When Legends Gather #301

Sen. John F. Kennedy, Gore Vidal and Tennessee Williams
An Ongoing Series of Cultural and Personal Observations;
by Tom Sutpen, Stephen Cooke, Richard Gibson, Kimberly Lindbergs and Greg Ferrara

Today's Adventure: Luis Buñuel directs Catherine Deneuve in Belle de Jour (1967)
This was posted by Kimberly Lindbergs
for the series:
Adventures in European Filmmaking

Los Olvidados
(aka The Young and the Damned aka The Forgotten Ones)
(Luis Buñuel; 1950)

Carl Sandburg

There were times – thankfully not many – when Alfred Hitchcock was moved to make a film solely to explore a technical gimmick that caught his fancy or to solve some purely cinematic problem.The most famous of these instances, 1948's Rope demonstrated just how disastrous such indulgences could be (in Technicolor, yet); for despite his oft-retailed and successfully marketed pose as the Master of Suspense, totally preoccupied with the mechanics of his craft (and then only for the purpose of manipulating audiences), Hitchcock's more everlasting creations carried what was at least an equivalent interest in matters beyond their physical production. But explaining to an interviewer the forces that drove intensely emotional works like Vertigo, or his 1956 remake of The Man Who Knew Too Much, would not have been an easy thing to do (assuming for the moment that such things can even be expressed); explaining them to hero worshippers like François Truffaut was a doomed enterprise from the start. It was better, safer, far less strenuous to pretend he only cared about montage and Macguffens.
It was, if nothing else, one way of staying alive in the hopeless minefield of Hollywood.
The Hitchcock/Truffaut Tapes make a limp return to this blog with a discussion of that "microcosm of the War," 1944's Lifeboat, a film whose existence Hitchcock freely admits was inspired by the challenge its rather limited and claustrophobic setting posed. And for once it's easy to take him at his word, because regardless of how many defenders it has among the faithful, Lifeboat has almost nothing going for it, being an apallingly simplistic wartime fable – with none of the rude emotional power that often drives such primal narratives – populated by one tiresome stock character after another. What else could have attracted him to the project? So taken was Hitchcock with surmounting the technical issues inherent to a film set entirely within the confines of a lifeboat, in fact, that he seems blissfully unaware (even in 1962) of just how hackneyed John Steinbeck's story and Jo Swerling's screenplay really were.
True to form, François Truffaut applauds Hitchcock's labor on one of the worst films he had ever put his name to (while noting the rather limited dimensions of its human landscape), declaring it (get this) "psychological" and highly "moral" . . . this from someone who during the war frequently professed his admiration for Vichy's original old goat, Marshall Petain.
A discussion of Lifeboat's largely negative critical reception . . . and Hitchcock's brief return to Britain to make two wartime propaganda films (Aventure malgache and Bon voyage) . . . leads into a somewhat tedious footslog through 1945's Spellbound.

Marcel Marceau in Mel Brooks' Silent Movie.
The Associated Press obituary can be found here. No word on if he'll be buried in a glass box.

Cary Grant
No. 22 in a series of 50 from Player's Navy Cut Cigarettes
Archibald Alexander Leach was born in Bristol, January 18th, 1904. At the age of twelve, his adventurous disposition prompted him to run away and join a travelling acrobatic troupe, but a month later his father found him, and he returned to school. Later he ran away again, and toured England with a theatrical company. Then he went to America, and after appearing in stock companies, won fame on Broadway and adopted his present name. A visit to the Paramount studios resulted in a contract. His latest films include Thirty-Day Princess, Kiss and Make Up, Enter Madame and Ladies Should Listen.

Nat King Cole tickles the ivories while Errol Flynn tries to remember the words.

A second-hand carpet stall. Before the Second World War the Caledonian was the largest and most popular street market in London.
This was posted by Richard Gibson
for the series:
Through the Lens of Cyril Arapoff

The Harbinger
Station-Master-Porter-Clerk (to impatient passenger): "It'll be getting near now, sir; here's the engine-driver's little dawg a-comin' down the line!"
This was posted by Richard Gibson
for the series:
From the Sketch Book of Lawson Wood

Third-Class passengers
At one time there were also 'third class' carriages which were not only windowless but roofless as well...
...The rattling pig-pens on wheels, misnamed third-class carriages (before the late alterations) were despicable affairs, with the wonderful property if always meeting the rain in whatever quarter the wind might be blowing. They were a species of horizontal shower-bath, from whose searching power there was no escape.
This was posted by Richard Gibson
for the series:
From the Southern Travellers Handbook for 1965/66

Today's Adventure: Jean Cocteau directs a scene in La Belle et la bête while the crew watches (Beauty and the Beast; 1946).
This was posted by Kimberly Lindbergs
for the series:
Adventures in European Filmmaking

Today's Adventure: Lewis Milestone discusses the merits of camera mobility
with the cast of Ocean's Eleven (1960)

Brooks Atkinson hands Maxwell Anderson the 1935 New York Drama Critics' Circle Award

