None Shall Escape (1944)

Alexander Knox, a great actor all but forgotten by history, gave inarguably his two greatest performances in 1944. In a way it’s a shame — he was nominated for Best Actor as the title character of one of 1944’s heavyweight contenders, Wilson. Had that picture, which earned a robust five Academy Award nominations come out in any other year, or vice-versa, he may have also been nominated for his chilling performance in None Shall Escape. Wilson was released to videocassette in a limited fashion a generation ago, while None Shall Escape was finally released on blu-ray in 2019. The marketing approach of Escape’s poster suggests that Columbia was unsure what to do with it, which isn’t surprising given the film’s concept and lack of a major star. Considering the ensemble cast, Knox could have garnered a Supporting Actor nomination — despite clearly being the film’s star.

None Shall Escape is a difficult film to write about. It’s one of those pictures about which there is simply too much to say; there are too many angles of approach, too many lenses through which to view it. If nothing else, it’s a film that simply must have an engaging production story. Director André De Toth was obviously close to the project — born in Hungary, De Toth came up through the ranks of the central European film industry, and even filmed the German invasion of Poland in 1939 as a news production cameraman. He was a Hollywood emigré when this was filmed, but the results have a certain veneer that belies both De Toth’s youth and the film’s meager budget. Escape received a nomination in the Original Story category for writers Alfred Neumann and Joe Than, though James Steffen over at TCM relates that De Toth brought in future Hollywood Ten member Lester Cole to doctor the script.

The film’s premise is a little complicated. Released while the outcome of the war was still in doubt, and told through a series of flashbacks, it is nevertheless set in the future — and a very prescient one: the Allies have prevailed and form tribunals to hold the Nazis accountable. The narrative revolves around the aptly named Wilhelm Grimm (Knox), a German who teaches school in a small village in Poland. As the film opens, Grimm is being put on trial for his actions during the war; a parade of eyewitnesses are brought to testify against him, including his brother and ex-fiancé; the story is told through their recollections.

When the First World War comes, Grimm enlists in the German army but returns from the fighting grievously injured, having lost his right leg along with the better part of his soul. Embittered, he begins to see the world in a different light, and in time becomes infatuated with Nazism. Shunned by his fiancé, he commits a crime that results in the death of one of his pupils and the loss of his own left eye! A harried Grimm begs the help of the local clergy, including the village rabbi, in order to escape Poland. He heads for Munich, where he moves in with his bookish older brother and officially joins the Nazis. He quickly rises in the party, and what little humanity he had left is given over to Hitler. When his brother chooses to flee Germany for Austria, Wilhelm has him arrested and sent to a concentration camp. To add insult to injury, Wilhelm takes over the education of his nephew, and tries to create a Nazi officer in his own image. In the wake of the Blitzkreig, Grimm returns to his Polish village — this time as an SS commander — with predictable results.

None Shall Escape is mind-boggling in its accuracy. The film is so on the money that it’s actually hard to believe it wasn’t made ten years after the end of the fighting. Although it has many uncomfortable scenes, most of them are the result of things said by Grimm. One however, is quite simply astonishing: as the Nazis round up jews to be taken to forced-labor camps, the town rabbi (a man who previously helped Grimm flee the country) asks to address his congregation, being shoved onto cattle cars. Grimm consents, in hopes of quieting the scene, but is shocked when the rabbi tells his people that they are being taken to their deaths, and encourages them to stand instead, and fight. What comes next is surprising, but not in the way you might expect. It isn’t shocking that Grimm orders his troops to machine gun the jews — it’s shocking how graphic the scenes is — De Toth even shows bullets slamming into the bodies of already slumping children. At the conclusion of the scene, the rabbi staggers to confront Grimm, who at first appears to rush over to embrace the man, but instead casually draws his pistol and shoots him in the chest.

I could write many, many more words about None Shall Escape, but I don’t want to give away anymore about the story than I already have; and I hold no illusions that I could maintain interest if I did so (but I’ll reserve the right to revisit this one on the occasion of another viewing). If nothing else it’s an absolutely superior B film with a stellar performance from Alexander Knox.

None Shall Escape (1944)

Directed by André De Toth

Starring Alexander Knox

Released by Columbia Pictures

Running time: 85 minutes

Availability: Bluray as of 2019. Has aired on TCM, bootlegs.

