What happened to the Hood?

Robin Hood (1922), dir. Allen Dwan, w/ Douglas Fairbanks (Huntingdon/Robin Hood), Wallace Beery (Richard I), Sam de Grasse (Prince John),  Enid Bennett (Lady Marian), Paul Dickey (Guy of Gisbourne), Alan Hale (Little John).

This is the third of the costume dramas produced by United Artists featuring Douglas Fairbanks — he had been in The Mark of Zorro and The Three Musketeers earlier.  It has a lot in common with Musketeers, and something in common with Zorro.  It has the big sets just like Musketeers, and that’s a good thing — lots of places for Fairbanks to demonstrate his athleticism.  He is also part of a greater band, rather than a totally solo figure  — Fairbanks looks best as the star of a team.  He also has a double identity (sort of) like in Zorro.  Of course, here, both as Huntingdon and as Robin Hood, he is an athletic figure, the king’s right hand man.  When he returns to England to set things aright, it looks as if he is chickening out of the Crusades, and the king loses faith in him for a moment.  But he never plays the part of a coward or a fop, as he did as Don Diego.  The set design of the castle was quite outstanding, even though much of the great hall was done with a painted glass panel.  It looks impressive, and that’s what matters.  Lots of sword fights and leaping around, well done as always.

One thing that I don’t understand — why the story veers from the Howard Pyle version of the legend, which we get in the 1939 version — why is Robin Hood the second in command to Richard, rather than a Saxon knight, who comes afoul of royalty because of his Saxon blood?  And there is nothing to explain why Robert, Earl of Huntingdon, is now Robin Hood — in the legend, he is Robin of Locksley, and so Robin Hood when he takes to robbing the rich and distributing to the poor.

Wallace Beery was a strange choice for Richard — a big lug of a guy, he doesn’t seem very royal — a tugboat captain, yes, king, no!  That choice does make for a great contrast with Sam de Grasse as John, who is small and rather frail looking, and clearly someone not given to athletic endeavor.

But there are four…

The Three Musketeers (1921), dir. Fred Niblo, w/ Douglas Fairbanks (D’Artagnan), Leon Barry (Athos), George Siegman (Porthos), Eugene Palette (Aramis), Nigel de Brulier (Richelieu), Marguerite de la Motte (Constance), Adolphe Menjou (Louis XIII).

Following hard upon the success of The Mark of Zorro (1920), Fairbanks produced this costume piece based on Alexandre Dumas’ novel of the same name.  With this film, I think Fairbanks really hit his stride.  It’s not that he didn’t demonstrate his athleticism in Zorro, but it gave him less of a field in which to demonstrate his athleticism.  Also, there is something in the characters Fairbanks plays that call for him to be a part of a larger group.  In Zorro, he is on his own — he gathers the caballeros together at the end of that film to confront the corrupt administration of California, but that happens only at the end.  Here, he is a member of the ultimate group (“one for all, and all for one”), and that adds something to the tone of the film.  In addition, there are plenty of stairwells and rooftops from which Fairbanks can leap.  And this film, unlike Zorro, where Fairbanks plays a dual identity, here we have Fairbanks as D’Artagnan able to simply be his athletic self.  Throughout the film, he is bursting with energy, including a comic scene where a poor tailor tries to fit him for a new set of clothes.  Only in one moment, after a long fight, does he appear fatigued — and kudos to Fairbanks for that scene — filmmaking doesn’t move from one shot to another, but scenes and shots taken out of sequence.  And so Fairbanks, though he appears quite tired, was not tired when he shot that sequence, but gives a great sense of fatigue.  The supporting cast is excellent, and de Brulier, as Richelieu, maintains a stillness that sets of Fairbanks’ active persona quite well.  Adolphe Menjou in an early performance as the king, and Eugene Palette, the deep-voiced actor of the 30s (he plays Friar Tuck in 1939’s The Adventures of Robin Hood), is almost unrecognizable as Aramis.

The film takes some liberties with the book — we have a happy ending for D’Artagnan, rather than a bittersweet one — in the book he loses Constance, and no hint of Aramis’ ultimate renunciation of the life of a musketeer for the religious life.

Z Marks the Spot

The Mark of Zorro (1920), dir. Fred Niblo, with Douglas Fairbanks (Don Diego Vega/Zorro), Noah Beery (Sgt. Pedro Gonzales), Marguerite de la Motte (Lolita Pulido), Robert McKim (Cpt. Juan Ramon).