‘You are old,’ said the youth, ‘as I mentioned before,
And have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door—
Pray, what is the reason of that?’
‘In my youth,’ said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,
‘I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment—one shilling the box—
Allow me to sell you a couple?’
-- Alice's Adventures in Wonderland (1865)
This was posted by Tom Sutpen
for the series:
The Greatest Hits of John Tenniel (with The Reverend Dodgson)

I've been wanting to write this for weeks, since the idea first came to me, and now I can. I have to confess I'm immensely pleased . . . as pleased as at any point during the almost three-year life of this blog . . . to welcome Kimberly Lindbergs as our fourth official contributor here at If Charlie Parker Was a Gunslinger . . . . Kimberly, as many of you know, is author of the exceptional blog Cinebeats: Confessions of a Cinephile; more crucially for this endeavour, she has a remarkable eye for images (something fully attested to by her contributions to our week-long Guest Contributor fiesta last month). But perhaps most important of all, she gets what we're doing here. I'm confident I'm speaking for my co-conspirators in saying that this is something we can't value highly enough 'round these parts.
So please join us . . . and the 16th President of the United States here pictured . . . in raising a toast to our newest member!
A somewhat unrelated side-note in closing: I'd like to thank all of you who wished me your best, both publicly and privately, during my recent stretch of infirmity. Most of all I want to thank Senor Cooke and Senor Gibson for holding up the standard, as it were, the last ten days. In a few weeks I'll have to take another (hopefully shorter) leave of absence, but I have every expectation that Stephen, Richard and (now) Kimberly will fill in every bit as admirably.
Damn, but this is a good turn of events!

Today's Adventure: Cecil B. DeMille takes a break from guiding the Jews out of Egypt
on the set of The Ten Commandments. (1955)

Charles Laughton
in Have You Got Any Castles?
(Frank Tashlin; Warner Bros.; 1938)

A stall specialising in the sale of dartboards. The market was originally founded in 1855 for the sale of cattle, but by the turn of the century the tradition of a street market being held there every Friday was firmly established.
This was posted by Richard Gibson
for the series:
Through the Lens of Cyril Arapoff
This was posted by Richard Gibson
for the series:
From the Sketch Book of Lawson Wood

Second-Class passengers
Your regular second-class travellers are deep fellows. They come early to get a back seat - or at all events, to sit with their backs to the engine.
They watch the weathercocks too, and make their selection of place according to the wind [ED.: there was no glass in the windows then] and if it be warm weather, are chatty and communicative, especially as many of them are in the habit of meeting every day in the train. But in cold weather the second-class travellers talk but little. They wrap up the minute they get into the train, preparing for the worst; and after a few exchanged courtesis - lending an umbrella to the outsider, or spreading a cloak over two or three pairs of knees - you hear their voices no more.
This was posted by Richard Gibson
for the series:
From the Southern Travellers Handbook for 1965/66
For those of you who may be wondering about the relative dearth of new posts from this third of the Charlie Parker triumvirate, I can only plead an unexpectedly prolonged spate of ill health and give notice that I probably won't be posting anything for at least the next few days. Rest assured, however, that my confederates, Mr. Cooke and Mr. Gibson, will no doubt supercede whatever I might have done had I not been seeing to my physical well-being (or lack thereof).
Thanks
An entirely personal note to Kimberly and/or Bart: I'm sorry I haven't gotten to our outstanding bidness; truly. When I'm back on form I'll move forward on both fronts.

Janet Gaynor
No. 21 in a series of 50 from Player's Navy Cut Cigarettes
Born in Philadelphia on October 6th, 1907, and christened Laura Gainer, Janet's present success is due to her stepfather, who stood by her and encouraged her when she was making the rounds of the film studios looking for a job. She began as an extra, and after rising to play lead in one or two Western comedies, was given a chance with a dramatic role in The Flood (a.k.a. The Johnstown Flood). It was Seventh Heaven that swept her to success and began her popular partnership with Charles Farrell, with whom she appears in Change of Heart. Her other films include Paddy the Next Best Thing, The House of Connelly and Servants' Entrance.

Today's Adventure: Jack Arnold tells Grant Williams to act smaller on the set
of The Incredible Shrinking Man (1957)

The original manuscript for Jack Kerouac's On the Road, hammered out on a roll of teletype paper over an amphetamine-fuelled three week burst in 1951. The novel celebrates 50 years of publication this week. Currently, the manuscript belongs to Indianapolis Colts owner Jim Irsay, who purchased it for $2.4 million in 2001, and will be on display at the New York Public Library (22 blocks north of where it was written) from November to March.

Lawrence Ferlinghetti holds a penguin while Pablo Armando Fernandez looks on.
Hear Democracy Now's hour-long Labour Day chat with Ferlinghetti (largely commemorating the 50th anniversary of the publication of Jack Kerouac's On the Road) here.

Shelley Winters sits atop a boxing glove in a publicity still for the 1954
MGM release, Tennessee Champ