Classic Films in Focus: DODGE CITY (1939)

Michael Curtiz directs Errol Flynn in Dodge City (1939), the first of the swashbuckling star's forays into Western territory, with frequent costars Olivia de Havilland and Alan Hale along for the action, as well. Briskly paced and packed with excitement, Dodge City forgoes elegaic musings on the closing of the West and instead celebrates its taming as Flynn's cattle driver turned lawman fights to bring civilization to lawless Dodge. Flynn and de Havilland spark against a bright Technicolor backdrop while an excellent supporting cast fills out the archetypes of the genre, including Bruce Cabot as the ruthless villain and Ann Sheridan as his saloon singer girlfriend.

Flynn stars as Wade Hatton, a roving Irishman whose latest American adventure is running cattle from Texas to Dodge City. He meets Abbie (Olivia de Havilland) as a wagon passenger accompanying the drive, but the death of her feckless brother on the trail sours their budding romance. In Dodge Hatton finds an old enemy, Jeff Surrett (Bruce Cabot), running the town with the help of his murderous lackeys, and Hatton eventually agrees to take up the sheriff's badge in order to beat Surrett and make Dodge safe for frontier families. Surrett, however, will stop at nothing to hang on to his power; numerous innocent people die as a result of his corruption and greed.

Flynn's accent marks him as a recent arrival to the West even if he doesn't sound a bit like an Irishman, but the good looks and vigor that make him so compelling in derring-do serve him just as well in a cattle driver's saddle. His character pursues romance and justice in equal measure, leaving the dirty work of a huge, comic brawl to sidekicks Rusty (Alan Hale) and Tex (Guinn Williams). The heroic Hatton is well-matched by the villainous Surrett, played to cool effect by Bruce Cabot, who always looks at home in a Western setting. The women, sadly, have less to do. Olivia de Havilland's Abbie endures some egregiously sexist chatter from Flynn in a wrong-headed attempt at flirtation, but we still get the sense that she has a durable, pioneer spirit that attracts him just as much as her luminous beauty. Ann Sheridan turns up for a couple of song numbers but seems to be missing the good girl/bad girl subplot that would give her character more development. In Destry Rides Again (1939) and Stagecoach (1939), both released in the same year, Sheridan's type of character shines, but there's just no room left to explore her motivations or even her fate in the bustling pace of Dodge City.

Small roles in the film feature a number of memorable actors turning in fine performances, most notably Victor Jory as Surrett's saturnine henchman, Yancey. The sympathetic characters tend toward tragedy, but adversity gives the performers an opportunity to make their scenes resonate with the audience. Frank McHugh is excellent as the feisty crusading journalist Joe Clemens, whom Surrett hates for daring to expose murder and corruption in the local headlines. Amiable Henry Travers appears as Abbie's uncle, Dr. Irving, a figure of respectability and the kind of man Dodge needs more of instead of the wild ruffians who roam the streets. The tragic Cole family includes John Litel as the father, Bobs Watson as the precocious Harry, and Gloria Holden as the grieving Mrs. Cole. Holden makes the most of her one big scene in the newspaper office, investing her few lines with all the suppressed suffering and resignation we imagine she would feel. Also making the most of a limited role is William Lundigan as Abbie's wastrel brother, Lee, who is too young and stupid to understand the danger of his actions until it's too late.

Santa Fe Trail (1940) reunites director Curtiz with Flynn, de Havilland, and Hale, along with a number of the supporting players, for another Western adventure, but for the best of the Flynn-Curtiz collaborations see Captain Blood (1935), The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938), and The Sea Hawk (1940). For more of Flynn in Western wear, try Virginia City (1940) and They Died with Their Boots On (1941). Ann Sheridan has bigger roles in Kings Row (1940), The Man Who Came to Dinner (1942), and Nora Prentiss (1947). Look for Bobs Watson in Boys Town (1938) and Men of Boys Town (1941), and see Bruce Cabot in King Kong (1933) and The Flame of New Orleans (1941). In later years Cabot became a regular in John Wayne Westerns, with supporting roles in The Comancheros (1961), McLintock! (1963), and The War Wagon (1967).

