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Reedmalloy
Reviews
The Walking Hills (1949)
"I ran out of words"
The reviews that have thus far been written here about "The Walking Hills" (except for a few clunkers) do it justice. It is a compact piece of good film-making and quality entertainment. The quality of the acting makes the subsequent plot twists believable without hitting you over the head in their revelations.
Not much is said about Alan Le May's script, however. He is little remembered today except possibly as the writer whose novel ''The Searchers" was turned into John Ford's great western. I grew up reading everything he wrote and found Le May a skilled story-teller who always remembered that the story was the whole point of it all.
Le May crafted subtly complex stories about frontier Texas (despite being from Indiana) before Larry McMurtry was even born. His westerns are an easy-reading blend of his own knowledge of human nature, Louis L'Amour's (whom he preceded) formula romance, and a Hemingway style prose. His characters were given names and personalities that ring absolutely true, and he treats readers as adults capable of putting two-and-two together themselves. The only writer I ever found to rival him in creating an elusive combination of complexity and subtlety in a sagebrush saga is Frank X. Tolbert, much of whose work reads like Le May's.
Such is the case with "The Walking Hills". Le May fleshes out his plot with details, but just enough to elucidate motivations while keeping the story moving. He never goes too far or too often, and as others noted, some of the character "back-stories" (such as Johnny's and Cleve's) tell just enough to give them a purpose while others (those of Chalk, Old Willy, and Josh) are left to the imagination of the viewer. Le May didn't throw a detail into the plot that wasn't wrapped up by the end, and in the natural course of events. Pretty good stuff.
As a side-note to reviewer "bkoganbing", Ella Raines' husband was ROBIN Olds, a legendary character himself, and he never flew jets in Korea, much less became an ace there. In fact Ella went behind his back and used her friendship with people of influence to keep him out of that war, which may have played a part in their eventual separation when he went on to become an icon in the Vietnam War.
Emergency!: 905-Wild (1975)
Tiger, Tiger, Burning Bright
It's not good form to comment on other reviewers but I make a brief exception here. It's one thing to dislike something for articulable reasons, but quite another to characterize it as 'creepy' (one of the most egregious but casually tossed around deprecations made these days) without stating why. For me it says more about the commentator than the target.
Not to mention that reducing Harmon's role as a 'dog catcher' illustrated the point of the episode! That said, this episode was formulaic, predictable and looked very much like a pilot for a spin-off. Nevertheless I found it fun and informative. Though I love them, Jack Webb's public service shows tend to be clunky in dialog but this one was better than usual. It was corny, but when the injured firefighter at Rampart gave up his place in line, so to speak, for treatment of the goat, I gave him my applause.
If nothing else, watch this one for the by-play between all the ER professionals, Brackett and Dixie in particular. David Huddleston makes a great case for DVMs as well, and humanizes Brackett in the process.
They Came to Cordura (1959)
They should have come to Chaumont
In the opening scene of They Came to Cordura we are introduced to all the historical context in the script. First is an Army aviator grabbing a hot meal. Next a headquarters type mentions to the reporters that after winning a fight over Mexican government troops at Carrizal, a large group of Villistas under a couple of "generals" has taken refuge at a ranch called Ojos Azules. Gary Cooper's character Major Thorn enters the scene and we are given a hint of the scorn held for him due to his behavior during Villa's attack on Columbus, New Mexico. Colonel DeRose (Edward Platt) snubs his attempt at a handshake. The reporters are perplexed that a major is an "Awards officer" after being executive officer of the regiment commanded by a 63-year-old colonel. We find out that there was another battle the day before at Guerrero, and that his nomination of one of the participants for the Medal of Honor had been approved. Finally, Colonel DeRose reads a recent dispatch about the bombardment of Verdun in the real war dated "April 17, 1916."