This is a good film, but perhaps not a great film.  It is a very influential film.  Up to this point, Douglas Fairbanks had been in a number of films in which he played a young man from the city who was somewhat sissified — then, moving to the country and having a girl to save, he becomes a heroic manly figure.  The most famous of these efforts was The Mollycoddle.  This was the first film officially produced by United Artists, the studio created by Fairbanks, Mary Pickford, Charlie Chaplin and D.W. Griffith.  It was also Fairbanks’ first venture in costume drama, a genre he continued through the 20s.  In doing so, Fairbanks created a niche for himself.  His sissy turned man had been done by Harold Lloyd and Buster Keaton, both of whom, though smaller than Fairbanks, were quite athletic. 

The directing is adequate to the job.  Much of the film is shot in medium shot, or even medium long shot so that you can see Fairbanks’ athleticism acted out — cutting tends to obscure such athletic endeavors, while a longer shot, shot from an adequate distance allows the athleticism to shine.  And he is a joy to watch.  Whenever Zorro springs into action, every object becomes a possible tool, and every bit of set becomes part of a greater gym for Fairbanks to play in.  Chaplin, in his autobiography, speaks of visiting the set of Robin Hood (1922), and being amazed at Fairbanks’ energy and joy at the great set he could play in, even when the cameras were off him. 

This film was likely shot before indoor lighting became practical, so that all shots, even interiors, were done out of doors.  If so, the amount of wind in the interior shots was not noticeable, and shifts from light to dark were very smooth. 

This film was not expected to do great business, but it managed to exceed predictions, making a lot of money and creating a cottage industry for Fairbanks to exploit.  Fairbanks is a wonder to watch, and the director is smart enough to let Fairbanks do his thing and not get in his way.

Onward comic soldiers…

Tramp, Tramp, Tramp (1926), dir. Harry Edwards, with Harry Langdon (Harry Logan), Joan Crawford (Betty Burton), Tom Murray (Nick Kargas).  This was the first feature in which Harry Langdon, the last of the four great silent comics, starred.  When he hit the scene, he was touted as the next great thing, and expectations were that he would be the new Keaton or Lloyd (Chaplin was largely seen as out of reach).  I have to say — I’ve never got that.  He is certainly a capable enough comic actor, especially playing the hapless innocent which was his comic persona.  According to the film’s storyline, Harry is the son of a poor shoemaker, unable to compete against the giant Burton Shoes.  To save his father from bankruptcy and eviction, Harry agrees to take part in Burton Shoes coast-to-coast walking race.  Of course, he is already in love with Betty Burton, who is the face of Burton Shoes on all their billboards.  Of course, he is destined to defeat the world champion walker, Tom Murray and win the girl and the prize money.  Like many silent comedies, the plot is largely an excuse for set scenes — Harry hanging for his life on a fence, Harry in a town beset by a cyclone.  These episodes were humorous enough, though I couldn’t help feeling that I’ve seen this done better — Harold Lloyd did the “thrill comedy” better than anyone, and Buster Keaton did a much better job with gale force winds in Steamboat Bill, Jr. In addition, I never understood how it was that Harry could get the girl in any of these films.  I guess the idea is that the women fall in love with his haplessness — the maternal instinct kicks in.  I just don’t buy it.  Harry, in his film persona, is like a little kid — can’t see any woman falling in love with that.

The story goes that, as Harry did well in this comedy and in  The Strong Man (1926) and Long Pants (1927), both directed by Frank Capra, he got a big head about his star power and alienated those who had made him a star, stepping out on his own, but that he was incapable of helming a movie production, and faded into obscurity.  As sound movies came in, he was also at the mercy of film technicians, who did not help his image.  That may be true, but I think that he just wasn’t of the same caliber as Chaplin, Lloyd or Keaton, and that’s why he failed.  That demise may have been hastened by the coming of sound and his alienating co-workers, but I think his career was going to be short-lived in any case.

The video (wonderfully restored by Kino Video) was paired with a short film, “All Night Long” (1924), dir. Harry Edwards, with Harry Langdon (the Boy), Natalie Kingston (the Girl), and Vernon Dent (the Rival).  The 20 min. film was itself a collection of some shorter routines, told in flashback about WWI.  It was largely the same type of film as Tramp, Tramp, Tramp.  Again, I don’t fully understand his appeal.  It was nice seeing a younger Vernon Dent (often the bad guy in the Three Stooges shorts) as the Rival here.

And what a fall it was…

Cheyenne Autumn (1964) dir. by John Ford, w/ Richard Widmark (Capt. Thomas Archer), Carroll Baker (Deborah Wright), Sal Mineo (Red Shirt), Ricardo Montalban (Little Wolf), Jimmy Stewart (Wyatt Earp), Arthur Kennedy (Doc Holliday).

