoke.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYO6t4n_i-R__qblh6VqtXGkLOWr23eAyHJNy1bJ6Lewtl_Ytk3tVGNRJ7u0Mi_U5kgsqI8bQHTGAKgGW7a7J2pa9nBt5pxUg_tRYVQXvfu5FbYW8O7ZXXvlUmbXgKx4SdEUJg/s1600/blood3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYO6t4n_i-R__qblh6VqtXGkLOWr23eAyHJNy1bJ6Lewtl_Ytk3tVGNRJ7u0Mi_U5kgsqI8bQHTGAKgGW7a7J2pa9nBt5pxUg_tRYVQXvfu5FbYW8O7ZXXvlUmbXgKx4SdEUJg/s640/blood3.jpg" height="488" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> Amy Lufton and Jim Garry</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Barbara Bel Geddes is Amy Lufton, Walter Brennan is a tough old coot – his specialty – who aids the Luftons in foiling the theft, and in one of the best Western night scenes, they have Garry’s help in fighting off an ambush by Riling’s men. Mitchum is a classic <i>noir</i> protagonist, conflicted and ethically malleable, until he finds his moral center with Amy’s help. Then he beats the living hell out of Tate Riling.</span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/467PwKFygbE?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> One the best of the Western punch-outs. </span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Unusual snow scenes are part of the cold winter setting, and claustrophobic interior shots bring to mind the aforementioned <i>Stagecoach, </i>and Ford’s eye for interiors. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLXpHjZh70CjrIQRItgXYqNiVnmMYChpgEWd6cZsKIzEYVFPT5_Jq2TfEqmDBMYh4D4FmdeOWVFoOhgwSC4HOgfbAbp6gdrwlTRrDwVF5Ri42K2dlx-2GMiYRcY4MlhXf3Ik1D/s1600/blood+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLXpHjZh70CjrIQRItgXYqNiVnmMYChpgEWd6cZsKIzEYVFPT5_Jq2TfEqmDBMYh4D4FmdeOWVFoOhgwSC4HOgfbAbp6gdrwlTRrDwVF5Ri42K2dlx-2GMiYRcY4MlhXf3Ik1D/s640/blood+1.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjIMIJ-6R7VpwAffnb2UqSQXPeVYKdg6eN97anxB6UVrzjIZVJGTK-s6d2rGKqxmrGSc67somry8-SyP1ozgp6b1gw6Nw0gI7L1EQIUTzWuFarSwu3rtNGjwQSSloVm0wGTH3a/s1600/blood+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjIMIJ-6R7VpwAffnb2UqSQXPeVYKdg6eN97anxB6UVrzjIZVJGTK-s6d2rGKqxmrGSc67somry8-SyP1ozgp6b1gw6Nw0gI7L1EQIUTzWuFarSwu3rtNGjwQSSloVm0wGTH3a/s640/blood+2.jpg" height="482" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Of note is Phyllis Thaxter as the love-struck, lonely Carol Lufton, Amy’s sister, who is manipulated by Riling into a betrayal for what she believes is love – it’s a complex performance and not the usual role for her, like DeFore’s in <i>Ramrod</i>. </span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxPAMmzABJd-S-ctXnL2p8GnG5FrbwWnFBSng2jOti5Ri2DrrG7yhx9YI-ZrPyv5U5e5cGyc_4EBoWbOW8HQdGdwKUTqBs0FE5bPVE5zjNxIdr_5o6eOuGmeXCefLQsIJ0JE39/s1600/Bel+Geddes+and+Thaxter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUcnFJ4GpP3oPXs96VNYEp0zcM9h9nA8nYBiz6FAIFAHnVVRj45xA1ZgMSHEop8atXKt9UtDybPnNsV6oPpl4YroEsui_Tm_5Ao9Sj6kVzzYAK4CMTDhPG1jfhzj9KNlP7kYqC/s1600/Bel+Geddes+and+Thaxter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUcnFJ4GpP3oPXs96VNYEp0zcM9h9nA8nYBiz6FAIFAHnVVRj45xA1ZgMSHEop8atXKt9UtDybPnNsV6oPpl4YroEsui_Tm_5Ao9Sj6kVzzYAK4CMTDhPG1jfhzj9KNlP7kYqC/s640/Bel+Geddes+and+Thaxter.jpg" height="482" width="640" /></a></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> Barbara Bel Geddes as Amy and Phyllis Thaxter, a needy Carol.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Luke Short’s stories often had loyalties strained and broken by greed and lust, and plenty of gray areas in most everyone’s character, and the movie transferred those aspects well. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> </span><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1g3sWUIpoyr10VKPNYluxfIhT7V7LRzPCk_X32Bv6B0cbEc1OrRiUeLQYXliyz1kz7uTEqWoUNBAI99GE-2mHzB6kZZHwPLFBMooAb3m_imduQgAAtpJ5rvHuJwJ6EwzjCeCS/s1600/station+w+poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1g3sWUIpoyr10VKPNYluxfIhT7V7LRzPCk_X32Bv6B0cbEc1OrRiUeLQYXliyz1kz7uTEqWoUNBAI99GE-2mHzB6kZZHwPLFBMooAb3m_imduQgAAtpJ5rvHuJwJ6EwzjCeCS/s1600/station+w+poster.jpg" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> In an only slightly lesser vein is <i>Station West</i>, also from 1948, also from a Luke Short story, and directed by journeyman Sidney Lanfield who was later an episodic TV specialist, with DP Harry Wild, another <i>noir</i> stalwart. It's a nifty cabinet Western, with Dick Powell as Lt. John Haven of U.S. Army Military Intelligence, investigating murder and gold theft in a town practically owned by Jane Greer’s Charlie, an amoral singer. </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbfvm2pFpSTDi3iGzu_VqlLjCTb8I-OxlhQlXDbsVuUuDvLZ0m-MuAQjdMmLkWC__-56o9hch5rJsGcs5bntT7ETVglcurii-TgK6k9zfeGZxczJdRcsQWmHmM2nCwYWl1ZSTd/s1600/Station+West+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbfvm2pFpSTDi3iGzu_VqlLjCTb8I-OxlhQlXDbsVuUuDvLZ0m-MuAQjdMmLkWC__-56o9hch5rJsGcs5bntT7ETVglcurii-TgK6k9zfeGZxczJdRcsQWmHmM2nCwYWl1ZSTd/s640/Station+West+2.jpg" height="438" width="640" /></a></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"></span><span style="color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Jane Greer is once again, Jane Greer, which is a pretty good thing, even if they call her Charlie.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">She falls for Haven even while trying to stage an elaborate gold robbery with her gang, most everyone is shot or killed, and the plot is as twisted as anything this side of <i>The Big Sleep. </i>Greer is in her usual fine, manipulative form, and Powell is practically his previous iteration of Phillip Marlowe from <i>Murder, My Sweet</i>, on horseback.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> </span> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4jABHN8oJuFYMC6JjRQPkNB0XBnwAogB6jegJYTHlAuY_FbjxLcvxHtxnFYMbJtSHFIMJ7FQ64OPT6fTqRzMIUQy0URiccKEOJ0oP98l4X4ZZwMrPkb8H8_cndhfFDFqHUjFH/s1600/Station+West+%25281948%2529-02-g.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4jABHN8oJuFYMC6JjRQPkNB0XBnwAogB6jegJYTHlAuY_FbjxLcvxHtxnFYMbJtSHFIMJ7FQ64OPT6fTqRzMIUQy0URiccKEOJ0oP98l4X4ZZwMrPkb8H8_cndhfFDFqHUjFH/s640/Station+West+%25281948%2529-02-g.jpg" height="440" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Powell and Greer making nice. Powell was actually pretty good as a laconic horseman.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The fatalism is all Greer’s, and the ending is all too familiar for her character, even though I kinda wish it hadn’t been. The photography isn’t quite <i>noir</i>, but isn’t quite standard H’wood Western fare, either. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP_JCO_Gwj_Al2ZsqKtqcVFF1X7Dk6ShOVg-QGYKBYFCLYh5MP9CkftKFMyxDq_tjbwvEhYtjhc176OD23hi1tCLQj-UsbnWMnE0iktVs0thKU_a6fOFq7XLzp5spEV2O_NwgU/s1600/ct+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP_JCO_Gwj_Al2ZsqKtqcVFF1X7Dk6ShOVg-QGYKBYFCLYh5MP9CkftKFMyxDq_tjbwvEhYtjhc176OD23hi1tCLQj-UsbnWMnE0iktVs0thKU_a6fOFq7XLzp5spEV2O_NwgU/s1600/ct+2.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Once again, The Italians show their affinity for Western art: <i>Colorado Territory</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> <span style="color: black;"> I’ll ride into 1949 with a mention of <i>Colorado Territory</i></span><span style="color: black;"> – Raoul Walsh’s cowboy remake of his own <i>High Sierra</i>, with Joel McCrea as the somewhat noble outlaw, and Virginia Mayo as the girl who loves him. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4TPlezSRelU75DRVEGfZUUXGY42hLiswa-3BFEckL3w9HsG0VylLmOJZNKEcVdfQ2wQfg2LhSGpDfUozkk4TCAUxaxDNUIlUuWZSRRiXDk-P0EQ88bt6D392vvpZRMc-LZ5qm/s1600/mayo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4TPlezSRelU75DRVEGfZUUXGY42hLiswa-3BFEckL3w9HsG0VylLmOJZNKEcVdfQ2wQfg2LhSGpDfUozkk4TCAUxaxDNUIlUuWZSRRiXDk-P0EQ88bt6D392vvpZRMc-LZ5qm/s640/mayo.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> Mayo is quite the wild thing in this film, and was never lovelier.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">The W. R. Burnett</span> story transfers right into a set of spurs and six-guns, with Sidney Hickox, a versatile DP with huge <i>noir</i> and western credits doing the lensing, adding a harsh, stark look to the film, which enhances the performances; look for <i>noir</i> veteran Dorothy Malone as the girl McCrea’s Wes McQueen thinks he’s in love with. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">McCrea was excellent in an atypical bad-guy role, perhaps because of a bit of good in it, and the supporting cast was perfect. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuRp8gdCIxqSR4FTpzKgziAFDrZBoXNABuHiWY9q48-R-hkhBfYWsMd8-ZdQRNNJFwWWuG8F0tDasBhoeRVtV6r9g05dmNAVRp5GHSyj3MDnfc5zG0LByWaHzsGum8F9optE9c/s1600/ct3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuRp8gdCIxqSR4FTpzKgziAFDrZBoXNABuHiWY9q48-R-hkhBfYWsMd8-ZdQRNNJFwWWuG8F0tDasBhoeRVtV6r9g05dmNAVRp5GHSyj3MDnfc5zG0LByWaHzsGum8F9optE9c/s640/ct3.jpg" height="512" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwY7ROAZMHjCwaenH3w5OxQKEToVHqjotLfPvG2FakvLtnWFx80uZHCqWMZw8FKdSjw4c36f-74LcE' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">This is actually one of my favorite Walsh films, the trailer only hints at the visuals and the bleak outlook of it, it’s gritty and full of characters with questionable morals and skewed intentions, and it doesn’t take a back seat to <i>High Sierra</i> at all- it’s its own special film, and an excellent one.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFHemmdoz8RovMvjThSHFsaqtL3jedH-GfmEvn5Uy4bqThSwA8GMPFP20P6sZjs5XEUWG_idWxNapE7kaQ19HsnH1ilhIPV0Lh4-2DLteuxlsIJ4gzv52BdKqr3LlDyrRvwHmk/s1600/ColoradoTerritory+end.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFHemmdoz8RovMvjThSHFsaqtL3jedH-GfmEvn5Uy4bqThSwA8GMPFP20P6sZjs5XEUWG_idWxNapE7kaQ19HsnH1ilhIPV0Lh4-2DLteuxlsIJ4gzv52BdKqr3LlDyrRvwHmk/s400/ColoradoTerritory+end.jpg" height="260" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> Miss Mayo at the end. Where we are now for this entry, but more to come.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">It’s easy to see that some of the more interesting Westerns were rapidly evolving along <i>noir</i> lines, and not just because of the interchangeability of the actors, like the ubiquitous and excellent Steve Brodie, between Westerns and the gritty, dark films that flooded out of the studios after WWII. The Western genre was as primed for <i>noir</i> as any of the post-war detective and crime films, because it was being influenced by the pulps that had nurtured Haycox and Short as much as Chandler, Hammett and Woolrich. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Next entry has lots of cowboys with psychosis of various kinds, good ones and bad ones. And the darkness at high noon continues. Don't let any nightriders past the deadline, kid, ya hear?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">______________________________________________________________________ </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Vanwall's Western Noir musings are in support of <b>For the Love of Film (Noir), the Film Preservation Blogathon</b>, hosted by the lovely and talented movie mavens, Farran Smith Nehme, the <a href="http://selfstyledsiren.blogspot.com/">Self-Styled Siren</a> herself, and Marilyn Ferdinand, the schoolmarm of <a href="http://www.ferdyonfilms.com/">Ferdy on Films</a> - she'll learn ya, blogs that are both excellent reasons for a good read for all seasons. The Facebook page for the blogathon is raht cheer: <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/For-the-Love-of-Film-The-Film-Preservation-Blogathon/269318823764">For the Love of Film (noir)</a></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Also a shout out to my film pal and proofreader, Amanda Howard - thankee kindly, for the suggestions and commentary, and if anything is wrong, it's because I was too mule-headed to catch it, even if you prolly did tattoo it on my forehead with a blunt instrument.</span><br />
</span></div>
Vanwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14606489784189165989noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15728848.post-72440583897035349342010-10-28T20:43:00.000-07:002014-09-18T22:31:18.684-07:00<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Once more at the old movie front.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> I watched one of my favorites on TV recently, “I Know Where I’m Going!”, with lovely Wendy Hiller and the wonderful Roger Livesey, and I must say it never fails to cheer me up - it may be the perfect romance film, it’s like no other. My pal Mouse loved this film, too, and this was one of the few movies we saw together where she seemed to let down her guard, and actually gave me a big hug when we got outside the theater. Come to think of it, that may have been only the second hug I ever got out of that girl, but it was one to remember.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Long ago, towards the end of our long and quirky relationship, I saw her with one of her dates and when he glanced away, she gave his arm a squeeze while looking at me thru her ever-present sunglasses, shook her head “no” slightly, and stepped through the door of a restaurant and out of my sight. When I picked her up in my car a few days later for our weekly movie, she waved as she got in, and then we drove quietly for a block or so - the first thing out of her mouth wasn’t “Hey, there!”, or “How ya doin’?”, it was, </span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">“Do you remember when I hugged you after ‘I Know Where I’m Going!’?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">“Huh?” I feigned stupidity until she punched me in the arm, then I grinned and twitted her, “How could I forget? You must’ve thought I was lovable Roger Livesey!”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">“Hah! Don’t sell yourself short - someone thinks you are, I hope you know, altho it ain’t me, idiot boy.” She was talking about my future wife, with whom I’d just fallen in love, and she with me. Mouse was very perceptive and kept right on, “Don’t be in a hurry to sleep with her, ’cause even tho I think she’s prolly receptive to that - not every girl is as receptive as me.