Working backwards from "April 17, 1916", pretty much all of this is in error in some context, but just like World War II films that depict every Marine as having seen action on "Guadalcanal, Tarawa, and Iwo Jima," it is just name-dropping in an effort to sound authentic. Apparently either novelist Glendon Swarthout, director Robert Rossen, or both read a thing or two about the "Punitive Expedition," jotted down a few dates and names, and then set their book/movie in it. While the errors are nothing in themselves—not one person in a thousand knows the difference any more, and probably not too many more even in 1959—they do make the context of their theme of the nature of courage and cowardice ring hollow to me.
I have the novel and wondered long ago why Swarthout chose the Punitive Expedition to begin with. It seemed a bit of a cop-out not to use his personal experiences in WWII as a basis, except that perhaps he was wary that, WWII being a recent conflict, many might not buy his premise that heroes in combat are the craven when it comes to needing "real" courage: i.e. dealing with "real life," while those who shun danger (in his case, those relieved from potential combat duties because they have such exceptional skills as "writing") are actually the real heroes. His story raises the question that since he depicts Thorn's assignment as an "awards officer" (despite being senior in grade) as a form of subtle punishment, maybe Swarthout perceived being assigned that duty himself as being for the same reason?
Okay, maybe that's a tad cynical, except I defy anyone to determine that four out of any five recipients of the Medal of Honor were criminal brutes with no other redeeming characteristics. Don't yell at me—Swarthout and Rossen put forth the premise.
So let's start there with our quick review of goofs. No Medals of Honor were awarded or even considered in the Punitive Expedition. In fact the expedition was remarkably free of medal awards until the Silver Star was created in 1932, post-awarded to a number of senior leaders of the expedition. Regiments didn't have executive officers in 1916—they had lieutenant colonels. The only "major" noteworthy at the battle in Columbus was Maj. Frank Tompkins, who collected a troop of cavalrymen during the fight and pursued a force ten times their size into Mexico.
A battle occurred at Guerrero on March 29, a notable American success against Villistas led by a 63-year-old colonel. A mounted charge was even attempted by part of the 7th Cavalry but their mounts were worn out by an all-night 55-mile march through a mountain snowstorm. The Villistas fled anyway when they observed the approaching column—something they did in every engagement of that campaign. The Villistas never made a Cordura-like stand anywhere nor inflicted heavy casualties on haughty Americans foolish enough to charge fortified walls on horseback. A mounted charge against a high wall is so pointless (there is no shock power against a solid 12-foot obstruction) it's tantamount to a libel.
There was a mounted charge at Ojos Azules on May 5, however, the last by a US Army unit until January 1942, but it was hastily improvised by two troops of the 11th Cavalry after their dawn advance into the ranch was detected. Unlike Cordura, it was a resounding American success with no casualties. The battle at Carrizal took place June 21, the last engagement of the campaign. It was not only an embarrassing bloody nose for the US Army but an actual defeat, when 400 Mexican government troops (not Villistas) repulsed an ill-conceived dismounted attempt by 90 Buffalo Soldiers of the 10th Cavalry to force their way through town after being told by both sides not to. Finally the aviator might be an anachronism, because the expedition had run out of flyable airplanes by April 20, but I guess that at least was plausible.
Long story short, Swarthout and Rossen could have set this in World War I to make their point (well, maybe not with Rita Hayworth), but then nobody could make all those snide little innuendos about macho heroes and elderly superannuated colonels, could they?
The cinematography is pretty to look at, so there's that.
The Guns of Fort Petticoat (1957)
Hope Emerson, frontier woman
An earlier reviewer writes that the title of this Audie Murphy oater suggests a comedy--"F Troop" meets "Petticoat Junction." He can be forgiven this wit since both of those sitcom inanities post-date this western by many years.
But in a way he was not far wrong. While not a comedy it has comedic elements, as all good action films should, and it's a merger of two stories that could be described as "The Alamo" meets "Westward the Women".
The latter is an (apparently) little known film by William Wellman made six years earlier. Robert Taylor has the Audie Murphy role as wagon-master Buck Wyatt leading a group of mail-order brides from Chicago to California. He's also a hard-nosed martinet whose crew deserts him when they can't obey his orders to stay away from the women, thus setting up a similar scenario. Although not the only male guiding the wagon train west (there are four), the setup is pretty much the same as "Fort Petticoat".