Grade: A

8.3.4

Women in War (1940)

Republic’s 1940 feature Women in War is rare enough that you won’t ever happen upon it on television, and are unlikely to see it at all short of a concentrated effort to do so. It tallies a mere 15 votes on IMDb, alongside three user reviews, two of which are by fellow completist Arne Anderson — one of which reports that the film is utterly unavailable, the second written after he managed to track it down — as I recently did. After years of wistfully staring at this title on my to-see lists, I was awfully disappointed by it when I finally got the chance.

Set in Britain in the heady early days of the conflict, Women in War tells the story of Pamela Starr (Wendy Barrie), a party girl charged with manslaughter after shoving a drunken RAF pilot over a balcony. Pamela’s long-lost mother, Matron O’Neil (familiar-face Elsie Janis), now in charge of the nurses’ corps, secretly engineers a deal with the courts in the hope that by taking her tough-cookie daughter into the war effort, she can provide the affection and discipline needed to allow her to turn the corner. But the chip on Pamela’s shoulder just grows larger after the other new nurses, who remember only the newspaper gossip from her trial, spurn her. Pamela copes by striking up a casual romance with another flier, Larry (Patric Knowles), which only makes things even worse for her in the barracks — he’s already engaged to Gail (Mae Clarke), one of her fellow nurses. Isolated and bitter, Pamela’s refuses to stop seeing Larry, and their relationship grows to the point that he decides to leave Gail, who retaliates by trying to kill Pamela during a midnight trip to the front lines. Huddled underneath an intense artillery barrage (the filming of which earned an Academy Award nomination for Special Effects), the two women retreat to the cellar of a church, while O’Neil searches frantically for them amidst the cascading shells…

Women in War is emblematic of the naïvely casual and overly romanticized outlook the movie-going public had in those months of 1939 and early 1940 that historians now refer to as the “phony war,” before Dunkirk, when the situation changed dramatically. During the very same week that this film was released to theatres, global newspaper headlines told the horrific story of the British Expeditionary Force’s chaotic evacuation from France, which forced the public to reformulate its attitude and its commitment to the total war effort. It’s unlikely that a film such as this, which employs a wartime milieu without the gravity it demanded, would have even been made had it been scheduled for production just a few months later. The spate of nursing pictures — even the overtly romantic ones — that would soon issue from the studios went out of their way to not only demonstrate the value of nurses, but also the incredible risk and toil required to be one.

The film does lip service to realities of war, as early on O’Neil tells her recruits: 

“I hope none of you have come here with the beautiful notion that war is noble and romantic. Some of you dewy-eyed creatures may be under the impression that it will be your function to soothe the fevered brows of handsome young men when on duty, and to philander with the convalescents when you’re off. Unfortunately, war isn’t like that.”

Yet that seems to be precisely the notion that all of the nurses have, and the film does nothing to dispel them. There are no wounded soldiers to tend to, no tragedies along the way, and no sour news from other fronts. The war seems terribly far away, if it’s even happening at all. All our nurses have time to do is chase fliers, and all they have to be concerned with are the most immature aspects of their schoolgirl romances. The film’s finale is its most damning sequence: When the nurses are ordered to drive desperately needed medical supplies to the front, Gail — our ‘woman scorned’ — childishly forsakes her duty in order to exact revenge on Pamela. She diverts their vehicle into an evacuated French village that is under heavy bombardment, hoping to get them both killed. When O’Neil realizes what has happened, she too drives her truck into the village — showing audiences that as far as these nurses are concerned, the needs of the wounded on the front lines finish a distant second to their own personal drama. And when the shells really start dropping, too many of the nurses lapse into hysterics.

In June 1940 the Battle of Britain was in the offing, and the terrifying nights of the Blitz would then follow. It was a time when English and Canadians — and soon Americans — of all ages and from all walks of life were asked to make extraordinary sacrifices on behalf of their nations and one another. Women in War is a shallow film that fails to measure up to the requirements of its time. Its women are shallow, silly, and incompetent rather than confident, devoted, and strong. When inspiration was needed, it stooped merely to entertain. 

Women in War (1940)

Directed by John Auer

Starring Wendy Barrie, Mae Clarke, and Elsie Janis

Released by Republic Pictures

Running time: 71 minutes

Availability: very rare

Grade: D

Janie (1944)

Janie is a charming wartime domestic comedy released by Warner Bros. at the height of the post-Normandy push in the autumn of 1944. After a successful run on Broadway, Jack Warner secured the project and assigned Michael Curtiz to direct newcomer Joyce Reynolds in the title role. Essentially an ensemble piece, it boasts a strong Hollywood cast (not a single Broadway holdover) featuring Robert Hutton, Edward Arnold, Ann Harding, Alan Hale, and Hattie McDaniel in key roles. Judging by the poster, the studio clearly marketed the film on the strength of the stage production, and as an effort to make a star out of the nineteen year-old Reynolds.

