hearsay

Old movies, because of what they are, serve as their own documentations. If one is curious about a certain title – or about a performance in it – there’s no reason to resort to archival materials or to research what was written about the film at the time of its release.

As wonderful as it is to peruse the vintage reviews of critics Stanley Kaufmann, Pauline Kael, James Agee, Manny Farber, Dwight MacDonald, Graham Greene and Andrew Sarris, the fact is, one simply has to look at the movie itself, first-hand, to form an educated opinion.

Thank God for film.

With theater, it’s different. Until recently, stage productions were not preserved on film or video (and most contemporary shows, for some bizarre, short-sighted reason, still aren’t). A reputedly legendary theater performance would die when the show folded and, consequently, all that’s left of stage hits from 50 or so years ago – Broadway’s celebrated Golden Era – are the dim memories of the remaining few people who saw them.

I bring up this contrast because, in a depressingly routine piece in today’s New York Times, titled “Singing! Dancing! Adapting! Stumbling!,” second-string theater critic Charles Isherwood continues the legend of just how great Ethel Merman was in the original 1959 production of “Gypsy.”

Isherwood flat out states that it was a “fatal” decision not to cast Merman in a film version of the show – “fatal” being an awfully dramatic adjective even for an excitable theater critic to bandy about so freely.

But wait.

Exactly how does Isherwood know that Merman was great? Is he basing his opinion solely on the creaky old Columbia original-cast recording? He certainly didn’t see the original 1959 production. He couldn’t have: My references show Isherwood being born in 1964, five years after “Gypsy” opened and closed on Broadway. (Ben Brantley, the Times' chief theater critic, was only five when "Gypsy" opened.) No, Isherwood's comment is based strictly on Broadway folklore, dusty opinions handed down from generation to generation and most likely distorted with each passing.

It’s hearsay - hearsay written with authority, albeit empty authority. And I’m not sure that hearsay, repeating an old opinion, has a valid place in an essay trying to pass itself off as original critical analysis.

Hearsay comes cheap.
At the risk of seriously dating myself here, I happened to actually see the original Broadway production of “Gypsy” – it was my first Broadway show – and have memories of Merman as a loud, forceful singer but a rather indifferent, aggressive, although not-altogether-unpleasant actress.

For some reason, the word “overrated” comes to mind.

Except for a few solipsistic theater types, I doubt if anyone seriously thinks that Merman could have carried a film of “Gypsy.” I’d be willing to wager that even Ethel herself was realistic enough to know that it would never happen, her film work being generally uneventful up to that time.

Exacerbating this matter, the Times TV section ran the following unsigned opinion when Turner Classics recently aired Warners’ 1962 version of “Gypsy”: “Russell can’t touch Broadway’s Merman.” Wanna bet that this anonymous Times writer didn’t see the original stage production either?

Hearsay. It’s all hearsay. And it’s ... worthless.

Much more worthwhile would be an analysis of why "Gypsy" has never been particularly popular with the general public. True, critics and theater aficionados love it, and gay men adore it, but the fact remains that it has never enjoyed a long run in any of its various incarnations.

Even such lesser shows as "Beatlemania" and 1989's all-but-forgotten "Grand Hotel" had longer runs. The public likes "Gypsy" alright but it also seems to keep it at arm's length, rather cautiously. Let's just say that, to Middle America, it's no "Phantom of the Opera."

The Russell referred to in that Times TV quote is, of course, Rosalind Russell, who gave a nuanced, fully-realized performance in the film. In a way, the Times is right, in spite of itself: Russell can’t touch Merman. That’s because she’s way ahead of Merman in the role. Russell’s better.

To paraphrase what I said earlier, we can’t go back and evaluate Merman’s performance. We can only read tattered, yellowed old reviews. But Russell’s performance on film – and on video and DVD – speaks for itself. It’s there to see and to savor. We don’t need hearsay.

We can see for ourselves that she's actually very good in the film.