The common bond here is Hope Emerson ("Sergeant" Hannah Lacey), a true pro. She was also Patience Hawley in Wellman's film, playing the same character in both, and it's a good one. I believe MGM hoped to establish Emerson as another Marjorie Main but comparisons are invidious and Emerson, a wonderful actress (see "Caged"), inevitably came off second to Main. Sadly, she died a few years after this movie was made.
Many of the same elements populate both movies, particularly in how the man trains the women, who grow beyond his tutelage (and leadership) after overcoming difficult odds, but "Fort Petticoat" manages to come up with a few new turns of its own.
As for Audie, he does well--reprising Buck Wyatt in spirit but remaining true to his own personality. He plays as well off Emerson as Taylor did in "Westward" and both make this an entertaining movie.
This movie can be frequently found on Encore Westerns but if you can catch "Westward the Women" on TCM, I urge you to do so. It's a bit grittier but the two are a credit to each other thanks to Hope Emerson.
Drums Along the Mohawk (1939)
An under-appreciated masterpiece
A recent viewing of John Ford's historical drama of the American revolution, "Drums Along the Mohawk," prompts me to try to persuade you what an under-appreciated masterpiece it is, epitomizing the master at his best in frontier dramas. Sure it's got all the stock Ford elements, not just cast and company, but repetitious cultural details to convey the flavor of the frontier era. (Had he been able to script Henry Fonda doing the same bumpkin dance step he does in "Young Mr. Lincoln", "My Darling Clementine", and "Fort Apache" with any credibility to the era, I'm sure he would have—but that just proves my point.)
I say under-appreciated because DATM is the best of the 1939 movies, and one of the greatest of all time, despite its ridiculously paltry 7.2 IMDb rating. It's trite but a truism that you can discover something new in every viewing, some small detail that evokes your admiration.
This was one of the first films in Technicolor and Ford showed a mastery of it, even though he plied his trade almost exclusively in black and white, with great artistic skill, for years after. His use of location shooting, especially the wide shots that include sky and background, and contrast demonstrates his understanding of the medium while it was still in its infancy. Claudette Colbert was said to have terrible misgivings about being photographed in color but she is luminous here in many scenes. Ford understood imagery as well as any great filmmaker.
Space prevents using more than a few examples to support the point, but try these. The outdoor scene in which the Indians attack Gil's farm is breathtakingly brilliant, both in detail and totality of imagery: angles, colors, contrasts, close-ups, long shots, lighting, costuming, dialog, action, and editing
all perfectly designed and executed. Blue Back breathes heavily as if he had just run for miles, a step head of the Indians unseen in the menacingly shadowed woods just behind him. Caldwell and his men appear in a sun-dappled clearing with smoke drifting through it, foreshadowing what is about to happen to the farm, and the effect is haunting.
The next time you watch this film, look at the lower right corner of that scene's opening long shot. Mary Reall can be seen bringing John Weaver a drink of water. It's their first appearance in the movie, well before the minor plot detail of their marriage is even suggested and the touch of a master. How in the world did it even occur to Ford to include it, knowing that 99.99% of his audience would never notice? A similar detail during the barn-raising scene in "Witness" is central to that shot. Did you notice it here, Peter Weir?
DATM is crammed with such scenes. Gil marching off with to the Battle of Oriskany (which BTW is unerringly conveyed to the frontier enthusiast without ever using its name) is equally memorable, from Fonda's admirably underplayed intimate parting from Lana and Mrs. McKlennar to the broad vista of Lana sitting like Andrew Wyeth's Christina (and preceding that masterpiece by almost ten years—another coincidence? Probably—it would be interesting though to learn the derivation of Ford's vision) watching the army march across the valley. Every time I see the shot of the New York Continentals shuffling up the dusty road, I get a feeling I'm looking through a window back into history. At the end of that scene look across the valley with Lana and watch a gaggle of horsemen break away from the head of the distant marching line to review the force as it marches by — another perfect touch in miniature.