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Christ, she was always so direct! She was exaggerating some about herself, but of the two of us, the sexual revolution had a real self-starter in Mouse, and I never did catch up with her. She had become - if not quite beautiful - very elegant, and had a full love life by her freshman year in college, of course with no one I knew, she made sure of that - this was another compartment to her life she kept locked away with no keys lent out...but on occasion she would ask advice, as I would of her.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We parked and got out into the glaring sunlight and blast furnace heat of an Arizona summer. She didn’t talk again until we got inside the theater.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">“Anyway…I can’t seem to hold anybody quite that way…anymore. I like to think it was that movie, and the way the moonlight made me feel like I hadn’t left Scotland, and, yeah, maybe you being there had a little to do with it.” She blushed a little, and I think I did, too.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">“I’ve never felt just that way again…like that guy you saw me with at Macayo’s this week - it turned out he was just out with me for the sex, nothing else; is there something wrong with me?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> I shook my head no. As you can see, neither of us was shy talking about anything anymore.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">“I dumped that sonofabitch, just like the others. If they’re lucky, they get a squeeze on the arm when I see another friend walking past.” She grinned, and then got a strange expression on her little face, and she paled under her tan – it took me a second or so to recognize it: Fear, something Mouse rarely, if ever, displayed.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">“I’m always looking for something more with guys, but I never seem to find anything that makes me want to put my whole heart and soul into a kiss. We were lucky that night - you got all of me for a few seconds, and I gave all I could just then, too.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I knew what she meant - I can still feel the almost desperate power in that one short embrace, which made it so memorable.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I looked down at her for a few seconds - so small and vulnerable she seemed right then, I’ll never forget that look on her face, she just looked so lost. I felt she deserved somebody special more than anybody I knew; she had become something more than just a friend over the years, and would’ve resented any trite responses, so she knew I wouldn’t BS her no matter how stupid it sounded.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">“Well, we both know that I’m not the one for you …now or then.” I said, “Hell, I just found somebody myself, look how long that took. Somebody’s looking for someone like you too, I bet. You just gotta keep trying for someone special, you can’t stop - don’t make that one time the only time.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">She reached up and pulled my face down, and surprisingly, kissed me lightly on the cheek.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">“Stop it,” Mouse said quietly, “You’re such a funny guy, like there is somebody out there, for real.” She shook her head, smiling ruefully. “Thanks for the Gipper speech, anyway – sometimes, you almost say the right thing, you know.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I rubbed my cheek, “Sometimes, you almost make it worth trying.” I grinned.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">She smiled serenely. “Won’t happen again.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">“Ouch.” I whipped my head back like I’d been slapped. “Wouldn’t hurt my feelings if it did, tho.” We were both grinning, now.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I took her arm and we walked to our seats, me with Milk Duds and a big Coke, and Mouse with a huge tub of popcorn. I looked at her while she switched glasses – she had cut her hair to just off her bare shoulders, and her white peasant blouse and hoop earrings made her look like a gypsy waif. Stylishly, for sure, tho.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">She was totally transformed from the plain, small, almost androgynous girl from 5th grade, into a naturally attractive young woman, with unlimited prospects, IMNSHO; smart, funny and usually pretty damn sure of herself. I could see where a lot of guys would feel a little intimidated, and she wasn’t one to temper the shorn lamb – you got the full force of her personality, and she told me once that she figured a lot of guys tried to deflect that by trying to get her into bed. She went thru a lot of prospects, that’s for sure.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">“Okay, pollyanna-boy, I’m all better now.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">She crossed her tanned legs, and picked some spilt popcorn off her lap, then she took my Coke and had a long sip as the lights faded for the first retrospective. Yup, you guessed it, Wendy and Roger and all things Kiloran: Powell & Pressburger’s matchless B&W romance.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">“I’ll keep looking. Maybe I need to take ‘em to “I Know Where I’m Going!” - it did wonders for you for a minute or so, once.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Before I could say anything about possible hugs after it was over, she stuffed a handful of popcorn in my mouth to shut me up.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">“Watch the goddam movie.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Smartass. </span>Vanwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14606489784189165989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15728848.post-25183386011425173672010-10-28T20:11:00.000-07:002017-12-06T20:28:55.042-08:00<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Film and a Girl redux</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“I think my nipples are too big…they would make my breasts look larger if they were smaller – what do you think?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My only response was a completely caught off-guard, “Wha...Whaat?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Mouse was acting dead serious, and just kept on nonchalantly walking along.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“I mean, just, you know, the areola – my nipples themselves are really perfect, if I do say so, but my boobs look so small like they are now – wish I had some way to change my nipples.” She gave me a sly, side-long look, “A male perspective would be appreciated, ‘specially from one who’s seen both of ‘em.” She continued walking with her chin high, and suppressing a grin, I could tell.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I wasn’t much more coherent the second time around.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Uh…well….I….Mouse, that’s not fair!”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Although it really was a fair question – I doubted if anyone besides her doctor, her immediate family, maybe a few girls in her gym classes, and, oh yeah…me - albeit by fortunate accident a week previous - had seen her naked boobs since they became noticeable. She wasn’t letting up, though, and cupped her bra under her blouse with both hands and pushed up to show some skin. My face already felt hot, and I was almost beyond embarrassment by now, but dammit, I just had to watch that – I’m a man; I’m stupid, as Zorba once said.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Come on, Rob, look how hard I have to work just to get any cleavage! Honestly, I’m sixteen next week and I’m flat as a board. How will I live up to the American Dream with teeny tiny tits like these?” She gave me a pouty look that was fake as all hell, and then just cracked up, laughing so hard she had trouble telling me, “Oh God, Rob, the look on your face – I’ll never forget this! You’re sooooo red!”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She laughed for what seemed five minutes straight, and I had to admit, by the end I was grinning in resignation to my fate – I had seen her boobs and I had paid a little for the privilege. The fact that it was completely accidental made it somehow less sexy for both of us, but I will never forget that glimpse of what passed for pulchritude, and it passed pretty damn well, I’ve always thought.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It was the first time I saw a girl’s bare breasts in real life - the old adage that there were only boys in my family rang truer than ever - and lemme tell you, for most guys, and me in particular, nothing is the same after that. It’s not like I suddenly lusted after every female that walked by - hell, I was already discerning enough in that department, thank you – but the few movie images and the fold-outs and their tits from the skin mags suddenly took a back seat in my head to a pair of real, in-the-flesh, rosy-tipped breasts. This was gonna make the day’s movie viewing tough – I didn’t know about Mouse, but I was pretty distracted by now!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Here’s how it happened, one of the great moments in any boy’s life but vibrantly special for me:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Some background first - Mouse and I had been swapping books for some years, and they weren’t limited in content by any means, so we had already shared our thoughts on sex and such to a fair degree, at least what can be gleaned from that medium, and had been to enough films and seen some of the early attempts to bring a more adult perspective to the screen, so that we had a glimpse of what the actual mechanics might be, which were confirmed at least somewhat murkily by the Hygiene Classes and Health Books we were issued come high school, and me a little more so by “The Talk” with my Dad.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">One day a few months before the Great Breast Exposure Incident, the older brother of a friend decided to invite us young’uns into his sanctum sanctorum, which had been off-limits due to its prurient nature – he had stacks of Playboys and other adult mags laying around, a poster of a scantily clad starlet on the wall facing the foot of his bed, mysterious foil-wrapped little squares in an open drawer that turned out on closer examination to be Trojan condoms, and the real pièce de résistance: an eight-millimeter projector with more than a few of those, yes, grainy porno films! Needless to say, we soon found out just how bad a porno flick could be, at least visually, if not in execution as well.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Those old 8-mils, before Super 8 with sound, were crappy, frankly, and the sex was almost as mysterious as reading about it in a bad-girl paperback – just what was going on half the time was pretty murky, so you had to exercise imagination. My introduction to the worst aspects of any sort of sexual relationship was repellant and fascinating at the same time, as most of these were copies of copies of low-budget European or US stag films from the late ‘50s and early ‘60s, with plenty of vaguely plain women, with real breasts and often pubic hair, performing fellatio and receiving penetration in various orifices while looking as bored as the men performing with them. On occasion, the women would seem to be moaning in simulated pleasure, or maybe in pain – it was kinda hard to tell on a silent film, and even to my untrained eye, I knew what a hard-on was and many of these guys seemed pretty limp for any sort of sex to speak of, let alone banging three broads in a 5 minute short.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">There were only about ten reels in his collection, which included a couple of his experimental home made stop-motion efforts with their family dinner ware and cookery, so there were only a few really interesting moments out of all the chaff on the porno ones. Nowadays, seems like every hetero porno aimed at horny guys has to have mandatory girl-on-girl action, but there was only one very short lesbian bit on the tail end of one reel, and although that actually was the best filmed sequence of any of them, the women both seemed to have minor physical flaws that kept them from being even semi-pretty. I’ve noticed this carries over into the present day – really pretty women generally have already gone on to something more than X-rated films, and even the online porno I’ve occasionally run across is filled with damaged goods or plain girls with a fetish aspect – huge tits, puffy nipples, baby-doll chests, easily violated asses, whatever. I won’t go into the few plusses or mostly minuses about all this, but the whole pre-video underground aspect of the late ‘60s 8MM world is almost unknown and unremembered today.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">After a while, it wasn’t interesting enough to go to all the trouble of setting up the projector, and it was a lot easier to look at the latest fold-outs, anyway. Mouse meanwhile, was having to make do with the rare glimpse of a Playboy or some other “men’s” mag if she wanted a so-called man’s-eye view of the feminine ideal, and gossip among her few gal-pals for any other feminine input. One of the few things she’d let on about her family was its utter lack of communication to and from their only daughter, and their adoration of her older brother – this would come back to haunt them in a few years, but that’s for a later entry – so her Mom was no help at all to poor Mouse when the birds and bees subjects started to be more important than playing with dolls or reading Nancy Drew. Like that would’ve been Mouse’s interests, anyway.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She was a voracious reader, and had no illusions about the physical end of things from start to finish – her period had started two years before and she had plenty to say on that subject, believe me, but when I eventually told her about the 8MM films, she was speechless for a moment, then quite voluble about the unfairness of it all – why was she shut out of this kind of opportunity to see sex in action?!? I imagine in today’s world, she’d’ve had ample chances to watch or even experience pretty much any of this by her sixteenth birthday, altho I doubt she’d be giving head to some shithead in middle school, or stroking some other girl’s mons – she had way too many partitions in her life for casual sex to intrude at that point.