This film is probably John Ford’s strongest condemnation of the racism behind the United States’ policy of relocation of the native tribes.  It is clear that the Cheyenne, who abided by the terms set for their relocation were rewarded with terrible land which could not support them.  When they left the reservation to return to their areas in the North, they were pursued by the U.S. Cavalry.  Widmark plays an officer who is disgusted by the two-faced positions of his government and the clear injustice in the treatment of the Cheyenne.  Carroll Baker plays a Quaker school marm who teaches the Cheyenne children and follows them as they head north.  Ricardo Montalban plays the war leader of the Cheyenne, who has had it with the doublespeak of the government, and Sal Mineo plays a hotheaded young warrior, who is more than happy to begin shooting at the army, even when such action further puts the Cheyenne at peril.

Most striking in the film, to me, was the portrayal of the Cheyenne as justified when they break loose from a fort, with many Cheyenne and soldiers killed in the break-out.  That the Cheyenne were justified is not in doubt, but I found it remarkable that a Hollywood film takes the part of the red man against the white man so strongly. 

A strange scene is the Battle of Dodge, which is played almost as slapstick with Jimmy Stewart’s Wyatt Earp and Arthur Kennedy’s Doc Holliday fleeing in a one horse cart as fast as they can from the battle.  Given Henry Fonda’s portrayal of Earp as a relatively young man (late 30s) in Tombstone in Ford’s My Darling Clementine, it is strange to see Stewart playing Earp as a man in his 50s in Dodge City (the start of Earp’s career as a lawman).  And the slapstick quality of the running townspeople was very strange and out of place.

Drum boogie…

Drums along the Mohawk (1939), dir. by John Ford, w/ Claudette Colbert (Lana), Henry Fonda (Gilbert Martin), Edna Mae Oliver (Mrs. McKlennar), John Carradine (Caldwell), Ward Bond (Adam Hartman).

A pretty enough film — this may be Ford’s first color film.  Done in 1939, it has the same technicolor wonder that The Adventures of Robin Hood has.  In this film, Henry Fonda plays a young man who has just gotten married and heads upstate from Albany with his young bride — the year is 1776, and the British have incited the native tribes in the area to join them in putting down the revolution.

The plot is fairly conventional, but the color is outstanding (and some of the actors are wearing colors that were not available to our founding fathers).  There is nothing here that sets Fonda’s performance apart, unlike his performance as Lincoln in Young Mr. Lincoln or as Wyatt Earp in My Darling Clementine, where his performance is quite memorable.  Likewise Claudette Colbert does not stand out — her one stand out scene is one involving hysterics, where she seems to be ACTING.  Edna Mae Oliver does a great job in a typical role for her — the crotchety, but wise, and ultimately sympathetic old woman.  John Carradine does a nice turn as the villain in the piece (complete with eyepatch) —  the British captain, Caldwell. 

The scene of Lana’s  hysteria is remarkable in one respect — it is the appearance of a friendly Native American that sets her off, and she displays racism, even if she overcomes it.  This is a common theme in Ford films.  He seems genuinely to have disliked racism and does call attention to it in this film.

This film didn’t quite take flight…

The Wings of Eagles (1957), dir. John Ford, w/ John Wayne (Frank “Spig” Wead), Dan Dailey (“Jughead” Carson), Maureen O’Hara (Min Wead), Ward Bond (John Dodge)

I know that some find this film a hidden treasure of John Ford’s — I found it rather disappointing.  The film is a biopic of Frank Wead, a Navy Commander and flyer, who, after suffering a bad fall, must battle his way back from near total paralysis, and goes to work in Hollywood as a consultant and author of films dealing with the Navy and aviation. 

There are some peculiar aspects of the film — we see “Spig” as a relatively young man, and the middle-aged John Wayne looks just as middle-aged as ever.  In addition, the opening scenes show Wead at the time of WWI, but costumes and cars are not age-appropriate.  And there is a tendency in Ford films, at times, to go slapstick.  In this film, when the Army and Navy get together, they engage in a food fight and then a real fight, followed by the arrival of the police, and a dash down the hall, straight into a pool.  I think we are supposed to find all this charming, as do the older Navy and Army people who barely conceal a smile over these antics — I just found them stupid.  There is also a great emphasis in the film on drinking. 

Wead’s battle with paralysis is quite impressive and John Wayne’s performance, with limited mobility, is very good.  Dan Dailey is also impressive as the Petty Officer assistant to Wead, who nurses him back to health.

Ford supposedly knew Wead personally — Wead worked on some films with Ford (and was an author of Ford’s Navy epic, They Were Expendable).  Here Ward Bond plays Ford, but is called Dodge (very transparent and not funny pun).