Not all of the best shots are grand in scope or even intentional. The scene inside the McKlennar house when the exhausted and decimated army returns from Oriskany has a stage play feel to it but is no less brilliant. The waiting women sit outside on the porch on a sultry August night (a small point of accuracy) with Mrs McKlennar trying to cool herself with a fan because the house is still too hot inside. After the army returns, militia Captain Mark Demooth sits unrecognizable on the porch in battle shock, unable to speak or respond to Mrs. McKlennar, who caresses his cheek in appreciation of the horror he has experienced. Of the unplanned brilliance, the battle itself was cut from production for time and budget reasons, with a jerry-rigged monologue by Fonda substituted, but the result is far more effective than a battle scene would have been. Fonda understates his description of the battle, conveying it so well that Colbert responds with a sudden look of horror as he describes the memory of seeing a neighbor get his head shot off, a look so fleeting that you almost have to pause the film to see how well she renders it.
All of this is accomplished with the Ford craftsmanship we take for granted. His period pieces are so well done that he puts you back into the era using a stock company of actors basically portraying themselves (contrasted to the casting of any of innumerable and interchangeable pretty person clones so integral to filmmaking today) and costumes, makeup and sets that are authentic enough to avoid the feel of a Hollywood back lot. Compare that to today's films with their contrived ugliness—excessively ill-fitting clothing, bad hairdos, and garish makeup—meant to show us that these were the "old times" when the unwashed didn't have the enlightened sense of beauty and sex appeal we're so privileged to enjoy today.
If you haven't seen "Drums Along the Mohawk" yet, give it a look, and even if you have, give it another, a more critical one.
The Sky's the Limit (1943)
In praise of old geezers
I'm sitting here watching our Fred, clad as a Naval aviator, about to fly off to war in a B-17 at the conclusion of "The Sky's the Limit." Navy guy, B-17, that doesn't compute, but hey, it's the movies! There's young Joan Leslie now blowing him a kiss as he flies off. Pretty typical World War II stuff for RKO.
As a movie buff, you've got to give Fred credit for trying to be relevant. Yet it's amusing to read reviews and discussion threads on here regarding "The Sky's the Limit" preaching their "disgust" and how "disturbed" the reviewers are because they know, having learned to read (an accomplishment in our day and age), that he was 44 at the time and she "just" 18. (It's also amusing how we choose our modifiers in the context of and to bolster the points we're trying to make but abandon them like a dead-beat dad when it doesn't suit us!) At one point he's called a "creepy old man stalking" Joan by a poster whose icon seems a better illustration of the point. Yet being an optimist, I am at least glad that these all-knowing judges of society, presumably born in the X generation or later, aren't damning the movie for being shot in hideous and unbearably ancient black-and-white.
Okay, Fred's too old for the character, I'll grant you that. Fighter pilots, even former Flying Tigers, were young guys. Most American WWII fighter pilots were a year or two on either side of 21. It was a youngster's game. The pilots in the AVG were somewhat older because they were recruited from the pre-war military, but even most of them hadn't yet seen 30 when the Flying Tigers were disbanded a few months before this film was made.
Joan, otoh, always looked a little older than she really was until she crossed that line in moviedom where, like Paulette Goddard, she was then cast as women much younger than she really was. That's how Hollywood was in those days. She was cast for her bubbly personality. She was a persona. Notice in "High Sierra" she wasn't cast in the Ida Lupino role (Ida being 23 to Bogie's "creepy old" 42). Of course, nobody tried to cast Fred as Roy Earle, either--wouldn't that have been a hoot? A dancing gangster!
And that's the point. Nobody was billed by their ages or cast because of them. They were who they were. Fred may have been "too old" for his character, but he couldn't do "Holiday Inn" any more, made just one year before, because of the war. With the families and friends of 15 million in the war as an audience for movies, the times demanded relevance, and give him credit for being relevant.
"The Sky's the Limit" wasn't intended to be a May-December story--that's YOUR take on it. (Sorry, can't italicize on this board.) He wasn't trying to be Bogie to Audrey Hepburn's Sabrina, or Gary Cooper to Audrey Hepburn's Ariane Chavasse, Grace Kelly's Amy Kane or Suzy Parker's Kate Drummond (of course Suzy was cast in a role she was 6 years TOO OLD for, so that's okay).