More posts about Errol Flynn:

The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex (1939)

California 2017: Highlights from the Warner Bros. Studio Tour

We spent spring break in Los Angeles and Anaheim this year, ostensibly to tour colleges for our teenager (whose dream school is Cal Arts). While I was once again too early to revel in the delights of the TCM Film Festival in Hollywood, I did manage to enjoy plenty of movie buff destinations, from Hollywood Blvd. to Disneyland. One of our best side trips was a morning at the Warner Bros. Studios in Burbank, where we took in a guided tour. Lauren, our tour guide, was a TCM addict and classic film fan, so she was the perfect person to tell us all about the studio's golden age stars and productions!

Here are a few photos of classic Hollywood items from the museum showcase near the end of the Warner Bros. Studio Tour.

First up is a dress worn by the great Olivia de Havilland in The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex (1939), which also stars Bette Davis and Errol Flynn as the title characters. It's not one of the more elaborate costumes from the film, but it was still wonderful to see something the actress wore in the picture. It was even nicer because de Havilland celebrated her 100th birthday last summer and is still with us.

Also on display is the microphone used in The Jazz Singer (1927), which is, of course, the perfect item to symbolize the picture that really ushered in the talkie era. It's so big that I inevitably thought of Singin' in the Rain (1952) when I saw it, remembering how much trouble those clunky nuisances gave Gene Kelly and Jean Hagen when their characters tried to make the jump from silent films to sound!

I was also delighted to find a few items from The Music Man (1962), starring Robert Preston and Shirley Jones. My husband and daughter were horrified when I immediately began singing "Seventy-Six Trombones" while staring at this display case, but, honestly, could you have resisted the urge? That trombone is right there. They're lucky it wasn't a costume worn by Ron Howard, or I might have struck up "Gary, Indiana" or "Wells Fargo Wagon" and never stopped.

These photos are just a fraction of what we saw on the tour, which took all morning and was worth every penny. If you find yourself in the LA area, I definitely recommend the Warner Bros. tour as a top pick. Although it also provides a lot of exhibits geared toward fans of modern movies and TV shows, there's plenty for classic movie buffs to appreciate. The only disappointment is the gift shop at the end, which has absolutely nothing to celebrate the studio's long history. Come on, Warner! Can't you even get us a Casablanca fridge magnet or a Rick's Cafe Americain coffee mug?

Classic Films in Focus: THE HEIRESS (1949)

Olivia de Havilland won her second Oscar for Best Actress for The Heiress (1949), William Wyler's dramatic adaptation of the Henry James novel, Washington Square. The awkward, naive protagonist de Havilland plays is a far cry from the unshakably sweet Melanie Wilkes, the role for which de Havilland is best known, but Catherine Sloper is a far more complicated and dynamic character, which gives de Havilland the opportunity to prove that she is every bit as talented an actress as any leading lady of her era. Romantics and sentimental types beware: The Heiress offers no salve for wounded hearts except the cold, cruel comfort of revenge, which de Havilland's heroine metes out to the men in her life with all the fury of a woman scorned. Despite its decidedly cynical perspective on love, The Heiress is a winner for classic film fans, with excellent performances from Ralph Richardson, Miriam Hopkins, and Montgomery Clift, as well as Oscar-winning work from Edith Head and Aaron Copland.

The heiress of the title is de Havilland's character, Catherine, a shy, simple girl who falls woefully short of her father's expectations in a daughter. Dr. Sloper (Ralph Richardson) constantly compares Catherine to his beautiful, accomplished wife, who died in childbirth; to Catherine he is cool and condescending, but to others he more openly complains of her faults and his own disappointment. When the penniless but handsome Morris Townsend (Montgomery Clift) courts the lovestruck Catherine, Dr. Sloper assumes that he only wants her money and tries to break the match, but his heartless tactics have unintended consequences. His widowed sister, Lavinia (Miriam Hopkins), encourages the young couple, but even she underestimates the extent of Catherine's resentment against those who have conspired to break her heart.