Incidentally, Russell, who sang in “Wonderful Town” on Broadway just a few years earlier, couldn’t meet the demands of the Jule Styne-Stephen Sondheim score, and the great Lisa Kirk was brought in to dub most of the songs. The vocal match-up remains uncanny. And one more thing: The late, husky-voiced Kirk, with her driving, razor-sharp delivery, is inarguably the definitive interpreter of the Styne-Sondheim songs – better than Merman and, yes, way better than (dare I say it?) Patti Lupone.

I’m curious. What do you think of critics clinging to hearsay in reviews, giving the impression of having seen something that they, well, haven't?

It’s a habit I personally find hugely deceptive and vaguely disreputable.

But critics do it all the time. I mean, Peter Bogdanovich’s exquisite "At Long Last Love" is usually damned by people who haven’t seen it, who have only heard about it - although it does have a loyal following.

Note in Passing: BTW, the Times piece that inspired this post is one of those journalism perennials - in this case, a critic’s self-debate about the pros and cons of stage musicals and their film versions.

Am I imagining things or is this the umpteenth time that New York’s paper of record has wasted precious news space on this subject? It seems every time a new film musical is released, this standard piece is hauled out.

Anyway, reading it – or trying to read it – I was reminded of a weary old whore tired of using the same dated tricks on her johns. Flailing around for a hook this time out, the Times uses the occasion to trash, once again, the new movie version of “Mamma Mia!,” one of its film critics already having had a go at it. But the Times isn’t alone here. No, critics in general have been disproportionately enraged by "Mamma Mia!"

With their noted attention to (easily-manipulated) minutia and with all the subtlety and pettiness of schoolyard bullies, America's diminished and diminishing movie critics have ganged up on this harmless, purely pleasurable film as if they were engaged in a personal fight with something the approximate size of - oh, let's see - the U.S. government.

You know, there's a reason why critics have been traditionally stereotyped as miserable people deserving of their misery.

(Artwork: We only have dimmed memories - and old photos - of Merman in "Gypsy"; Russell, with a little help from Lisa Kirk, performs the seminal "Rose's Turn" at the conclusion of the 1962 film version)

The Notorious Landlady" Returns!

I'm back from self-imposed limbo, feeling better and eager to share thoughts on overlooked movies - starting with Richard Quine's "The Notorious Landlady," heroically rescued from oblivion by Turner Classics which airs it at 2 p.m. (est) on Tuesday, August 12th.

Here is Jack Lemmon in a selection of shots bounding through the air in the film's climatic and wonderful chase sequence, which Quine and composer George Duning set to selections from Gilbert and Sullivan's "The Pirates of Penzance."

Makes me want to fly, too. Enjoy!
The End.

(Artwork: Jack Be Nimble - Lemmon at work on his own stuntwork in "The Notorious Landlady")

Quine's "Operation Mad Ball" (1957)

Jack Lemmon turned in one of his finest, most assured and confident and also most unheralded performances in 1957's ”Operation Mad Ball,” Richard Quine's long-lost military farce that will be receiving a rare showing on Turner Classics at 8 a.m. (est) on Saturday, July 19th.

To date, Sony has yet to release this minor gem on any home entertainment format, although it was reported recently on "reports from the lost continent of cinephilia," Dave Kehr's lively blog, that both it and "The Notorious Landlady" (1962), also directed by Quine, would be part of an upcoming boxed set devoted to Lemmon.

"Mad Ball," written by Jed Harris, Blake Edwards and Arthur Carter (adapted from Carter's play), is something of a '50s Playboy cartoon that can't be maintained as a single-frame strip and comes hilariously to life - what with the usual barracks of horny guys quietly lusting after female officers who are enticingly buttoned up in their regulation uniforms.

Lemmon plays Pvt. Hogan, the incorrigible schemer who hatches a plan to bring the men and (willing) women together at an illegal military bash to end all illegal military bashes. It's an ensemble piece with perfectly cast ensemble performers but, still, Lemmon manages to take center stage and command it but without ever really hogging it.

His Pvt. Hogan plays like a natural extention of his Ensign Pulver in "Mister Roberts" (1955), coated with a nice knowing swagger and a little more maturity. Actually, Hogan plays like a combination of Pulver and Roberts and I've a hunch that Lemmon planned it just that way.