West & Civil War

How the West Was Won (“Civil War”) (1962), dir. by John Ford, with George Peppard (Zeb Rawlings), Carroll Baker (Eve Rawlings), John Wayne (William Tecumseh Sherman), Harry Morgan (Ulysses S. Grant).

How the West Was Won was  an epic western, shot in cinemascope.  The film was shot in different segments, and John Ford took on the job of shooting the “Civil War” segment of the film.  The use of vistas, here much more pronounced because of the extra wide screen, is something that Ford does well, and he does it well here.  In this segment, Ohio farmboy Peppard, hopes to follow in his father’s footsteps (the father, Linus Rawlings, played by Jimmy Stewart, does not appear in this segment, but he had been prominent in earlier segments of the film). 

Young Zeb, when he finally sees action, reacts much as the young man in Red Badge of Courage does — his first inclination is to flee.  But on seeing Sherman consoling Grant on the way the war has gone, takes the comfort Sherman offers to heart, and rescues the two generals from a Confederate shooter.  We assume that, hereafter, the young man will be fine, though we see no further action in the War. 

The use of vistas in the segment is quite well done, but the story and acting of this section is nothing notable or remarkable.

Give me Liberty…

The Man Who Shot Liberty Valence (1962), dir. John Ford, w/ John Wayne (Tom Doniphon), Jimmy Stewart (Ransom Stoddard), Lee Marvin (Liberty Valence), Vera Miles (Hallie).

As the newspaper editor who hears the story of the film told to him notes, “when the legend becomes fact, print the legend.”  This is a film about the image of the West and how that comes to be maintained.  Like many of Ford’s Westerns, and certainly the Westerns he made after 1956’s The Searchers, the West of this film is not populated with heroic men, but with flawed men, set in an heroic landscape. The film also features the subject of unrequited love as had The Searchers.  Here, Stewart, who had played ambiguous characters in the westerns he made with Anthony Mann, plays a fairly decent man, a man with principles and a certain amount of courage, and who hates the idea of killing and violence.  There is a sense in this film that the ideals that Stoddard represents are needed for the West to mature, but there is also a sense that without the muscle of Tom Doniphon, all those principles mean nothing, for there is no way to enforce the law and order Stoddard represents without the threat of violence.

One interesting point in the film.  Woody Strode plays Pompey, Tom’s servant/hired hand.  But at the end of the story, following the shoot-out in the street that resulted in the death of Liberty Valence (something that comes as a great relief to the town), he is refused a drink — the refusal is uttered by the bartender as if he were simply quoting policy, though in this town, he is clearly the equal of any other, and seems so treated.  Ford was a liberal in social policy and seems to have hated racism, something he attacked in Sgt. Rutledge (1960) with Strode as the title character, and which he attacks here, though only by suggestion and in passing.

Not so long a voyage…

The Long Voyage Home (1940), dir. by John Ford, w/ John Wayne (Olson), Thomas Mitchell (Driscoll), John Qualen (Axel), Ward Bond (Yank).

This is quite a striking film, in part, because Ford is generally known for his exteriors, and this film, based on 4 one-act plays by Eugene O’Neill (The Moon of the Caribees, In The Zone, Bound East for Cardiff, and The Long Voyage Home) is primarily set in the cabin or on-deck the ship, Glencairn, or in a dive on the waterfront. 

The opening segment, with the ship in the West Indies, opens on native women seductively moving to music — they are contrasted with the rather rough looking cast of characters on board the ship, all of whom clearly have a fever for alcohol and female companionship.  When they come on board the ship, all the discipline fails. 

O’Neill’s plays feature a cast of characters such as one might see in any war film — there is the young idealist (Olson), the seasoned philosopher (Donkeyman, played by Arthur Shields), the good-hearted cynic, Driscoll (Mitchell).  Given the situation — men aboard ship — it perhaps makes sense that we see the same sort of conventional characters we’d see in a war movie.  Ford updated the story to WWII — O’Neill wrote the plays during WWI — with the increase in potential danger to the crew. 

Like any WWII film, this has a certain patriotic quality, and perhaps Ford realized that the US would be getting in to the war within a few years, and when we did, it would be on the side of the Allies. 

What is especially striking about this film is the camera work — Gregg Tolson, who would go on to work with Orson Welles on Citizen Kane, did the cinematography, and it’s stunning, especially in capturing the dark shadows in the town at the film’s end, and on board the darkened ship as the film tries to beat the blockade.

The acting is fine, and I think the actors do a good job at making the characters seem authentic — O’Neill tends to paint his various ethnic figures with a broad stroke.  Only John Qualen, who made a career out of playing Scandinavian characters, presents a caricature close to what O’Neill’s language suggests.  John Wayne, though he doesn’t succeed in getting Olson’s accent right, also steers clear of making him too much of a caricature.