Catherine's climactic disillusionment gives de Havilland very different emotional states to play in the first and second halves of the film. When we first meet Catherine, she is not exactly plain, for de Havilland's natural beauty shines through no matter what, but she is very shy and introverted, never sure what to do with her hands or where to look during a conversation. She always leans away from the person who addresses her, shrinking with self-consciousness, but she can be clever when she speaks to her aunt, and if she is awkward it is partly because she possesses keen feelings that are easily overwhelmed. Catherine feels happiest when left alone with her embroidery, but as a young woman of the nineteenth century she is expected to be decorative, graceful, and, above all, marriageable. Dr. Sloper and Morris both make assumptions about her because of her perceived vulnerability, but cold iron waits beneath the softness that they manage to tear away. The moment of transformation is marked; everything about Catherine changes forever, even her voice, which drops from a tremulous whisper to a clear, hard snarl. In the later Catherine de Havilland gives us a fierce, sharp-edged fury of great beauty and burning eyes, feeding a bonfire of resentment beneath a calm exterior. She is absolutely terrifying, especially in the final scenes, when Morris returns after many years of separation.

The supporting players lend their characters subtlety and nuance that keep us from easily guessing their motives or their true natures. Miriam Hopkins is the most transparent and sympathetic as Aunt Lavinia, who enjoys life and the prospect of young love enough to hope for the best for Catherine, even if she also suspects that Morris is chiefly attracted to the girl's fortune. Ralph Richardson's Dr. Sloper, a bit devilish in his neat goatee, might actually love his daughter in some capacity but doesn't realize how deeply he wounds her until he has gone too far. He is certainly a selfish, insensitive father, who describes his only child as "an entirely mediocre and defenseless creature without a shred of poise." He never realizes how important Catherine's love for him is until he loses it forever. Montgomery Clift gives the most inscrutable performance as Morris; we never know how he really feels about Catherine. He, too, might love her, as he perpetually claims, even if he sees her wealth as necessary for his own comfort. His face never betrays him, but he does demonstrate quite a taste for the finer things in life, as well as a complete inability to work for them himself. Because the audience never knows for sure, we never know if Catherine's wrath is warranted. Is the ending terrible justice, or is it only tragedy?

The Heiress earned eight Oscar nominations in all, including a nod for Best Picture, with four wins. For de Havilland's other Oscar-nominated performances, see Gone with the Wind (1939), Hold Back the Dawn (1941), To Each His Own (1946), and The Snake Pit (1948). William Wyler also directed Mrs. Miniver (1942), The Best Years of Our Lives (1946), and Ben-Hur (1959). See more of the handsome, tragic Montgomery Clift in Red River (1948), A Place in the Sun (1951), and From Here to Eternity (1953). You'll find Ralph Richardson in The Four Feathers (1939), Anna Karenina (1948), and Richard III (1955). Miriam Hopkins takes leading roles in earlier films like The Story of Temple Drake (1933), Becky Sharp (1935), and The Old Maid (1939). For the sake of comparison, you might try the 1997 version of Washington Square, which stars Jennifer Jason Leigh as Catherine and Albert Finney as her father, but the most famous adaptation of a Henry James story is certainly the 1961 horror classic, The Innocents.

Classic Movie Tourist: The Margaret Mitchell House

The Atlanta area includes several places where devotees can get their Gone with the Wind fix: the Road to Tara Museum is in Jonesboro, and Marietta is home to the Gone with the Wind Museum. In the heart of the city, however, you'll find the Margaret Mitchell House, where the author lived for a number of years and where she wrote much of the novel after an auto accident left her housebound. The restored house is part of the Atlanta History Center, and for $13 ($10 for seniors and students), visitors can enjoy a guided tour of the apartment where Mitchell lived as well as several exhibits about her life, the novel, and the blockbuster film that premiered in Atlanta in 1939.

For most people, the book and the movie are inextricably entwined. It's fair to say that more people have seen the 1939 picture than have actually read Mitchell's lengthy saga. When Scarlett O'Hara appears in the cultural consciousness, she is inevitably played by Vivien Leigh, and Clark Gable fully occupies the role of the roguish Rhett Butler. The other major actors in the film have also become part of the GWTW legacy, including Olivia de Havilland, Hattie McDaniel, Leslie Howard, and even Butterfly McQueen. The exhibits at the Margaret Mitchell House reflect this aspect of the story's history; many of the displays focus on the film adaptation, which makes the museum a great destination for fans of the stars involved.