Btw, Coop' was a helluva guy, no?
Lighten up. Director Edward Griffith wasn't promoting dirty old men. Anybody who could dance like Fred was pretty much ageless anyway. It was an interesting, even good flick. If you got distracted, you missed a good one. No screeds here from me about "ageism," although hearing it come out of the mouths of the PC crowd is pretty hilarious.
One more thing, completely off point. To the reviewer who chastised the lack of credibility for editing in "World War I" footage of a bi-plane being shot down by our hero in the opening sequence, that was actual footage of a Japanese fighter, over China, being shot down, just a few years before the film was made. It's well known to afficionados of aviation in that era. Cheers!
Toward the Unknown (1956)
Not exactly Greek drama, but archetypal anyway
Before beginning this review of a good test-pilot flick, I went through all those previously posted to see if anyone noticed what I noticed. Surprisingly, no one did, surprisingly because so many aviation and Air Force buffs enjoyed "Toward the Unknown." That's not meant to be an indictment, because I missed it on my first viewing when admittedly I was not paying close attention. My second viewing was to judge the film and see if it is worth saving to DVR. It certainly is. A few comments first before I reveal the teaser hinted at in my opening:
Most of the reviews and their comments are valuable concerning the aviation aspects of the film. Historical and background aspects such as the Bud Mahurin, Frank Everest, and Al Boyd connections are valid without my trying to improve on them. The set-ups, perspectives, and costuming used here by Mervyn LeRoy influenced "The Right Stuff" without a doubt.
Likewise valid are comments on the performances. I fall into the camp that finds Virginia Leith a desirable adult woman but at best an average actress—her looks make me wish otherwise. William Holden delivers mainly a rehash of Harry Brubaker of "The Bridges at Toko-Ri." Lloyd Nolan is, well, Lloyd Nolan, cast because of his age and affability. That's okay with me, since I identified with him much more than Holden, particularly in the love triangle plot line. Jim Garner is barely a blip on the screen—one wishes his role was more like Mike Bailey of "Sayonara". Of the rest, Charles McGraw's reprise of his performance in Toko-Ri was the best, while Murray Hamilton, Paul Fix, and L.Q. Jones delivered solid performances of the roles they were typically type-cast in.
I can't let one bone-headed review pass without comment, though. That "bad actor" Holden managed to take home a well-earned Oscar in his career, Leith is hardly "quite plain," and the way in which Lincoln Bond was thought to have "betrayed his country" was very much specified. Pay more attention to the dialog and less to your own snobbish ego.
That leads to my contribution. Those of you who are Air Force film buffs will want to go back and watch for Beirne Lay's numerous references to his "Twelve O'Clock High." At least one scene, when Gen Shelby tries to cajole Banner into moving up to ARDC headquarters, is a virtual replay of an identical scene between Millard Mitchell and Gregory Peck in "Twelve O'Clock High." From there the scenes become easier to spot, among others: Davenport warning Savage "Your failure will be bigger than mine ever was", Joe Cobb's death in combat (I kept waiting for Holden to yell "Jump, you guys, jump," so close was the dialog when Joe Craven was in trouble), and Jesse Bishop's wanting a transfer out of the Air Force, echoed in Bond's wanting to resign. Banner's physical problems that suggest he might be forced to give up flying are from another Lay opus, "Strategic Air Command", made the year before.
There are more, and this is not meant as a criticism. The recycling of plot devices to construct archetypal themes is as old as drama itself. Beyond Generals Banner and Shelby, Lay's use of counterparts from "Twelve O'Clock High" in his screenplay for "Toward the Unknown" is fuzzier, unless you consider that the film might be a retelling from Gately's perspective rather than Savage's. Incidents are assigned to characters where they best advance Lay's points, not for exact match-ups to the prior film. But it's fun spotting them. Tell Ted to stick to reviews of undying brains and watch this movie again.