Here’s it is in a sentence or two: Janie Conway (Reynolds) is a small town girl whose hormones kick into overdrive when the army moves into her hometown of Hortonville, much to the consternation of her overbearing father (Arnold), who runs the local newspaper. Pretty soon Janie is juggling a newfound army beau (Hutton) and her high school sweetheart, both of whom want to knock the other’s block off. Everything wraps up Risky Business style, when the Janie and her girlfriends throw a big party for all the under-twenties from the army base at the Conway house.

In spite of the fact that this is a low-budget film targeted at teens, it has a great script and a particularly strong narrative construction, with numerous subplots that all wrap up nicely at the end. It embraces teen culture during, the generation gap, frustration with the bureaucracy of the war years, young love, old love, the marriage boom, self-sacrifice, and so forth — but manages to handle all of its subject matter with a good sense of humor. Curtiz’s direction is highly accomplished: he wrestles good performances from his young cast members, and allows the veterans to do their thing; the whole thing moves at breakneck speed, but the pacing of the comedic moments is perfectly handled and the film never loses its light touch — especially important in 1944.

With that in mind, it’s also important to note that while Janie has its sentimental, patriotic moments, it never feels heavy-handed or too much like rah-rah propaganda. Instead, the movie takes a more subtle approach, presenting a picture of the kind of idealized American family and Rockwellian small town life that the country’s young soldiers were supposed to be fighting for — whether it existed only on a Hollywood sound stage or not. It goes without saying that the characters are unrealistic — all the girls are pure as the driven snow, while the boys from the base couldn’t be more well mannered. Most of this will be irrelevant to viewers looking for a pleasantly diverting comedy film, which Janie certainly is — even more so than other, better known films. This thing qualifies as a forgotten gem.

Reynolds looks so much like Deanna Durbin that they could be sisters, and the whole movie has the feeling of a Durbin project. There’s even a musical number that happens during the party sequence, when all of the young people sing an impromptu rendition of Jules Styne and Sammy Cahn’s Keep Your Powder Dry (one year later the title of a Lana Turner picture). It’s an extended sequence that really swings; but while for me it was a highlight, the way in which everyone in the party takes a turn at the lyrics might damage the film’s sense of continuity for some viewers. And while Janie was a long-sought-after viewing for me (this is the only Academy Award nominee in the film editing category that I hadn’t seen), other who happen upon the movie are almost certain to enjoy it. It was successful enough that WB produced a 1946 sequel with Joan Leslie in the Reynolds part. Reynolds herself would only make three more films after Janie, two of them opposite Hutton, and would leave the business in 1950.  

Janie (1944)

Directed by Michael Curtiz

Starring Joyce Reynolds, Robert Hutton, Edward Arnold, and Ann Harding

Running time: 102 minutes

Released by Warner Bros. 

The Other Side of Midnight (1977)

Billed as “The Romance of Passion and Power,” The Other Side of Midnight is one of the most stunningly asinine movies ever made — and widely known to be one of Andy Warhol’s favorites. It was also intended to be one of Fox’s biggest 1977 releases, with high hopes for a major run at that season’s Academy Awards. As a matter of fact, legend holds that Fox executives considered the film to be such a sure thing that studio chief Alan Ladd Jr. drew on the block-booking tradition of the previous era in order to force theaters to accept Midnight as a package deal with one of the studio’s B products — in this case a science fiction picture from a new director named George Lucas. While it is certain that, at least in this instance, theater owners ended up with nothing to grumble about, Midnight failed at the ticket booth and turned out to be a train wreck for everyone involved, except for costumer Irene Sharaff, who managed the film’s lone Oscar nomination — though the nod owes more to Sharaff’s reputation as a five time winner than it does her work in this film. Marie-France Pisier is a wonderful mannequin, but the costumes aren’t that good.