"The Making of a Film Legend" section features video about the picture's production history and a large portrait of Scarlett O'Hara that was seen in the movie. Another highlight of the exhibit is the actual door to Tara used in the film; visitors can stand in front of it and imagine themselves waving from the plantation mansion's steps. In the "Stars Fall on Atlanta" exhibit, there are photographs and keepsakes from the movie premiere, which Atlanta society turned into a huge series of parties with celebrity guests.

Of course, classic movie fans will want to browse the gift shop, where GWTW items of all sorts can be found. The shop also offers prints of production stills and promo photos depicting Gable and Leigh as well as posters for the film release. Hattie McDaniel magnets, Tara Christmas ornaments, and books about a variety of GWTW related subjects are also available. I was pleased to find Kendra Bean's new book, Vivien Leigh: An Intimate Portrait, prominently displayed on the front table.

If you're headed to Atlanta any time in the near future, the Margaret Mitchell House is definitely worth a visit. It's located at 979 Crescent Avenue NE in Atlanta, not far from many of the city's other major tourist attractions. The museum is open 10 AM to 5:30 PM Monday through Saturday and noon to 5:30 PM on Sunday. House tours are included in admission and are offered regularly throughout the day.

Classic Films in Focus: IT'S LOVE I'M AFTER (1937)

We don't generally associate any of its leading actors with the genre of romantic comedy, but that's one reason why Archie Mayo's 1937 film, It's Love I'm After, comes as such a pleasant surprise. The flirtatiously light story could have underpinned an Astaire and Rogers musical, but instead we have Leslie Howard, Bette Davis, and Olivia de Havilland making a troublesome romantic triangle and providing plenty of laughs along the way. Throw in a supporting cast that includes Patric Knowles, Eric Blore, and Spring Byington, and you've got a perfect recipe for the kind of cinematic confection that dominated the smart, sprightly comedies of the era.

Leslie Howard plays stage star Basil Underwood, who engages in a love/hate courtship with his leading lady, Joyce Arden (Bette Davis). Basil is briefly distracted, however, by the adoration of Marcia West (Olivia de Havilland), much to the dismay of her fiance, Henry (Patric Knowles). Henry convinces Basil to turn up at Marcia's house and behave as badly as possible in order to disillusion her, but the plan backfires, and jealous Joyce further complicates the situation by pursuing Basil to the Wests' estate.

There are several delights on offer here. One is seeing Howard and Davis play Romeo and Juliet on stage, whispering poison into each other's ears even as they proclaim the doomed lovers' lines. If you like the sparring thespian couple in To Be or Not to Be (1942), you'll love these two, and Howard brings an especially amusing version of his usual diffidence into the egotistical actor's character. Another highlight is Olivia de Havilland's screwball performance as the starstruck fan; she really invests her scenes with a wacky intensity that makes one wonder why she didn't get to do more of these kinds of films. If you've only seen her as the demure Melanie in Gone with the Wind (1939), you're in for a shock here. Speaking of Gone with the Wind, there's a hilarious Clark Gable gag near the end of the picture, made funnier by the fact that Howard, de Havilland, and Gable would all be starring in that film just two years later.

Patric Knowles is handsome and earnest as Henry; if he pales in comparison to Howard's Basil, he's at least very good to look at, and his dullness serves the purpose of the character. Spring Byington plays the kind of nutty society matron she often brought to life on screen, and she's as funny here as you would expect her to be, although the crowded house party limits her scenes. Nancy Drew fans will also recognize teenaged Bonita Granville as the keyhole spy, Gracie, although a little of her character goes a long way. Eric Blore, however, takes the prize among the supporting cast for the funniest lines and the best reaction shots; watch the way he employs his toupee as a comic prop throughout the film. His presence helps to increase the feeling of watching a Fred and Ginger picture with the musical numbers removed, since he also appeared with them in Top Hat (1935), Swing Time (1936), and Shall We Dance (1937). He's funny enough all by himself to make the whole movie worth watching, no matter how you feel about the more celebrated stars.

See more of Howard and Davis together in Of Human Bondage (1934) and The Petrified Forest (1936). Ironically, Howard's last film before It's Love I'm After was Romeo and Juliet (1936), in which Norma Shearer played his leading lady. For more comedy with Bette Davis, try The Bride Came C.O.D. (1941). You'll find Olivia de Havilland and Patric Knowles in The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938), while de Havilland and Davis make a memorable pair in Hush... Hush, Sweet Charlotte (1964). Director Archie Mayo also made the hilarious Jack Benny comedy, Charley's Aunt (1941), as well as the Marx Brothers picture, A Night in Casablanca (1946).