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Anyway, I told her it was really crappy and hardly qualified as a film, and after a semi-detailed rundown of one of the milder 8MMs, she was mollified, but only because she declared she was waiting for a real, honest-to-god porn film adventure with me - something that wouldn’t happen for couple of years - but at any rate films in general were beginning to break the taboo lines, and we started to see partial nudity on a regular basis pretty soon, if not the outright sex that would be a little tough to see even today in a mainstream film.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This wasn’t to Mouse’s complete advantage, tho, as even using her intellect as a measuring stick, she was still comparing her maturing body, unconsciously maybe, to the American ideal of big tits and skinny bods. She told me later that she took the view that her body was a possible weapon in a sexual manner, so just in case, she planned on fine-tuning that aspect as soon as she could. Now back then, body modification was limited mostly to rhinoplasty and other relatively minor things, and the silicone breast augmentation shitstorm was in the near future, so most racks you saw back then were natural, and therefore more intimidating if you were comparing.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I don’t care how conscious you are of how invidious the pressure to excel is in even the mundane areas of looks or beauty, but at a gut level Mouse was under a certain amount of peer and, yes, personal pressure to look sexy, mostly because, frankly, she was feeling those hormonal changes just as much as I was. I could tell when she was frustrated with how she appeared, and I wasn’t really surprised when in the summer of ’70, she began to dress in a more controlling manner – using as much allure as she had to keep a guy off balance so she could level the field a little. I figured it wasn’t meant for me, or maybe a little tangentially, so I often wondered if it was specifically aimed at someone, but not if at all, because she always had some plan in that head of hers.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She still wasn’t exactly a beauty queen, but she was careful to make the most of her looks in what she wore, which eventually became somewhat scandalous on one glorious occasion in school, where we still had a stiff dress code, and it was zealously enforced. She was thrilled that she was actually sent home to change into something more appropriate, but was disappointed that the only people who noticed were the few of us who knew her at all. We were in a big high school in a desert city, and about a dozen girls were sent home that late spring day towards the end of school because of inappropriate clothing, including some fairly BGOCs, so Mouse wasn’t even on the radar, poor thing.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Soon after that day, we were eating at Mag’s Ham Bun, a long-since defunct restaurant where the thin-sliced ham on a bun with mustard was unrivaled – even to this day, IMNSHO – and it was a fave of both of ours. We’d grab our food and eat at some old cast-iron tables down the sidewalk around the corner, kind of out of sight, where we’d swap books, talk about the ones we’d read, see what was on the bill at the movies we were going to see, and shoot the shit about anything that was interesting. I wasn’t a clotheshorse ever, so I was dressed in my usual formal summer wear for movies – jeans, a loose shirt with rolled-up sleeves, well-worn leather sandals with old tire treads on the bottom, and B & L pilot sunglasses. I had just started wearing hats with large brims, not quite panamas, ‘cause I despised most cowboy hats, and I’d given up on ball-caps – they just didn’t cut down on the sun enough, the ever present heat being the eventual reason I moved from Arizona.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Mouse had decided on a new, yellow cotton sundress with a hemline that fell just past her knees that day, and it had a bit of a Regency look to it, I think because it emphasized her boobs a little more than the usual sundresses she wore, which were cut for cleavage, something she hadn’t developed much of quite yet. It had thin straps she pulled down off her shoulders as we ate, that showed off a nice tan she was developing, and while we were talking they slipped down even more, so she kept pulling them up a little. As usual, she had some big, quirky old-lady sunglasses on, with rhinestones and a beaded keeper so she could dangle them off her finger while talking. She had taken this up recently to cut down on her habit of twirling her hair, something that she had been trying to stop since I’d known her.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">One thing you could depend on in Scottsdale back then and probably now, was the never-ending parade of small critters that were looking for shady spots away from the desert sun, so it wasn’t unusual to have lizards skittering, snakes slithering, and most of all, little ground squirrels mooching near the buildings in the old section of town. We had a couple of tiny squirrels that came over every time we were there, and Mouse named them Floppsy and Moppsy, ‘cause tho they weren’t bunnies, she claimed like all good American girls, they aspired to be.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Now, Mouse’s dress had a bow in the back that kept it tight, but it was kinda low in the back, and she must’ve felt it loosening, so she reached back behind with both hands to pull it tight, turned slightly, and knocked her leftover sandwich bits onto the ground under her legs - right then things happened too fast to understand. Suddenly Mouse started making little mewling noises, and started to stand up, then sat down, then stood up real quick, and that’s when it happened.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Her dress caught on something on the edge of the table and as she stood up all the way, it was pulled right off her chest, revealing a pair of firm round breasts in all their glory. I’d seen she wasn’t wearing a bra, and maybe that wasn’t the best idea in hindsight, as I got an eye-popping view. I’ve seen plenty of breasts since then, some of ‘em damn good looking – some firm, some beautifully shaped, some fit the requirements for ‘pert’ perfectly, with all kinds and sizes of nipples and colorations, but Mouse’s stand out - for a pair on my first view, I can honestly say they were very, very pretty.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Her skin was almost white where her bathing suit must have covered her breasts, and the pale, light-blue veins just under her skin there followed the gentle curves of each breast, with a few freckles here and there, and with a tiny mole just under her right arm next to that breast as accents, but topping each breast off were her exquisite nipples – ah, what can I say about them that would convey the rosy pointed lusciousness of those nipples. They seemed slightly erect, but on reflection, it may have been just the natural shape – they were medium-sized, and somewhat conical, two red exclamation points on Mouse’s small, firm pair. In short, she made up in quality what she lacked in quantity.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Meanwhile her arms were constrained a little by the straps, and somehow she just froze up for a second, and she looked right at me, her face at first pale, then flushed. “Well, shit!” she calmly remarked, and the flush spread over her shoulders and her chest while she whipped the straps back up and pulled up the sundress to cover her breasts. She didn’t say anything else until she was finished tying the bow and straightening her dress. She bent down and picked up the sandwich bits and tossed them over a few yards on the grass, and Floppsy and Moppsy were right on ‘em, along with a few sparrows.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Well. That was exciting.” She sat down, still blushing, and took a long drink of her soda; I think to give her time to compose herself a little more.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Holy crap! I’ll say! What the hell happened?” I forgot completely how awful that must’ve been for her, and I was still a little dazzled by the experience - I had an instant hard-on, too, and I hoped she didn’t notice!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Floppsy, or maybe Moppsy, ran up my leg when I shifted my foot to get some ham off of it,” then in a rush of words, “and I don’t know, somehow my dress…um…and...and all of a sudden, my boobs fell out, in case you didn’t notice. If you missed that part - which I doubt - well tough shit…I’m sorry, but I don’t care to repeat it.” She smoothed down her lap and rolled her eyes, “I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.” She was still blushing and the yellow dress made it stand out even more. She put on her sunglasses, and gave me a prim smile, “Hope it was worth it.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I finally let loose with a grin I had been suppressing – I didn’t want to laugh and make things worse. “I admit, I got a pretty good look, so yeah, I guess so. I don’t mind telling you...”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She interrupted me, “Telling me what? What? Shouldn’t we be heading to the theater by now?” She shouldered her purse, stood up very carefully, and that was that. At least until the next Saturday.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">After a pair of Euro romances that had some discreet tit shots, we were walking home and she sprang her initial prank about nipples, then after calming down, she asked with a sly look, “Seen any others before mine? It’s a first for me, so honestly, what’d you think of my boobs?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Are you serious? What would I know?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Come on, you’ve seen Playboys, your friend’s smutty little home movies, and who knows what else, and so have I a few times, to say nothing of the movies lately…give me your honest opinion – I can take it, believe me.” She seemed to be almost asking for a disappointment, I thought.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I was still a little embarrassed, so it was somewhat painful to admit, “Yes. It was my first real look at any girl’s boobs, and yes, they were…are pretty nice.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Thank you very much. I was kidding about my nipples, but I bet they beat your friend’s 8MM boobs, if not Miss July’s.” She said it in a light tone, and maybe she meant it that way, but it kinda pissed me off – I didn’t like the way she was using worst-case comparisons.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I was a little protective of her, whether she needed it or not. “Cut it out! If you’re trying to turn me on, that’s the last thing to say. I like you too much to start fantasizing about your boobs for no reason, and you shouldn’t be using me that way yourself. What kind of friend would I be if I started agreeing with you compared to centerfolds and porn films? Do you really want that?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She gave me neutral look, “No. I suppose I don’t, not really. I’m so screwed up about sex and looks and everything lately, Rob – guess I don’t know what I really want.” But I could tell she did know, and dammit, I hadn’t meant to be so harsh. I should’ve known fishing for compliments wasn’t her usual MO, and I’d have to work a little to fix this. I hope I hadn’t hurt her too much.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Sorry if it came out too harsh, but tit size isn’t why you’re a friend. Movie bimbos don’t count as yardsticks, either, but just so you know, I like you as you are – don’t worry about your boobs so much.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She was fairly quiet on the rest of the trip home, talking exclusively about the movies we’d seen until we were at the intersection where we usually split up, and she looked back at me and asked,</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Who am I fooling? Am I attractive at all? Or am I just The Skinny Little Rat, like some of the bitches at school call me?” She looked a little forlorn.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Screw those girls. You look pretty damned good to me.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“That’s just because you’re my friend, and anyway, I think you’re just being nice. That’s one of your faults, you know, you’re just too goddam nice.” She smiled a little, “I know looks aren’t everything, but I still somehow feel…inadequate.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“For a girl who’s smart, maybe even brilliant, that was a dumb thing to say!” I grinned, “Shit, that wasn’t so nice, was it? I guess I can’t say I’m nice all the time – I owe you an apology for not looking away when your dress slipped and your boobs showed, but I won’t apologize for telling you right here and now, that they were well worth looking at – hell, they were beautiful. That’s no shit, either.“</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Mouse laughed, “Gee, thanks, mister! That’s a little accident that’ll never happen again, believe me! And trying to make me feel good by praising my titties after that lecture? Who’s dumb now?” She laughed again, “OK, I must say, that it does seem to work…a little.” She looked at me ruefully, “Sounds like both of us are grasping at straws.” Then she looked thoughtful, “You really do care a lot about my feelings, don’t you? Thanks for that much, at least, Rob.