The sprawling three-hour adaptation of Sidney Sheldon’s trashy novel concerns a French girl named Noelle (Pisier) who flees her Marseilles home for Paris in the years just prior to the second world war. Just as it appears she’ll be devoured by the shadier aspects of the city of lights, Noelle is rescued by Larry Douglas (John Beck), an American RAF captain, who seduces her with dinner and the promise of a place to sleep. They couple enjoys a short-lived fairy tale romance, that ends abruptly when Larry is called back to the U.S. in order to train fighter pilots, leaving Noelle — now secretly pregnant (!) — jilted and alone. In a rather shocking bathtub abortion scene, jarringly out of character with the rest of the film, Noelle terminates how own pregnancy and vows to start a new life as a (wait for it!) … film star! Over the course of the next eight years, her career flourishes and eventually she becomes the trophy of a Greek shipping tycoon, who happens to be the world’s richest man. Meanwhile, Larry romances and weds Cathy (Susan Sarandon), a fresh-faced girl Friday to the chief of a Washington DC public relations firm. Unable to hold down a job as a commercial pilot in the years after the war, Larry bounces from job to job and his marriage slowly crumbles — that is until he’s hired to pilot the private plane of a certain Greek shipping tycoon. Old flames flare once again, and in true Postman Always Rings Twice fashion, plans of murder follow — though in this case the target isn’t the Greek, but the shrewish American wife. The film tries hard to take itself seriously, but the ending is so delightfully contrived and over the top — some might say bad, others, hilarious — that it almost makes the whole affair worth watching.

This is an awful film, in all of its late 70s Sheldon glory. It’s poorly executed, especially considering the narrative continuity and film editing. The story moves through time, but does little to help the viewer situate the story in a time or place, using only spoken dialog to do so. It fails to capture the flavor of the war years — barely addressing them at all — making only a half-hearted effort to authentically portray the French capital, expecting viewers to be held rapt by the movie’s melodrama. Even Leonard Maltin, that faithful friend of classic film, rates this as a bomb. Yet it somehow manages to maintain a shaky hold on your attention, though I’m certain that in the case of most male viewers, myself included, it’s the film’s abundant nudity that does the trick. Pisier is certainly beautiful, and Charles Jarrott (the same director responsible for previous big Oscar contenders Anne of the Thousand Days and Mary, Queen of Scots) gets her out of her clothing as often as possible. The requisite shot of a topless Susan Sarandon is to be found as well, but Pisier is clearly the film’s leading actress. The casting of John Beck is one of Midnight’s biggest flaws. Essentially a TV actor, and one of little note, Beck has neither the looks nor the chops to make good here. The film lives or dies on his ability to have believable, even if not smoldering, chemistry with both women, yet Beck just doesn’t deliver. His performance is awkward, clumsy, and shows that the actor was well out of his depth. Frankly, given Beck’s resume, one wonders how he got such a big part in such an important picture.

If this weren’t so unbelieveably long, I’d happily recommend it as a piece of fun camp along the same lines as Meyer’s Valley of the Dolls or even Jacqueline Suzanne’s Once is Not Enough, but in the case of The Other Side of Midnight once is plenty.

The Other Side of Midnight (1977)

Grade: F

Directed by Charles Jarrott

Starring Marie-France Pisier, Susan Sarandon, and John Beck

Released by Twentieth Century Fox

Running time: 165 minutes

Availability: DVD, Netflix

Teresa (1951)

Between filming The Men with Marlon Brando and High Noon with Gary Cooper, the great director Fred Zinneman made an incredibly low key picture called Teresa, now remembered primarily as the film that introduced Anna Maria Pierangeli to American audiences. Set during the war and in the months immediately following, Teresa tells the story of Philip Cass (John Ericson) a baby-faced replacement soldier who gets off on the wrong foot with his platoon, and never manages to find solid ground among the weary G.I.s. Cass’s first taste of combat comes to a terrible conclusion when he panics and fails in his duty. He's shipped back to the aid station in a state of shock, knowing only that his cowardice got one of his fellows killed. Unlike fare produced during the war, Teresa is remarkably kind to Ericson's character — the movie demonstrates that Hollywood and the American public at large were trying to understand and come to grips with the terror of combat and the debilitating affect it could have on combatants.

Following VE day Philip is returned to his unit, where he awaits orders to ship home. During that time he meets and falls in love with Teresa (Pier Angeli), a too-young, too-thin, impossibly pretty waif of a girl. The youths are smitten with one another and quickly marry. After a brief wedding trip to Rome, Philip is ordered back to the States. Owing to the legalities of war time marriages, war bride Teresa must wait in Italy for permission to join her husband in New York. By the time it comes, Philip has settled back into his old life — with a smothering, put-upon mother (Patricia Collinge) who keeps him close to her apron and a father who can't stand up for himself — or his son. Philip is so terrified of his mother's reaction to his wedding that he refuses to tell her. She discovers his wedding photograph anyway and collapses in a fit of trumped-up sobs. The stage is set for Teresa's arrival in the city, with predictable dramatic results — high tension between everyone involved. When pregnancy complicates matters further, the situation escalates and then finally resolves itself in true Hollywood fashion.