 It's Love I'm After is not especially well-known today, but it's now available on DVD from Warner Archive, and hopefully that will help more people find and enjoy it. It's definitely worth the effort if you can track it down.

Classic Films in Focus: THE PRIVATE LIVES OF ELIZABETH AND ESSEX (1939)

Directed by Michael Curtiz, The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex (1939) offers as much Technicolor pomp and spectacle as one could hope for in a lavish Warner Brothers costume drama, as well as the stars to match. Bette Davis rules the screen as Elizabeth I, but her court boasts luminaries as diverse as Errol Flynn, Olivia de Havilland, Vincent Price, Donald Crisp, Henry Daniell, and Nanette Fabray. The story plays fast and loose with historical accuracy and reveals a very irksome sense of sexual politics, but Elizabeth and Essex offers viewers a terrific cast and particularly fascinating performance from an almost unrecognizable Davis, here transforming herself into a mythic monarch twice her actual age.

As the aging queen, Davis presides over a royal court that bristles with rival factions, sycophants, and spies. Despite her passionate love for the much younger Earl of Essex (Errol Flynn), Elizabeth distrusts his ambition and his ulterior motives, while his enemies do everything in their power to discredit him. One of Elizabeth's attendants, Lady Penelope Gray (Olivia de Havilland), would steal the Earl's affection for herself if she could, while Sir Walter Raleigh (Vincent Price) hopes to supplant Essex as the queen's new favorite. Even Francis Bacon (Donald Crisp), supposedly a friend to both Essex and the queen, looks to his own interests first. When the manipulative courtiers arrange for Essex to lead a losing war against the Earl of Tyrone (Alan Hale) in Ireland, their subsequent treachery brings the lovers to a tragic confrontation.

The movie, adapted from the play by Maxwell Anderson, concerns itself much more with romance than history, although Elizabeth's real relationship with Essex certainly inspires some raised eyebrows. The events that unfold in the film do, at least, offer a sense of the dangerous nature of Elizabethan court life, and Essex really did suffer the fate shown in the conclusion, as would his rival, Sir Walter Raleigh, some years later. Elizabeth was more than thirty years older than Essex, which we see in Davis' remarkable appearance, but Essex also had a wife and several children, and they are conveniently absent here.

The romantic angle depends upon a certain reading of Elizabeth's nature that one might uncharitably describe as that of a love-starved cougar. Davis excelled at playing difficult women who yearn for unconditional love, making this a perfect role for her, but it does a disservice to the historical queen's abilities as a ruler. Davis' version seems overburdened by the weight of the crown on her poor female head and wishes to be only a woman instead, while Flynn's sexist Essex would be perfectly happy to grant that wish provided that his masculine ego is gratified by his own ascension to the throne. Played merely as fictional romance, the set-up is dated though not particularly surprising, but as historical biography it's a suspicious undermining of the reputation of one of the greatest female leaders in the course of Western history.

Despite these issues, which might well trouble a feminist scholar a lot more than they will bother the average viewer, the movie has plenty of unqualified delights, from Davis' incredible physical appearance to the gorgeous costumes and Erich Wolfgang Korngold's terrific score. The sight of Vincent Price in tights, preening as the ambitious and devious Raleigh, is by itself enough to make the whole picture worth watching. Errol Flynn and Donald Crisp both offer memorable performances, and Alan Hale has a small but important role that puts him on the opposite side of the battle from his Robin Hood costar. It would be nice for Olivia de Havilland to have more to do as Lady Penelope, especially in the wake of her Robin Hood and Gone with the Wind performances, but Nanette Fabray has some very good scenes as the young Mistress Margaret, whose romantic problems inspire pity and sympathy in Elizabeth.

Nominated for five Oscars, The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex suffered from the plethora of masterpieces made in 1939 and the competing performances of its own stars. Like Davis' other 1939 film, Dark Victory, Elizabeth and Essex went home empty-handed. Davis, interestingly enough, played Elizabeth again in 1955 in The Virgin Queen. For more big budget costume dramas, try The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938), Gone with the Wind (1939), The Three Musketeers (1948), and Ivanhoe (1952). For more of Michael Curtiz, Errol Flynn, and Olivia de Havilland, see Captain Blood (1935), Dodge City (1939), and Santa Fe Trail (1940).