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I squinted a little up at the sunlight fading behind her. “I used to think it was just your smarts that I liked, but lately, I wonder if there’s more to it than that – I’ve found you’re pretty nice to look at as well, regardless of what you think. Sometimes I think maybe there’s bigger things in store – except, I know you well enough by now, that you’ll only let it be something little…won’t you?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The shadows made her expression indistinct. She studied me for a few seconds with her head cocked a little to one side. “Sometimes I think you’re a little in love with me, and sometimes, I think maybe I’m a little in love with you, too, but we both know that’s different than real love – and that’s not something I can give, at least right now.” She looked away, “You’re right - you know me well enough by now, so you know that I can’t change, and I can’t just be in love - it’ll have to be more - much, much more. As for...sex...well, just sleeping with each other isn’t enough make things work, although I guess you can fake it - just look at my parents.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She walked back to me and looked up at my face. “I’m not ready for anything big yet, but I’m workin’ on it. You’ve noticed, I can tell - I saw that boner last week.” Now I was blushing. “Thanks for the extra looks at my dubious charms - even if I have to accidentally serve ‘em up on a platter.” She flashed a quick grin. “Maybe someday I’ll love somebody all the way, but it’ll have to be my way, I can’t help that – whatever it turns out to be.” She straitened my collar in a sisterly fashion, “I’m gonna try a new tack every so often just to see if it works, so be prepared to be shocked. Wait’ll you see my new dress next week!” I could see her smile and I grinned back. She turned and started walking toward her neighborhood, and spoke over her shoulder, “Wish me luck.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I watched her walking away for a few seconds, wondering how hard she was going to make her own life from that moment on.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I said quietly, “Luck.” </span>Vanwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14606489784189165989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15728848.post-8404070645105289142010-10-28T19:59:00.000-07:002017-12-06T20:29:13.505-08:00<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
Poor Stan Carlisle</div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
“Nightmare Alley” was Tyrone Power’s greatest performance, and he made an indelible impression as that doomed carny. Now that it’s available on DVD, I can re-live one of my more interesting experiences in watching film – it brings its own special frisson with every viewing. I saw “Nightmare Alley” at an unfortunately impressionable age, and I was ever after fascinated by the carny life that it delineated, having read the book almost immediately after seeing Power's awesome portrayal of Stanton Carlisle's descent into Hades. In the deep dark recesses of my young mind, I feared the path to true Geekdom that awaited any slip or mis-step I might make in the uncertain future, so much so I would have a recurring dream about it every so often.<br />
<br />
<br />
After the first time, I soon confided this to only one person, my film-pal girl, Mouse - she told me I worried too much, and if I ever seemed like I was descending down the Carlisle Road, she would tie me to a chair and beat me senseless. She opined this wouldn’t necessarily save me, but while I was unconscious, she would steal all my film and sci-fi books so they wouldn’t end up in a pawnshop, hocked to pay for my liquor and opium habits. Then she asked to borrow my library copy of “Nightmare Alley”, because her card wasn’t renewed – practical girl. Her take on the movie wasn’t as vivid as mine, I’m glad to say, and she seemed more fascinated with Helen Walker’s work as Lilith Ritter, which she always maintained was one of the great villains of the screen, especially because women on screen weren’t usually that coldly intelligent.<br />
<br />
<br />
Anyway, I never went to another fair or carnival without that dream/nightmare in the back of my mind, and every circus visit from that moment on had a hidden side I always looked for, really hoping not to find. The traveling carnivals had their own kind of fascination, however, filled with a sort of grim laughter and forced fun. Watching the people was more fun than the actual experience, and many of the carnies seemed to be headed down poor Stan's road, or had been down there and were limping back. The collapsible rides were trucked in and set-up over the course of a few days, and the almost furtive appearances of the crews at nearby businesses were part of local lore. Just mentioning the word carny brought on stories of Gypsies, Travelers, and how you had to watch yourself and your possibles when the carnival was in town. It didn't help that many of the denizens of the midways and sideshows seemed like escapees from the Trailer Park From Hell or a Bosch painting, and talked a brand of the King’s English that was only a little intelligible. <br />
<br />
<br />
One ride in particular that was run by a heavily keloid-scarred carny who seemed to have stood too close to another kind of Lilith himself, was a test of my will to cease gawking. He had a sibilant whisper of a voice, and the fire which had marked him as a halfway-to-hell survivor had also lamed him cruelly - children glanced furtively at him as they passed by on the bumper cars, and it was some kind of right-of-passage for children of a certain age just to get on that ride. I was a bit too young to catch any real carnival kiss-offs, but the freak shows I saw had nothing on the casual horror implied by the carny with one good arm. For a while, he was part of my recurring dream, a bystander watching me walking to an Elmer Gantry-style Main Tent. Never did make it to the tent in the dream, maybe it was like one of those falling nightmares, where you don't really want to find out what's at the end of the drop. I must have exorcised that particular demon, tho, and haven’t had that dream for many years. I still have a fascination with carnivals, but that fear of the geek was very real for me – even today I have that “There but for the grace of God go I” feeling when pass by a carnival, and since my film girl isn’t there to tie me to a chair, I’ll have to continue the hostage to fortune bit for a while longer.</div>
Vanwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14606489784189165989noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15728848.post-11966412856313419432010-10-28T19:31:00.000-07:002017-12-06T20:13:07.176-08:00<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Never in the history of mankind, via the Internet, has there been more access to words and more words, pictures and more pictures, people and more people, than at this moment - it's a bit overwhelming, but not quite all-seeing and all-knowing. Case in point:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Many, many years ago, after a grindhouse movie, my long lost film-girl and I were doing a bit of impromptu autocrossing in my old Mini thru a local suburb while trying to find a particular Mexican restaurant - I was young and foolish, and she was young and funny, egging me on, giving me wrong directions - when we went 'round a corner and almost ran over a little girl standing on... the sidewalk. I was going way too fast and loose, and the curbs were rounded rather than edged. I said "Shit!", and did the most stupid thing you could do - I stepped on the brake, and went into an almost fatal trailing-throttle oversteer. I spun twice, and somehow avoided a parked pick-up truck, ending up half on a lawn. I reversed, and cranked her around, left quickly and more than a little embarrassed. This episode was the primary reason I changed my driving habits around town, and I still remember the look on that little girl's face. Chills me even now.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The entire time we were spinning, my "navigator" was laughing so hard she couldn't speak - I got a little pissed off, and yelled at her. I was shaking, and after I was well clear of the place I had to stop and calm down. This was one of the scariest moments of my life, and all she could do was laugh, so I told her what had made me spin, and suddenly she sobered up - she hadn't seen the little girl, and thought I'd just lost it. She didn't talk to me while I got back on the road, lost ourselves once or twice more, found the goddam Mexican place, watched me eat, left, and were half-way to her drop-off point in a mall. We were going thru another suburban hell, and she was looking straight ahead, with these funky old-lady sunglasses from somewheres, lit a cigarette, and took a long drag. I looked at her quick, and she didn't even turn her head, she just flicked the cig out the window - she knew the rule - no smoking in the Mini. I slowed down 'til we were just idling along.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">"You shouldn't have told me," she said so quietly, "I almost killed somebody, Rob."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She was rarely this serious.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">"Shit, I almost killed her, you were just along for the ride," I said.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I was a little scared for her - she was really serious.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">"No, we were both fucking around," she said, "and if you'd hit her... I couldn't have lived with myself. I've never felt so responsible in my whole fucking life. Dammit, I hate growing up that fast. Stop the car."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">"You're not getting out, are you?" I pulled over quick beside a Circle-K parking lot.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She opened the door and retched on the sidewalk - I realized that was why she didn't eat. I'm so effing perceptive, huh? I always scarf napkins from eateries, and she took one of the Mexican ones and wiped her mouth carefully. I started down the road again.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">"Thanks." She looked out the window for a while. "When are gonna we get freeways in this fucking town? I hate having to go through all these neighborhoods just to get anywhere."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She hadn't smiled or laughed for more than an hour, which really started to make me nervous.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">"When I was little, I loved riding thru these places - I used to wish I had a million lives," she said, "so I could live everybody's life, just to experience 'em all. We'd be driving through someplace like this, and I'd wonder what life was like inside each house, if there were other little girls, living other little lives, without sisters, or brothers, and with different dolls, and books, and maybe even a pony. I wanted a pony soooo bad. I can't say I've ever ridden a horse to this day. I was pretty hopeful, back then. I didn't know how bad things could be. Then I grew up a little, and everything got more and more difficult to handle. That's when I started making everything a joke."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We pulled into the Christown parking lot, where she planned to meet her parents for a ride, and I shut the motor off. We got out, she lit another cig, and leaned against the Mini's white roof.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She looked at me now, "Remember when we met in fifth grade? I was new there that year, and you were, too, right?"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I just nodded.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> "I was pretty annoying, everybody told me so. I must've been overcompensating something fierce. The school I used to be at was smaller, and I was, like, one of the cool people - twist parties, sleep-overs, I was a class officer. Now I was nothing.” She grimaced, “Girls can be so vicious, and I didn't know anyone. Did you get that feeling?"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">"Yeah, some. I got lucky - Scouts and Little League kinda team you up, but even then I've always felt a little left out, too. You weren't in the Girl Scouts or anything, I seem to remember.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">"Hmmph. I guess I'm too weird for that stuff. Somehow I can't imagine you in a baseball cap." - I was a long-haired outsider-type by that time. She cracked a grin at that, and I relaxed a whole lot right then. "When did you turn into a weirdo - was it after hanging around with me?" She actually laughed again. All to the good.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">"I always read too many books," I told her, "and I learned too much. Blame the libraries - you know the high-school didn't have 'Catcher in the Rye', but they had 'Mr. Roberts' - that's where I learned what "shacking up" was!"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">"Don't get any ideas, or I'll tell your girlfriend." She looked at her watch, "Well-p, the wonderful mother and father are probably inside the mall looking at clothes rather than looking for me. I guess they're lucky I wasn't wiped off a sidewalk, do ya think?" She went serious on me then, "If you ever want to shut me up, just mention that little girl, and I'm liable to start crying. I'm so thankful we didn't kill her today." She really was shook. "Thanks for the movies, Rob, I'll see you next time."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She walked into the mall without looking back.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Needless to say, I never mentioned that episode to her again. I liked her way too much to ever do that. Driving with her to the movies was a tad more sedate after that, and soon after she moved away, with no warning. A complete break, as was her want. I never quite got over that part. We were close friends with an interest in film and edgy things, and as I’ve posted before, she memorized many lines from bad movies and would shout them out during the "boring parts" of foreign and 'B' movies at the grindhouses. The word "eccentric" was invented for her clothes, as in borderline sex-worker one day, and earth-mother the next. She never drank alcohol that I was aware of, but lived on cigs, iced tea, and hot coffee with me around. Small and quietly sardonic, her nickname "Mouse" among her few girlfriends was possibly due to her mouse-brown hair, which she wore in a kinda parted Bettie Page cut, the first and only girl I remember seeing do that for years. She was way more cutting edge than me, I guess.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We never hit on each other - she knew my heart was meant for another, and I never could penetrate her other persona. She completely split her life into compartments, and I never met her family, even though I knew her for years. She smoked only when out with me, which she knew I disapproved, but her parents prolly woulda punished her hard if they knew, and she was nicely careful not to in my car - usually. She always smelled like rose water, which she believed disguised the smoke smell from her Mom, I guess. Although not quite plain, or quite pretty, she looked good in a sundress on an Arizona spring day, and her bangs danced on her forehead in the wind when we did the twisties. Every so often I Google her name or image, but even with the explosion of info, no hits. She has vanished utterly, but I'll remember her wish as a little girl - a million lives to live. And maybe a pony, too.</span><br />