His smooth delivery of the unexpectedly literate dialogue and witty banter (you can see Edwards's fingerprints on most of the quips) may be better than his line readings in even "The Apartment." This is Lemmon during his naturalist period, with no finicky bits of business to get in the way.

And his remarkable rapport and generosity with the cast around him only hightlights his - and the film's - naturalism.

Look for memorable bits by then-newcomers Dick York, William Hickey, William Leslie, James Darren, Roger Smith, Paul Picerni, L. Q. Jones, David McMahon, Sheridan Comerate and Dick Crockett (director Quine's right-hand man off screen and frequent co-star in his films) as the various guys in awe of Hogan's assorted shameless cons.

Ernie Kovacs, in a terrific film debut (and the first of three films that he made with Quine and Lemmon), makes a fastideous villain as Hogan's rigid nemesis; the always-reliable Arthur O'Connell is the camp's endearingly befuddled commander; Kathryn Grant (Crosby) supplies the sweet love interest, and Jeanne Manet, a wonderful, little-know French actress who disappeared from the screen far too soon, is outstanding as Madame LaFour, the cynical French woman who provides Hogan with a location for his mad ball - for a price.

And then there's Mickey Rooney, running, jumping and dancing all over the place as a hipster soldier (and York's cousin) who talks like a '50s beat poet way ahead of his time. The film is set in 1945.

In many ways, "Operation Mad Ball" is the '50s precursor to Robert Altman's "M*A*S*H" (1970), boasting the same amount of irreverent, dark humor. The only difference is that it uses Coke in lieu of blood for one of the film's funny visual gags. (You have to see the film to get it.)

I mean, here is a military comedy that, not unlike "M*A*S*H," locates humor in the word "coagulate."

Note in Passing: The title song performed over the film's opening credits was composed by Fred Karger with lyrics by director Quine. It is sung by an uncredited Sammy Davis, Jr.

(Artwork: A newspaper display ad for Quine's "Operation Mad Ball" and the usual studio publicity shots - standard for that era - of stars Lemmon, Kovacs, Grant and O'Connell)

the contrarian: "Mamma Mia!"

There's been a silent campaign for the past two decades or so to kill off - or at least, demonize - the film musical, and critics, whether they want to take ownership or not, have been complicit in this subversion with reviews alternately condescending, snarky and almost willfully ignorant.

These qualities have dominated the hilariously predictable initial reviews of Hollywood's newest musical, the ABBA-inspired "Mamma Mia!" It's been amusing to read some of the more representative reviews. (see Note in Passing below) On average, they've ranged from the begrudgingly favorable (i.e., those critics who had fun with the movie but don't want to necessarily admit it) to begrudingly unfavorable (those critics who resent they even had to sit through it, let alone had to actually write about it).

If you read between the lines, your basic review - tantamount to an exercise in self-aggrandizement - essentially claims, "Cool people don't like ABBA and, hey, I'm way too cool, you know."

Well, coolness be damned. I liked it. Of course, I like film musicals in general but not the ones that have been deemed "acceptable."

Full disclosure: I think (a) "West Side Story" is unwatchable, (b) "Cabaret" is excruciating, (c) "The Sound of Music" should be "put in a vault" (to borrow a favorite phrase from Disney Home Entertainment), and (d) that anything created by the late Bob Fosse is irritatingly mannered.

Now that I've all but destroyed my credibility, let me say this about "Mamma Mia!" It's a hugely satisfying hodgepodge of old Hollywood staples and conventions, taking a plotline reminiscent of the 1968 Melvin Frank-Gina Lollobrigida comedy, "Buona Sera, Mrs. Campbell," adding a middle-aged Gidget to the mix (named Donna and played by the very game and pert Meryl Streep, seemingly in tribute to pert Sandra Dee) and giving it the giddiness of the grand "let's-put-on-a-show" movie-musical tradition. Only in this case, it's a wedding that's put on, not a show.

Got that?

As an added bonus, there's the gorgeous scenery (Kastani Beach, Greece), those songs (that dare you not to bob and smile), that cast (having the kind of fun that's contagious) and the joy of discovering a talented new star (Amanda Seyfried, who shrewdly plays Streep's daughter Sophie as a kid who's more mature and stable than her mother).