Classic Films in Focus: HUSH... HUSH, SWEET CHARLOTTE (1964)

Southern Gothic is all about collapse, moral, physical, and psychological, but it clings to its faded charms. It's a painted blush on a corpse's cheek, a courtly bow from the Grim Reaper, a wrinkled hag in a debutante gown. We understand the connection between decadence and decay in this sort of tale, dripping with Spanish moss and smiling cruelty. In Hush... Hush, Sweet Charlotte (1964), director Robert Aldrich brings all of these elements into play to create an intelligent horror movie for adults, those who can understand that the real terror lies as much in the sagging lines of Bette Davis' aging face as it does in the gruesome shadows of the summer house.

Davis plays Charlotte Hollis, the last remnant of a wealthy Louisiana family, who is stubbornly rotting away in her ancestral mansion, despite the fact that the government is about to tear the house down in order to build a bridge. She has her own reasons for clinging to her home, all stemming from the brutal murder of her lover (Bruce Dern) that took place there nearly forty years before. Everyone in town thinks that Charlotte did it, but of course there's a lot more to the story than that, and all of the long hidden details begin to seep out with the arrival of Charlotte's cousin, Miriam Deering (Olivia de Havilland). Soon the house is full of strange sights and sounds. Is Charlotte finally losing her mind, or is something sinister at work in the dark rooms of Hollis House?

The film brings Bette Davis full circle from Jezebel (1938), an idea hinted at in the portrait of a young Davis that decorates Hollis House in the later film. It is actually a painting of the star in her earlier role as Julie Marsden, and, indeed, Charlotte is a lot like what Julie might have become, brittle, stormy and willful, a difficult woman aging badly and at war with the world. The movie was meant to capitalize on the success of Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962) by reuniting stars Davis and Joan Crawford, but Crawford left just a few days into filming and was eventually replaced by Olivia de Havilland. The change was a boon to the film, since de Havilland makes for a much more interesting counterpoint to Davis, and it makes a wonderful ironic statement to have the angelic martyr of Gone with the Wind (1939) play Jezebel's duplicitous foil.

The other players hold their own against the two leading ladies. We get Joseph Cotten drawling away as the scheming Drew Bayliss, Agnes Moorehead feisty and hard-faced as Velma, Mary Astor as the dying Jewel Mayhew, and Cecil Kellaway as the kindly insurance agent, Harry. Bruce Dern looks suitably tragic and troubled as Charlotte's lover, John Mayhew, and Victor Buono is terrific as her overbearing father, Big Sam. Moorehead won a Golden Globe and was nominated for a Best Supporting Actress Oscar for her part. Watch the studied lethargy she adopts whenever prying outsiders come around, the way she shifts her body language and facial expression between secret humane energy and assumed assumed insolent sloth.

Stunning visual compositions make full use of the black and white medium and suggest the themes and subtexts of the narrative. We see many instances of characters looking through windows or framed by windows and doors; the camera also emphasizes the opening and closing of doors in several key scenes. These images remind us how trapped Charlotte feels in Hollis House, but they also symbolize her imprisonment within her own mind; her antagonists make use of both of her prisons in their efforts to destroy her. Charlotte wanders through the faded rooms of the house at night, calling out for her murdered lover, herself a mere specter of the tragic girlish heroine she once had been. This house is definitely haunted, and the camera work builds our sense of dread beautifully, until we are fully prepared to be drawn into Charlotte's dreamlike vision of the ghostly party, where faceless revelers await the lovers' dance.

Nominated for seven Academy Awards, Hush... Hush, Sweet Charlotte is a rarity among horror films, although it has its peers in the likes of Gaslight (1944), Dragonwyck (1946), and The Night of the Hunter (1955). All of these Gothic thrillers have more in common with early horror than they do with the genre's modern incarnation. If you like goosebumps without gore, then these are the films for you. Try the sadly overlooked Lady in White (1988) for a modern revival of the classic Gothic style.

An earlier version of this review originally appeared on Examiner.com. The author retains all rights to this content.