<br style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;" />Vanwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14606489784189165989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15728848.post-83238470441190945992010-10-28T19:08:00.000-07:002017-12-06T20:11:33.418-08:00<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Someone asked me not too long ago, what do I remember from the ‘60s?</span><br />
<br style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;" />
<br style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;" />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> I remember a girl, 'a pearl of girl', with a funny laugh, a killer smile, and funky sunglasses she wore as much as possible. I remember walking for miles before I had a car, while the girl and I never stopped talking about books and movies, with lots of giggling. I remember sitting in a dingy theater, almost a grindhouse, with the girl shouting out scandalous lines from other movies rather than listen to the dialog, and then scrunching down next to me so the few others there might mistake me for the heckler. I remember the way she looked in a sundress on a bright spring day, as she smiled up at me and went rolling down the long, grassy hill, laughing and whooping all the way to the bottom. I remember pulling grass out of her long, dark hair for half an hour after I got to the bottom myself. I remember her weeping as she told me about her brother after he returned from 'Nam, how she was shut out from grief by her stoically uncaring family, and how she had to tell someone, so she chose me. I remember the front of my shirt was damp with her tears that day, but I had broad shoulders so I could take it, until she stopped crying and just trembled, and I remember how useless I felt. I remember I hugged her once or twice in the whole time I knew her, and I remember she kissed my cheek once or twice, and that's all the physical affection twixt us I remember. Mostly, tho, I remember when no matter how low I felt, with only a few words, that girl had a knack for making me feel like a million bucks - that girl was one of the most true friends I ever had. That's what I remember most from the '60s – I remember a girl.</span>Vanwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14606489784189165989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15728848.post-64916314923312787362010-10-28T18:56:00.000-07:002017-12-06T20:41:18.843-08:00<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Girl and a movie</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Films have always been one way I’ve measured life’s progress, or lack of it, and there have been some very memorable occasions where the dissonance between the two has slapped me upside the head and changed my perception of how well my life was proceeding. This has been the hallmark of my journey with celluloid, I’m sad to say, but I’ve survived somehow with only a few scars. The long road is better when you’re not alone, of course, and for an important part of it I had a Significant Companion who added immeasurably to the enjoyment, with an impish wit and dead-on criticism. I was very much influenced by her, and it continues to this day – I can’t watch a movie without hearing her voice in my ear, smart-alecky thing that she was.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">There was a time in the late ‘60s-early ‘70s when I began making a concerted effort to see as many non-Hollywood films as possible, and the going was tough. There were few outlets for unconventional movies where I lived, and it was feast or famine most of the time, so quick feet and a willingness to sacrifice some of my everyday time soon became more of a regular thing than had I ever intended. It was quite exciting, really, as I discovered the way film was meant to be used, outside the usual fare offered up as quality product at my local theaters; and I do mean product, that’s all they seem to me now.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It could be a little confusing – I would now see Japanese, or French, or even a US indie flick almost around the corner, and experience culture shock in my own back yard. Not that I wasn’t enjoying it, but right away I found I needed someone to bounce the experiences off of – someone my own age who shared an interest in the outré and different. The first person who came to mind wasn’t anyone on any of my other friends’ radar – she was even more of an outsider than me, but one of the few people my age whom I knew as somewhat of a kindred spirit – my little pal Mouse.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She was already a counter-cultural co-conspirator of sorts – for years we swapped the usual books that were frowned on as prurient or inflammatory, and as we labored up 6th thru 8th grade and then through high-school, our lending library would eventually include Wolfe, O’Connor, Brautigan, Chopin, Kerouac, Ginsberg, Colette, even Zap Comix - you know, just the kind of thing a good English or Art teacher would let slide with a wink when they caught you reading ‘em on a boring day. We had our own little discussion circle of two, and it was by mutual agreement – we wanted something special and private, and somehow it just happened.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We were pretty well-read by the time we got to high-school, and almost none of it thru regular channels. Our tastes weren’t totally alike, which was good – she had a weakness for well-written historical romances, and I was developing my early interest in pulp detective stories and the fantastic, so we were able to make fun of each other in a pinch. We were both hard-bitten sc-fi lovers, tho, and the explosion of new work at that time was like manna from heaven, even if this wasn’t something that we consciously considered outside the mainstream.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">At first I only hooked up with her at school, but after a while we had a routine of meeting at local shopping centers or libraries as well. This was her solution to avoiding contact outside her quirky little guidelines. She held everything at arm’s length from each other, going so far as never letting me phone her at home, never eating lunch with me at school, and God forbid, never, ever letting me meet her family. All this came about in little increments, so by the time I realized it and thought about it carefully, I knew it was too late to change anything without upsetting her. She was fragile in her own way, and somehow I recognized the signals – don’t fuck with a good thing. This may have been the high point of perception in my life – I’m usually missing those kinds of obvious signs, to my great regret.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Although we already had this history of semi-clandestine meetings, don’t think it lead anywhere serious; I kind of regretted that later - hell, even now. She was more like a sister than a friend, and in a way we were somewhat simpatico – our thoughts on books and films were often more alike than not. Even so, I never had more than the part of her heart she allowed me, and that was on a brotherly level at best, I got the feeling. I wasn’t anything to write home about back when we first met – a sort of skinny, proto-geekish nerd, with the obligatory black-rimmed glasses and awkward social graces that came from long hours reading, delving into military history, and assembling elaborately painted plastic scale kits. Or maybe it was just the model glue.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Mouse helped me out of that societal hole I’d dug, although it took a while for us to become friends. At first I wasn’t even aware of her particularly, just as one of the new girls who transferred into 5th grade at the same time as I had. The first time I noticed her, in 6th grade orientation class, she was a deceptively ordinary-looking girl who was small, thin, and mouse-haired; ‘specially when her mother was on an “imaginative” bob kick - she had a coupla years of short, ratty, hairstyles that never quite framed her face enough to make her look pretty. I hardly spoke to her for the first semester, and I still haven’t figured why she started yakkin’ away at me one day out of the blue after the Holiday break. Maybe it was my obsessive drawing habit, my way of taking notes – she noticed early on my notebooks and handouts were filled with sketches and scribbles, and damned if hers weren’t well decorated too; maybe she noticed we both spent free time in the library or the Art Room; or maybe I looked as lonely as I felt and she saw a kindred soul.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She had already developed a reputation as kind of a pain in the butt, but in a harmless, know-it-all fashion. Often the choice for answers in class, teachers didn’t even need her to raise her hand, and this wasn’t a plus with most of the self-important girls who were the arbiters of feminine cool in our day. In addition, she made absolutely no attempt to fit in, and most of the girls at school treated her with indifference, sadly, which was probably worse than being actively disliked. I was also one of the answer men at school, but not in the front ranks – in my grade school, most of the BMOC and BGOC were also fairly good students. This was pretty much turned upside down in high-school where I fell into a new class of fringe, but Mouse never did fit in anywhere, which I believe was her intent all along. At this point in life, the summer after 8th grade and before high school started, I’d gotten much taller and filled out a mite, but I, too, was still on the outside of the usual cliques. Being on the outside socially was a stronger bond for us than perhaps even a brother and sister might share.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Mouse had matured a little by now as well, her hair was worn long and straight, with bangs parted on one side, and I felt it enhanced her looks which were now more than ordinary, but only just so. Her smile could make all the difference, though – possibly one of the ten great smiles of all time, it was truly her best feature, even if she was chary bestowing it. I found myself looking at her twice sometimes – she was filling out in the right places, and she had always dressed distinctively well, which helped make the most of small changes. I didn’t know it at the time, but in PE at school, Mouse was a damn good runner, and her moneyed parents had her in a private swim club after school, so she was probably more fit than most of the girls I knew. I wasn’t ashamed of being seen with her, that’s for sure, as I had an exaggerated appreciation of her all the way around, but the main result of her maturing was a vague unease it inspired in me.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I didn’t consciously have any romantic feelings for her, and I was attracted to her on more than one level, I know now – but back then I thought I was uneasy because someone else might become more interesting to share books with her than yours truly. Like most of us, I was real good at worrying about myself. Looking back, I realize the elemental attraction of sex was just rearing its head about then, and I missed the signals for a while.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Turned out I never had to find out my true depth of feelings for her – she’d keep up our routine for the next few years, regardless of events outside our relationship – romantic entanglements with others notwithstanding - but always on her own platonic terms. At this particular point, all I cared about was, no matter how shallow and lame I might view myself, Mouse was there for me, listening, and, more important, she talked to me without holding back, trusting me. I took it as some sort of validation on her part - I might really be worth a damn to somebody. We shared more than books after a while – confidences and gossip, ideas and longings; questions and answers we felt we couldn’t ask our other friends were hashed out between the two of us. Broaching the idea of watching foreign movies in strange theaters came without a thought of rejection.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We were walking through one of the air-conditioned malls on a hot midsummer day, heading towards a bookstore, (what else?) and I pointed out a flyer for a matinee showing at a small local theater of “Somewhere in the Night”, a movie I had never heard of before, (but now one of my faves), something called a “film noir” which was a recent discovery for me, and asked her if she felt like seeing it with me that weekend.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She walked for a few more steps before answering.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Are you asking me out on a date?” She looked at me side-long.