So, what's not to like? Just about the perfect summer movie, "Mamma Mia!" is like taking a tiny vacation.

But, hey, I way too uncool, you know.

Note in Passing: Looking for a reason - any reason - to dislike the film, the always scintillating A.O. Scott of The New York Times came up with a whopper. Picking at nits, he writes:

"A song lyric refers to the 'time of the Flower Power.' (Surely you remember the Flower Power!) But Sophie sure doesn’t look 40. At one point, Harry recalls the Johnny Rotten T-shirt he had back when he knew Donna, which is 10 years closer to the mark but still about 10 years off."

Jeez, it's only a musical, Tony, and a rather frivolous one at that.

(Artwork: The always remarkable Streep goes diva in "Mamma Mia!," and Scott of the NY Times)

cinema obscura: Mervyn LeRoy's "A Majority of One" (1961) sighted!

Toward the end of his directing career, Mervyn LeRoy created something of a comfortable cottage industry, directing the movie versions of Broadway hits for Jack Warner, starting with Joshua Logan and Thomas Heggen's "Mr. Roberts" (1955), in which he took over for John Ford when Ford became ill.

Then came Maxwell Anderson's "The Bad Seed" (1956), Ira Levin's "No Time for Sergeants" (1958), Leonard Spigelgass' "A Majority of One" (1961), Arthur Laurents' "Gypsy" (1962) and Jean Kerr's ”Mary, Mary” (1963).

"A Majority of One" airs Tuesday, July 15th at 10 p.m. (est) as part of Turner's on-going trubute to Rosalind Russell, following an 8 p.m. (est) screening of Joshua Logan's "Picnic" (1955).

Spigelgass' play about middle-aged love, was directed by the legendary Dore Schary and ran for 556 performances. Russell stars in the film with Alec Guinness and it's safe to say that both are pretty much cast against type in the roles created on stage by Gertrude Berg and Cedric Hardwicke.

Russell plays Mrs. Jacoby, a Jewish widow urged by her daughter (played by Madlyn Rhue ) to venture beyond her native Brooklyn and travel ... to Japan. Japan! Mrs. Jacoby's only son died during World War II fighting the Japanese. Begrudgingly, she goes and falls in with Mr. Asano (Guiness), a widower who is ... Japanese. Their shared attraction and cultural differences both exhilarate and frighten them. Exacerbating this are the societal pressures, which will be frequent and likely to be harsh.

"A Majority of One" is one of three consecutive films responsible for making Russell a pariah among New York's Broadway community. She was the theater's darling when she was on the boards in "Wonderful Town" and "Auntie Mame," but all that goodwill was lost when it was perceived she was "stealing" roles that belonged to other actresses.

In 1962, following "A Majority of One," Russell took on Jessica Tandy's role in Daniel Mann’s film of the Peter Shaffer play, “Five Finger Exercise,” followed the same year by LeRoy's filmization of "Gypsy," in which she dared to take on Ethel Merman's role as Madam Rose.

Much of the bad press surrounding "Gypsy" at the time of its release, reporedly orchestrated by the vitriolic New York gossip columnist Dorothy Killgalen, had nothing to do with the completed film and everything to do with Russell's participation in it.

"Gypsy" is also included in Turner's current tribute, airing Tuesday, July 29th at 10:30 p.m. (est), but alas, "Five Finger Exercise" isn't. Also missing is one of Roz's great oddities, the movie version of Arthur Kopit's “Oh Dad, Poor Dad, Mama’s Hung You in the Closet and I’m Feeling So Sad,” directed by a former young actor who appeared with her in the film of "My Sister Eileen" - Richard Quine.

Maybe next time.

Note in Passing: Two very good late-career LeRoy films that have become just about impossible to see but are worth tracking down are ”Home Before Dark” (1958) and ”Wake Me When It’s Over” (1961).

(Artwork: Poster art for LeRoy's "A Majority of One"; Rox in various poses as Mrs. Jacoby, and the poster for Leonard Spigelgass' original play)