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I couldn’t quite say that, although I should’ve. The element of romance had never entered my mind. What an obtuse fucker.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“I thought it might be interesting. I’ve been going to movies lately that are different. They’re sometimes foreign, sometimes American, and they’re really cool. I don’t know anyone I can talk to about ‘em, except you. But I really want you to see them with me, if you can.” Yeah, it sounded lame then, too.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She stopped walking.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Are you asking me out on a date?” She gave me a strange look, “If you’re asking me out on a date, you can’t pick me up at my house, you know, that just wouldn’t work. Are you really asking me out on a date? ‘Cause I can’t go on dates, my parents already told me I’m too young. You’re too young to drive, how are you getting around? How were you gonna pick me up anyway? How…” At this point I held up my hand.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Stop, stop, OK? I’m sorry I brought it up.” I really wanted to see the movie with her, though, but I wasn’t saying it right.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“It’s not about just the movie, damn it. I really thought you’d go for it. I mean, not just this time – I want to start a regular movie thing, like with the books. You know me – we’ve talked enough about movies we like, and I know you like old movies and foreign films on TV. I…I wouldn’t ask anybody else.” I refrained from mentioning that I’d be lucky to get any girl to say yes back then, anyway. I took a long breath to steady my voice. “I really, really want you to go to the movies with me. Like a date, OK?” I gave her the sad puppy look.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“That won’t work on me, you know that.” She sat down on a bench, crossed her legs, and looked at me until I got a little nervous. “You know, ‘like a date’ isn’t actually a date,” Mouse said flatly, “So which is it? Date or not?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I was boxed in, and I knew it. But I wasn’t going to lie to her, she was too good at reading me. I sat down and didn’t say anything until I’d thought it all the way through. That didn’t help either. Right then it ran through my mind - Why can’t life be like the movies?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Crap.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Well, that’s real comforting! First time somebody asks me for a date, and it’s crap? Thanks a lot.” She un-crossed her legs, smoothed out her dress, and looked me straight on, “Now I’m real interested in how you think you’re gonna talk your way out of this - ‘cause it’s not happening, Rob.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She gave me a really false smile, one of her best, and not only did I know I would never win, I was sure she was gonna hit me over the head with this forever.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“I meant it for me; I’m just making it worse.” Yeah, how did I do this to myself? How did that happen, and so fast? The only person I could ask who would go with me to these kinds of movies just happens to be the only girl I even know anything about. And I couldn’t even do that right. “I kinda blew that whole thing, didn’t I? I guess you don’t have to go see it with me, if you don’t want to.” I was really disappointed, but tried not to show it.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“It’s not about a date, is it?” she looked away, “It’s just the movie, with or without me, isn’t it?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">By the look on her face, I could see this might not end well, so I had to give it another shot.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I sat down next to her, “OK, it’s not a date, even though it’s kinda like one – Please… come to the movie with me.” It was all I could get out.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“I’m sorry I took it wrong when you asked me just now, but it wasn’t anything to do with you - I mean it.” She looked sheepishly at me, “I’m ashamed to say it never entered my mind it would be you asking, but I jumped right at it, for a while there, anyway. That’s not what upset me, though. As soon as I did, I realized I was scared.” She looked away again, “You know, I used to imagine the first time a boy would ask me out, I would be excited, because he would be handsome and popular, and I would be popular just for going on a date with him,” Mouse said somberly, “It was what I was brought up to expect - the princess treatment, I guess. Later on I just hoped it would be a nice boy, it didn’t matter whether he was popular or handsome - I wasn’t holding out hope for the princess thing.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">That really slapped me down, and she saw it in my face. “I didn’t mean it that way, Rob! I know you’d never hurt me on purpose, and I hope you know I’d never do that to you – it’s just that…boys don’t seem to be interested in me very much, except for you and the books, and you caught me by surprise. Just for minute there, I thought you were being romantic, or something. I guess I’m not really ready for that stuff, and I was scared.” She reached for my hand, something she had never done before, and it thrilled me a little – I had never had any real physical contact with her, despite our lending habit.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“I’ll go to the movie with you, but it’s not a date – it’ll be just like the books, if we see more of them.” She had a very business-like demeanor now, “I think you know it already, but right now, you’re prolly my closest friend, and I want it to stay that way.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Wow! Nobody, and I mean nobody, could have ever said a more wonderful thing to me at that age, and it didn’t even cross my mind if there was a boyfriend/girlfriend thing attached.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“I don’t know if I was more scared of the dating part, or what might happen if I screwed it up and you wouldn’t be my friend anymore. I’m not too clear, huh?” She looked anxious, “But do you see what I mean? You weren’t asking me on a date, but I thought so for minute, and I can’t make that kind of change, for anybody, right now – I just can’t.” I caught the subtext right away - I wasn’t any Prince Charming, and she was gonna hold out for something like him – dreams die hard. Maybe I had low expectations, but I could live with that. She squeezed my hand and let go. “So who’s in this movie, anybody we know?” And just like that, it started.</span><br />
<br style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;" />Vanwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14606489784189165989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15728848.post-9189750227527527282010-02-24T23:14:00.000-08:002010-02-25T01:00:19.999-08:00<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><b><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> <span style="font-size: large;"> <b>Lost Childhood</b></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><b>Or How the World’s Greatest Kid’s Show helped me love film, and how, sadly, the show itself wasn’t preserved.</b></span><br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Most people today get their introduction to classic and silent films through the medium of television, more specifically the cable channel Turner Classic Movies, and to a lesser degree Fox’s cable TV stations, the HBOs, Showtimes, and Cinemaxes, and before that AMC was in the mix, as well.</span><br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Some local university based public TV channels, which would’ve been only on the dreaded UHF broadcast bands in the old days, also show old films. This gradual shift from big screens to small screens has been that way since the 1950s when the Studios began packaging their libraries and syndicating them aggressively, and largely willy-nilly.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Soon it will be computer screens or those systems connected to a high-def set that are the main intake, and already iPods and smart phones are used extensively for viewing by younger folk. But before the advent of big cable, and recordable home media, there was a glorious show on TV that had a love for film, a love for slapstick, a love for rock and roll, and above all, a love for kids. </span><br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">As a boy growing up in the late 1950s and straight through the 1960s in the Phoenix, Arizona area, my introduction to silent and classic films was through a local broadcast TV station, Channel 5. Its call letters were KPHO, and was one of the last Dumont affiliates – at one time the only TV station in Phoenix, it showed all four networks, CBS, NBC, ABC, and Dumont, until other stations came along. </span><br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Channel 5 had lots of old movies, in seemingly endless categories, including what I now know to be pre-codes, and even some I believe are now lost or too damaged to see. They showed lots of B&W and even a few silent films, and must’ve been on a tight budget, as many seemed to be pretty obscure. </span><br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">They had a silent comedy series, although not locally produced I seem to remember, and a serial series as well, also syndicated, but at least they showed <b><i>Commando Cody</i></b>, and <b><i>Flash Gordon</i></b>, and other episodic wonders. In addition, a local car dealer had married <b><i>Acquanetta</i></b>, a minor star of Universal’s B- and Z- adventure and monster films, and she hosted a late-night show of older films, as well. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw4FMofztkLXnZ7opc7ga5T5A7e7nqmzT3jbk4oRFxZxX3yEBNsWubc2VylF1rZlPZGgnCvZ9tetxP4VzE3UUuD9T6_JkYLf_RmkmC3klpk80dcPM-ejxzGuJNF0voI31bkGPb/s1600-h/Acquanetta.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw4FMofztkLXnZ7opc7ga5T5A7e7nqmzT3jbk4oRFxZxX3yEBNsWubc2VylF1rZlPZGgnCvZ9tetxP4VzE3UUuD9T6_JkYLf_RmkmC3klpk80dcPM-ejxzGuJNF0voI31bkGPb/s640/Acquanetta.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> Acquanetta in <i>Tarzan and the Leopard Woman</i></span><br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">All this was just part of the attractions on local TV that had classic film connections, but children growing up there had much more on their plate:</span><br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> The Wallace and Ladmo Show, simply the World’s Greatest Kid’s Show. </span><br />
<br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">And I do mean kid’s as opposed to children’s show, because <i><b>The Wallace and Ladmo Show</b></i> wasn’t like the others: some children’s shows were relentlessly didactic, some were relentlessly static, some seemed aimed relentlessly at five-year-olds, some were relentlessly cute, but <b><i>Wallace and Ladmo</i></b> were above all relentlessly funny, and entertained the kids <i>and</i> their parents. </span><br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">It started as <i><b>It’s Wallace</b>?</i>, then morphed into <b><i>Wallace & Company</i></b> unchanged, and finally as <b><i>The Wallace and Ladmo Show</i></b>, (but every kid called it <b><i>Wallace and Ladmo</i></b> all along) and ran from April 1, 1954 to December 29, 1989, before a “live” audience, a thirty-six year run, which made it the longest-running, locally produced daily kid’s show, ever, and won many local Emmy awards. This record probably won’t be broken, either - local children's programs aren’t produced in the U.S. much anymore, if at all, and certainly none like <b><i>The Wallace and Ladmo Show</i></b>.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib4aLPJYu911DY_aBYMrTAufqxKJ4WtesOrUP548josLZOulrOh12vOHn4wkG4bH2v7FGZQs0FG3DvqDsJ6yZDQ-dcnMNklyauAzaMeaJBR-nPbx2kox0_BLh1ZLTmna5BiSjJ/s1600-h/walad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib4aLPJYu911DY_aBYMrTAufqxKJ4WtesOrUP548josLZOulrOh12vOHn4wkG4bH2v7FGZQs0FG3DvqDsJ6yZDQ-dcnMNklyauAzaMeaJBR-nPbx2kox0_BLh1ZLTmna5BiSjJ/s640/walad.jpg" width="505" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"> Wallace and Ladmo </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeuC3vd0O2IOWfvTTNmnQ2sMbWxdwk28BqMfzKUH60kDWubQL4axMMObGs4QnKoQE5eRQySQ-r7b8xa7FTyFAePBcHVOT8HYgyGhrd7N2EepArrfxbBLEC-ieCQ4NYCJFf1QCr/s1600-h/fox+wallace+%26+ladmo+live.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="548" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeuC3vd0O2IOWfvTTNmnQ2sMbWxdwk28BqMfzKUH60kDWubQL4axMMObGs4QnKoQE5eRQySQ-r7b8xa7FTyFAePBcHVOT8HYgyGhrd7N2EepArrfxbBLEC-ieCQ4NYCJFf1QCr/s640/fox+wallace+%26+ladmo+live.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"> A full house at the old Fox Theater in Downtown Phoenix, AZ for a live Wallace and Ladmo stage appearance.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><i>The Wallace and Ladmo Show</i></b> had music, sketches, and slapstick, and was closer to an Ernie Kovacs kind of show, with some Soupy Sales and Mad Magazine thrown in, than an ordinary children’s show, even having guest appearances by the likes of Jack Benny, Mohammed Ali, Steve Allen, and especially, a famous, huge fan of the show: a local band called "The Earwigs" made their first ever TV appearance on Wallace and Ladmo; you’ll prolly know that group better by a future name - Alice Cooper. Also an occasional guest was a local young filmmaker named Steven Spielberg, who would show excerpts from his early efforts. The show gave out locally famous prizes, the legendary <b><i>Ladmo Bag</i></b>, a grocery bag filled with chips, candy and coupons – Alice Cooper was presented with one at the end of the show’s run in 1989, the last one besides the one given to Ladmo himself</span>.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI4bhc9Fn-zooVFevlR3H_zBbGqUny4QFklr2TYCx_YD0U5aIJJMBCoyvgH50f8FHtbj-lH-P7FgCOUqCx0b4sWsWvms0WMWoHHT55uwBjabrhyphenhyphen7enjixBY8STJr5VHczg0ZFQ/s1600-h/Ladmobag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI4bhc9Fn-zooVFevlR3H_zBbGqUny4QFklr2TYCx_YD0U5aIJJMBCoyvgH50f8FHtbj-lH-P7FgCOUqCx0b4sWsWvms0WMWoHHT55uwBjabrhyphenhyphen7enjixBY8STJr5VHczg0ZFQ/s400/Ladmobag.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"> Ladmo with Ladmo Bag</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm3Cmki4MHg9CKanHxWdXtcE1XLfcg6H26JtniPU_oHK56otkPSg84OWOPnfgkTUp4H5ykpOxvMDj3Q8wyL0cVF4ns4ApUILw7xtxB-xrcQ1f3UcpCBipx50eHGBxnPzZEuVG7/s1600-h/Alice+Cooper+w+Ladmo+Bag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm3Cmki4MHg9CKanHxWdXtcE1XLfcg6H26JtniPU_oHK56otkPSg84OWOPnfgkTUp4H5ykpOxvMDj3Q8wyL0cVF4ns4ApUILw7xtxB-xrcQ1f3UcpCBipx50eHGBxnPzZEuVG7/s400/Alice+Cooper+w+Ladmo+Bag.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"> Alice Cooper gets his Ladmo Bag</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Started as a way for KPHO to show syndicated cartoons, it starred all locally developed performers: Bill Thompson, the actual writer of the show, as Oliver Hardy-like <b><i>Wallace Snead</i></b>, (mostly called just <b><i>Wallace</i></b>, or <b><i>Wallboy</i></b> by his sidekicks) usually wearing a bowler hat; a tall drink of goofy water named Ladimir Kwiatkowski, an ex-ballplayer, who played <b><i>Ladmo</i></b>, the very Stan Laurel part, with huge top hats, (much like the Mad Hatter in Alice in Wonderland) and his trademark large, loud ties, worn even with a t-shirt; and the amorphous and prodigiously talented Pat McMahon, a veteran of a vaudeville family, who played a myriad of roles, a host of parts that generally spoofed film, TV, and popular culture, including the villainous <b><i>Gerald</i></b>, the station owner's fictional nephew, in a Buster Brown outfit and big glasses. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Gerald</span></i></b><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> was the evil little kid everybody hated, and would spout lines like this about the kids in the audience: “You invited these little jerks down here; you got them out of the alley where they usually hang out. Reminds me, I should pick up a new copy of <b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Lord of the Flies</span></i></b>.” Not your children’s show’s usual dialog, by far, and it was the show's trademark – they talked to kids like ordinary human beings, so they got the first part, and were also talking to the adults and teenagers whom they knew watched it, too, for the literary reference. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"> <span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg17K3tDf7P9HVNTsD-Ogng8mKhT2qzXSc0vkH7q0aRUwM3lNY1dge1YzGGi7nJ_ofUHrjhkISfZ4i5Z9yPFcCqs6VdFpnEl3PCGprDWsl-C9Yhc0k6XkCrtJVK2O8hwI2TBCVq/s1600-h/walladger.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg17K3tDf7P9HVNTsD-Ogng8mKhT2qzXSc0vkH7q0aRUwM3lNY1dge1YzGGi7nJ_ofUHrjhkISfZ4i5Z9yPFcCqs6VdFpnEl3PCGprDWsl-C9Yhc0k6XkCrtJVK2O8hwI2TBCVq/s640/walladger.JPG" width="620" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> Wallace, Gerald, and Ladmo</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">For much of its run it had superior music, due to the contributions of Mike Condello, a local rock and roll musician. Far from running away from popular music or becoming mired in mediocre taste, <i><b>Wallace and Ladmo</b></i><b><i></i></b> embraced it: the show had their own R&R band, a spoof of course, called <b><i>Hub Kapp and the Wheels</i></b>, who played on the show, and actually had some radio airplay; enough to show up on Steve Allen’s show for a gig. Occasionally videos of that show with <i><b>Hub</b> <b>Kapp and the Wheels</b></i>’ local hit ”Work, Work” (A dirty word, the dirtiest word I ever heard) show up on YouTube today. They even had a recording contract until McMahon and the boys in the band decided they couldn’t keep up the façade that long. Condello also wrote and performed a number of Beatles spoofs for the show, as well, and also the show’s theme song, “Ho Ho Ha Ha Hee Hee Ha Ha”, which replaced the Ernie Kovacs-like ditty they had used for a while.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrYLpHe82Qbx-2dycK2sPzj-CwfoxFq04W_adzLojO6ibqlOvQjApm6ouTYCY6JWLMvMmpKQieV42HNy-3sVAHdDkWpHb0EO9wD6VWDxeQiyOkU0QLcmbtEKrQX1AUYKpfLka7/s1600-h/Hub+Kapp+cover_r1_c1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="612" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrYLpHe82Qbx-2dycK2sPzj-CwfoxFq04W_adzLojO6ibqlOvQjApm6ouTYCY6JWLMvMmpKQieV42HNy-3sVAHdDkWpHb0EO9wD6VWDxeQiyOkU0QLcmbtEKrQX1AUYKpfLka7/s640/Hub+Kapp+cover_r1_c1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">The show's film connections started early, as it was basically a sketch comedy affair with cartoons thrown in, and many of the sketches lampooned and parodied specific films and film conventions. One of McMahon’s many incarnations was a deadbeat former movie cowboy named <b><i>Marshall Good</i></b>, (former Guy Good, last of the Good Guys),who made it so I could never watch Gene Autry or Roy Rogers with a straight face ever again – <i><b>Marshall Good</b> </i>was always bumming quarters from the kids in the audience. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyzmAGk5JqBSZ2G0K0jy5s3LExPweSjtwcU-swqvTmwke37NE6yKgal_JH2AKleZHcZxOhsbQ2edX94saCqCqktmH-krmR9p2QbQqZSfaSusI_Wu86MFUzgdzGn0MYf5EmkbfG/s1600-h/MarshallGood1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="427" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyzmAGk5JqBSZ2G0K0jy5s3LExPweSjtwcU-swqvTmwke37NE6yKgal_JH2AKleZHcZxOhsbQ2edX94saCqCqktmH-krmR9p2QbQqZSfaSusI_Wu86MFUzgdzGn0MYf5EmkbfG/s640/MarshallGood1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> Ladmo and Marshall Good</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">The show parodied other children’s shows with McMahon playing both <b><i>Aunt Maude</i></b>, a crotchety senior citizen whose “gather ‘round fairy-tale Children’s Stories” always ended badly, and a TV clown named <b><i>Boffo</i></b>, who hated kids – the first name they chose, by the way, was Ozob the Clown, who dressed suspiciously like Bozo, until they were rumored to have been pressured to change both by the Bozo Franchise. The show had a superhero loser character, too, in McMahon’s <b><i>Captain Super</i></b>, a weasily faker. Here's<b><i> Aunt Maude</i></b>:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=icXxiPtWLqQ">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=icXxiPtWLqQ </a><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">My earliest remembrance of a silent film isn’t Chaplin, or Keaton, or any Studio efforts, though - no, it’s the silent homemade films that Wallace and Ladmo produced for this show. You might see their stop-motion little shorts with Wallace herky-jerking around, or the real gold mine: their silent Western serials, often with the bad-ass Nasty Brothers, which included railroad train shots and lots of horses. These were locally made short films that didn't invoke their earlier counterparts simply because they lacked sound; they had the cinematographic cadence of silent films and even intertitles. Ladmo was the veteran studio cameraman for the regular show, often locking it and running around to the front for various gags in the early days, and this made their films so much more like mini-studio productions.Here's some of the few surviving shorts:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oLhq1CqQabg">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oLhq1CqQabg</a></span><br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><i>Wallace and Ladmo</i></b> also had a running gag with little slapstick bits involving Ladmo getting into trouble over a particular park bench with cranky <b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Mr. Grudgemeyer</span></i></b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-style: normal;">, played by Thompson with a cheap Styrofoam skimmer, a fuzzy black wig, and googly-eyed glasses, with a Kovacsian, cheesy recording of “</span></i>Emery and his Violin of Love” playing <i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-style: normal;">“I Love You Much Too Much” accompanied the mayhem. </span></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy0nqdIHDG0Vjp06oI9t4Ep2o1Q1-maRlqeRyFZuGdBgxmaGSBsZIlbhReHsDlNLc6dH6uvO5HOSkao2NJiu90U6UH40kUyXitIu6opLn3dGygNq53ujkiOBLlhbuCWXFPxRDR/s1600-h/Ladmo+and+Grudgemeyer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="342" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy0nqdIHDG0Vjp06oI9t4Ep2o1Q1-maRlqeRyFZuGdBgxmaGSBsZIlbhReHsDlNLc6dH6uvO5HOSkao2NJiu90U6UH40kUyXitIu6opLn3dGygNq53ujkiOBLlhbuCWXFPxRDR/s640/Ladmo+and+Grudgemeyer.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"> Ladmo and Mr. Grudgemeyer start in to fightin’!</span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">The Grudgemeyer comedies were unabashed homage to Laurel and Hardy, according to Ladmo himself, and often they were having so much fun they couldn’t get the sparse dialog straight. This included lines like Mr. Grudgemeyer’s, after tearing off parts of Ladmo’s coat, promptly holding them up and in the tradition of all great matadors, said, “Grudgemeyer is awarded two ears!” This was obviously not played for the kiddies in the audience.</span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"> </span></i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">And one shouldn’t forget the main reason for Wallace and Ladmo’s very existence: they showed cartoons – syndicated rather than network produced or initiated, and the grandest of them all was one of the best ever: </span></i><br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"><b> Roger Ramjet.</b></span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"> </span></i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQV8rs2NU1kupjGlJ3h1HtIVoRSC1U6sfSdXsqaNQwyDMPr2D0RI8jztuF7P1A3Tb9DI2OMFW3ZgfHXfWTvv1qhDUgx85z7_I3q88mAYVmq3NIcjlhvCzZLs7Qg5dV5yVpEJDk/s1600-h/ramjet2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQV8rs2NU1kupjGlJ3h1HtIVoRSC1U6sfSdXsqaNQwyDMPr2D0RI8jztuF7P1A3Tb9DI2OMFW3ZgfHXfWTvv1qhDUgx85z7_I3q88mAYVmq3NIcjlhvCzZLs7Qg5dV5yVpEJDk/s640/ramjet2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"></span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">This biting, snarky, enormously funny cartoon from 1965, deliberately sketchily (some say, badly) drawn, fast-paced and witty, had a long-running relationship with movies and their foibles. Most of its 156 episodes had some sort of film-based satire, and many of the character’s lines were aimed well over the heads of the little kids watching, and smack into brains of older kids and parents, and were much like the contemporaneous </span></i><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><b>Rocky and</b> <b>Bullwinkle</b> </span></i><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">cartoons in looks, and even surpassed them in attitude. A Snyder-Koren Production, in association with Pantomime Pictures, Inc., it was a small animation outfit that took chances,</span></i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> with edgy minor character names like <b><i>Speed Merkin</i></b>, (!!!) and was w<i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-style: normal;">ritten by Gene Moss and Jim Thurman.</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-style: normal;"></span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"> <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmXsIj9HoOkt0_FGEk_c4TEJ6uB4BuzHOnPsrwY0HIcayWDzATAToCylxpls4X3cvLdnHR-sQIYfpM1e4pqwUafBiGoMcw2bgtHIf_ZGKX8cCC42tlY_j9HyoVNHqvCrHs1r4B/s1600-h/asset_1687_hl1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmXsIj9HoOkt0_FGEk_c4TEJ6uB4BuzHOnPsrwY0HIcayWDzATAToCylxpls4X3cvLdnHR-sQIYfpM1e4pqwUafBiGoMcw2bgtHIf_ZGKX8cCC42tlY_j9HyoVNHqvCrHs1r4B/s400/asset_1687_hl1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"> </span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Roger Ramjet</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Roger Ramjet</span></i></b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"> himself, voiced by the great Gary Owens, was a rather thick-headed jet jockey, who would always end up downing his “Proton Energy Pills, which gave him the power of 20 atom bombs for a period of 20 seconds” to get out of whatever trouble his obtuseness had gotten him into, and his sidekicks, the </span></i><b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">American Eagles</span></i></b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">, always had to help. Roger worked for clueless </span></i><b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">General G.I. Brassbottom</span></i></b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">, the very short, very loud military chief of a special, but mysterious, military organization.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf5YIQK8htcSmz6WM1pTXt_OoQcbiV9FNLO3-PKcEI-Qho_GRMbMaUoe8eYzrWTWRS637wZEiAzWQSND-ZkHfW6uvDh36L7Kdz637ng7J6eQQCjXLxi-csfvjOCx2PwYID9ya5/s1600-h/ramjet_general.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf5YIQK8htcSmz6WM1pTXt_OoQcbiV9FNLO3-PKcEI-Qho_GRMbMaUoe8eYzrWTWRS637wZEiAzWQSND-ZkHfW6uvDh36L7Kdz637ng7J6eQQCjXLxi-csfvjOCx2PwYID9ya5/s640/ramjet_general.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"> General G.I. Brassbottom </span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">The villains were classic Hollywood creations, like the Gangster: </span></i><b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Noodles Romanoff</span></i></b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">, (a combination of George Raft, Jimmy Cagney, and Edward G. Robinson) and his </span></i><b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Gang of No-Goods</span></i></b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">, native New York speakers all, who were useful for classic crime spoofs; the Evil Aliens: the </span></i><b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Solenoid Robots</span></i></b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">, who spoke in mechanical tones with lots of buzzes and clicks,(literally the spoken words, “buzz” and “click”!) rolled on one wheel and fell over a lot, and were the Sci-Fi films punching bags; The Evil Mad Scientist, </span></i><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><b>Dr. Frank.N.Schwein</b>,</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"> so they could spoof horror films; the Superspy Femme Fatale: Slavic-sounding </span></i><b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Jacqueline Hyde</span></i></b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">, for the espionage thrillers; and an anachronistic favorite of mine, the Freebooter: </span></i><b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Red Dog the Pirate</span></i></b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">, who sailed in a classic square-rigger,had a parrot, </span></i><b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Punjab</span></i></b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">, that screeched out “Pieces of Seven!” </span></i><b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Red Dog</span></i></b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"> spoke in a wonderful Robert Newton-ish pirate accent, “Aaaarrrhh”, and plenty of pirate lingo, for the swashbuckling spoofs. </span></i><br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiU5a4InLH9kQQ3B_yH54Q5A1G-TYSbNv8_OZzSWLdoVHiMQAwnCLlGz6_GKH5bQmUlbHqK9fTkWlIpOKwpsZqRg3fuFTPVLGoA7sePCFbMYwNc_iUMJGs_lNMRh_JJkZtj5r5/s1600-h/solonoid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiU5a4InLH9kQQ3B_yH54Q5A1G-TYSbNv8_OZzSWLdoVHiMQAwnCLlGz6_GKH5bQmUlbHqK9fTkWlIpOKwpsZqRg3fuFTPVLGoA7sePCFbMYwNc_iUMJGs_lNMRh_JJkZtj5r5/s400/solonoid.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"> Solenoid Robots</span></i> <br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">Many episodes featured </span></i><b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Lance Crossfire</span></i></b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">, Roger’s rival for the attentions of the Girl: </span></i><b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Lotta Love</span></i></b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"> – and she was a lotta. Lance spoke in a clenched-teeth manner, like a Cary Grant/Errol Flynn/Burt Lancaster combination, and was the foil for many Hollywood inspired romance plot lines. Lance was an egotistical buffoon, as opposed to Roger who wasn’t egotistical, as evidenced by this exchange:</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">Roger: “Tell me, Lance, did you crash into that mountain…‘because it was there?’” </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">Lance: ”NO! Because it was HERE! If it was THERE, I would’ve missed it!!” </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">Of all things, the gag was based an obscure reference to doomed mountaineer George Mallory’s response to why he would climb Mt. Everest! This is typical </span></i><b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Roger Ramjet</span></i></b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">-style writing.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTLizDLlPY6azBNIWkL1mUf6_iKC4aLT3gsh2nhjrmbND1sDXWmbs-qPqHCNeczce_4SHnBrYq1NiwIa0-2JhZfW3c2coM4mNTYjhPhdi4y0G4Bd_MSnry7mlLNoZO7gfYWYNs/s1600-h/Roger+and+Eagles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="596" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTLizDLlPY6azBNIWkL1mUf6_iKC4aLT3gsh2nhjrmbND1sDXWmbs-qPqHCNeczce_4SHnBrYq1NiwIa0-2JhZfW3c2coM4mNTYjhPhdi4y0G4Bd_MSnry7mlLNoZO7gfYWYNs/s640/Roger+and+Eagles.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"> Roger and his </span></i><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">American Eagles</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"> </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"> </span></i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><b>Yank, Dan, Doodle</b> </span></i><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">and</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> <b>Dee</b></span></i><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"><b> </b>were his </span></i><b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">American Eagles</span></i></b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"> sidekicks, young kids going up those old crates, you might say, and were honest and true. </span></i><b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Ma Ramjet</span></i></b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"> popped up on one early episode, and Doodle told her how excited they all were to meet her, “Roger’s told us all about you!” “LIES! All of it!!” Ma Ramjet promptly screeched. She was often involved in the plots, or her pet gorilla was, who followed Roger around a lot, and would lead to one classic exchange between Roger and the Pirate:</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">Red Dog: “Aaaarhhh! It’s Ram-jet, an’ e’s brought ‘is brother!” </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Roger: “He’s not my brother, he’s a friend of my Mother.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Red Dog: “Who, yer father?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">This was not the expected dialog in any other cartoon, quite adult for its time, and we relished it for its snark. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPUg0JLF2wz8QxFZTADZH72I8zi7RGgYJfRtSWbrg7_SJxHDMF-8KktsHLbMllJIIiQHfaXeqqu1N6F5Fkjgqk7uUqox9m4Z3krEQqxJnHkFl2y18C-HDBZazAZcqCuxdM67ZT/s1600-h/RR_brassbottom2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPUg0JLF2wz8QxFZTADZH72I8zi7RGgYJfRtSWbrg7_SJxHDMF-8KktsHLbMllJIIiQHfaXeqqu1N6F5Fkjgqk7uUqox9m4Z3krEQqxJnHkFl2y18C-HDBZazAZcqCuxdM67ZT/s640/RR_brassbottom2.png" width="640" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> Ma Ramjet’s Gorilla, Roger and G.I. Brassbottom</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">When the announcer spoke, his words popped up in intertitles on the screen, sometimes with deliberate misspellings. The plots were often straight parodies of classic films, like <b><i>High Noon</i></b>, (“Bernie Miller’s outta prison, he’ll hit this town like nuclear fission!”), or sci-fi spoofs that were clever and thought provoking, such as when the Solenoid Robots began stealing all the government agencies that used acronyms, FBI, CIA, COMCINC, and any other letter combination the writers could think up.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Another episode had a running gag when it was discovered the Navy’s anchors were disappearing, and sure enough, starting with the Admiral of the Navy, someone would say “We’ve got to find out who’s taking our anchors away!” and the nearest door would fly open, a Busby Berkeley chorus line of sailors would burst through singing “Anchors Aweigh!”, and someone would yell, “Get those midshipmen out of here!” There were other episodes that played with Hollywood musicals, too, and episodes like <i><b>The Three Faces of Roger</b> </i>were obvious film spoofs, as well.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><i>Roger Ramjet</i></b> didn't skirt the cultural edge aspects, though, it jumped right in – a trip to the fictitious South American country of San Domino had the bandito <b><i>Enchilada Brothers</i></b>, <b><i>Beef</i></b> and <b><i>Chicken</i></b>, true heirs of Alfonso Bedoya’s Gold Hat from <b><i>Treasure of the Sierra Madre</i></b>; a feisty Hispanic gal, <i><b>T</b><b>equila Mockingbird</b></i>, and the <b><i>President of San Domino</i></b>, who would confer with his Cabinet, literally a wooden cabinet that he would open to ask, “Hey Cabinet, S’Ok?”, a voice inside the cabinet would respond “S’awright!” and end with the cabinet saying, “Close de box!” A quick <i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-style: normal;">Señor</span></i> Wences and Pedro ventriloquist bit!! Of course, this probably wouldn’t fly today.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">The key to <b>T<i>he Wallace and Ladmo Show</i></b>, and <b><i>Roger Ramjet</i></b>, too, was the audacity they showed in treating kids as intelligent beings, and knowing they had adults and teens watching, the fearlessness to assume their entire audience was in the know at different levels, too. They knew the older kids would get some of the allusions, and the teens and adults would probably get the higher flying jokes, gags, and topical references, and they expected their cleverness would be appreciated. They may not have assumed their show would become beloved and respected as a local cultural institution, but by the time the show ended, they knew how important they’d been to hundreds of thousands of kids in Phoenix, Arizona - there were <b><i>Wallace and Ladmo</i></b> spin-offs, burger joints, live shows, some syndication around the country, and most of all, a hellacious amount of fun – a glorious run.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">And then one day, it was gone.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">And I do mean gone – outside of a handful of later episodes towards the end of the run, no complete episodes survive. The station had mercilessly taped over every episode it could, re-using the tapes over and over, driven by the bottom line, something that’s no small factor in an independent station’s survival, but heartbreaking none the less. Even <b><i>Roger Ramjet</i></b> has a few lost episodes, but thankfully survives on DVD almost complete. It wasn’t a death by the whole show’s recordings being lost in a cataclysm, like a fire, and there wasn’t a gradual loss of existing material – no, it was a slow death by inches, starting from the very beginning, a disposable reality, born anew every day and murdered that same night. There are bits and pieces of the older episodes of <i><b>Wallace and</b> <b>Ladmo</b></i> online occasionally, but for all intents and purposes, especially the era I grew up in, the wonderful, glorious, side-splittingly funny <b><i>Wallace and Ladmo Show</i></b>, the World’s Greatest Kid’s Show, is gone. Preservation never entered the equation until the very end – it was erased, rubbed out, as if it never existed.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Could someone have saved those episodes? I guess not, unless some secret stash of tapes shows up, an unlikely occurrence, sadly. I doubt many watchers realized it, and in the absence of home recording media, even a legion of fans can’t bring back that special moment in time. I barely touched on the long history of <i><b>Wallace and Ladmo</b></i>, and it lives now only in the collective memory of an aging fan base. There are fan pages online, interviews, and some transcripts, and it’s possible the scripts survive with Bill Thompson, but the images, the immediacy of their performances, are now mostly stills and snippets. Ladmo passed away in 1994, and Mike Condello in 1995, but Bill Thompson and Pat McMahon, and most of the rest of the cast are with us still.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Preservation wasn’t in the cards for<i> <b>The Wallace and Ladmo Show</b>, </i>and<i> <b>Roger Ramjet</b></i> survived because it’s been shown off and on since its inception, in many countries, and enjoyed a cult following even in its darkest hours. Syndication saved it, and many other children’s cartoons and shows, but so many locally produced television shows, no matter how popular and groundbreaking, were simply erased from the tapes, day after day, year after year, and most were forgotten. The absolute worst thing that could’ve happened to <i><b>The Wallace and</b> <b>Ladmo</b></i> almost happened, to have been completely forgotten, but the show is fondly remembered and although it was considered a brilliant success by most who watched it, even this is only a pale shadow of what it was. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Please donate to the National Film Preservation Foundation, and help save films and maybe some old local TV programs someday:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="https://npo.networkforgood.org/Donate/Donate.aspx?npoSubscriptionId=1001883&code=Blogathon">https://npo.networkforgood.org/Donate/Donate.aspx?npoSubscriptionId=1001883&code=Blogathon</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">And have a look at their website:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://www.filmpreservation.org/index.html">http://www.filmpreservation.org/index.html</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">or have a look at the Movie Preservation Blog:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://moviepreservation.blogspot.com/">http://moviepreservation.blogspot.com/</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">This worthy worthy endeavor was ramrodded by Farran Smith Nehme, The Self-Styled Siren:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://selfstyledsiren.blogspot.com/">http://selfstyledsiren.blogspot.com/</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">and Marilyn Ferdinand at:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://www.ferdyonfilms.com/">http://www.ferdyonfilms.com/</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">I’ll always be grateful to <i><b>T</b><b>he Wallace and Ladmo Show</b></i> ,and <b><i>Roger Ramjet</i></b>, (not just for molding me into the smart-ass I am today!) because at first, they just made me want to watch films to make sure I could get the jokes and allusions, and through this I found I loved watching films for what they were, not just as adjuncts to a kid’s show. As for <b><i>The Wallace and Ladmo Show </i>i</b>tself, Ave atque vale, old friends, a fond farewell to The World’s Greatest Kid’s Show. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT_6pkoI6B2C2scQv4WtDCHdKGrvxNQluZl8L7gC5ytycRIxtF7gtHdaC7ha5BHcA_T6qsvKIjLYlr_sq-7vmXh9wUcvp17aVGTszqXzLD0Uc7b7MSHokFzbHtfTc2R1dOR0kw/s1600-h/WallaceLadmo_Big.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="572" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT_6pkoI6B2C2scQv4WtDCHdKGrvxNQluZl8L7gC5ytycRIxtF7gtHdaC7ha5BHcA_T6qsvKIjLYlr_sq-7vmXh9wUcvp17aVGTszqXzLD0Uc7b7MSHokFzbHtfTc2R1dOR0kw/s640/WallaceLadmo_Big.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> So long, old buddies!</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Vanwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14606489784189165989noreply@blogger.com4