Teresa is a well-made, well-acted film (with an Oscar-nominated story) that strangely seems borrow from Italian neo-realism: on-location shooting, unknown cast, concerned with the troubles of everyday working people. Of course this isn't a neo realist picture — it was made by MGM for Pete's sake — though the influence is readily apparent from start to finish. The movie gets a boost from familiar faces in a few small, key roles. Ralph Meeker plays Ericson's platoon sergeant, Peggy Ann Garner is fine as his sister, and even Rod Steiger himself has a tiny role as the Army shrink who tries to help Philip get over what they then referred to as “combat fatigue.”

Although this has never been given a home video release, it has aired on TCM — though not for some time. I was able to acquire a homemade copy from the last time it was shown on television. It's due to come up again, and shouldn't be missed when it does. Given the star, studio, and director, it's surprising this isn't more widely available.

Teresa (1951)
Directed by Fred Zinneman
Starring Pier Angeli and John Ericson
Released by MGM
Running time: 102 minutes.
Availability: Has aired on TCM.

The Cruel Sea (1953)

The Cruel Sea is one of the best naval combat films ever made. Period. It follows the exploits of the crew of the Compass Rose, a British corvette tasked with convoy escort duty through the German infested waters of the northern Atlantic Ocean. Most of the film’s action takes place during that period of the Battle of the Atlantic referred to as “The Happy Time” by the crews of the German submarines — when they wrought havoc on the relatively undefended sea lanes and hastily thrown together convoys. Despite Britain’s reputation as a maritime superpower, it took more than half the war before they were able gain supremacy in the long struggle with the German navy’s “U”nderwater Boats.

The story launches with the ship’s commission, outfitting, and sea trials; and carries on through her eventual nighttime torpedoing at the hands of a German sub; and closes as her former Captain and First Officer take command of a destroyer in the final months of the war.

The Compass Rose’s beginnings are modest: Her command crew is formed with a single peacetime professional seaman, Lieutenant Commander Ericson (Jack Hawkins). The rest are cobbled together from Britain’s educated youth, those with experience in leisure sailboats thrown into first and second lieutenants’ uniforms. Like all sailors during wartime, however, they adapted quickly or were removed from service. Hawkins is fine as the Rose’s commanding officer — his personality undergoes a subtle but steady shift as the film progresses. He changes from a somewhat unsure leader, blustery at times and easygoing at others, into a dour and obsessed taskmaster, plagued by his conscience and the terror of war. At his right hand is first lieutenant Lockhart (Donald Sinden), an amateur sailor and reluctant officer who offers the crew of the Compass Rose its steadiest hand. He also serves as something of an Ishmael, our guide for the Rose’s many cruises.

The film is riveting without being overly melodramatic. The filmmakers had enough sense to realize the subject matter was dramatic enough to keep viewers invested in the film, so they didn’t feel the need to embellish the story with showy cinematic flourishes. From a filmmaking perspective, what comes through most is the understated nature of the production — including the performances in particular. The cast here is so unglamorous that the viewer’s attention is constantly focused on the circumstances of the Battle of the Atlantic and the cruel sea itself. In fact, there are passages when The Cruel Sea takes on a semi-documentary feel.

Two events in the life of the Compass Rose stand out. The first comes when the crew has their initial crack at a u-boat. Following the sinking of a merchant ship, the Rose’s sonar operator is able to get a fix on the culprit. Yet when Ericson steams in the direction of the submerged vessel, he and the crew find it hiding beneath the swimming survivors of its sunken victim — gambling the British captain is too civilized to depth charge his own countrymen. Knowing that relenting means the u-boat is certain to destroy more vital British shipping and take many more lives, Ericson destroys the sub — at the cost of the lives of the terrified men in the water, and to the shouts of “murderer!” hurled at him in the bridge by his own crew. Later, Ericson is practically undone when the Rose is torpedoed in the black of night, and at the cost of the majority of her crew. Unable to launch boats, the survivors cling to life in a pair of inflatable rafts — struggling to stay both awake and alive in the near arctic night.

Here’s a film that is widely available, yet not well remembered. It offers a gritty and vividly realistic picture of the lives of British sailors during the war years. Although The Cruel Sea is understated in typical British fashion, we discover the effect lends itself as well to a war picture as it does a witty one. A real gem, essential for anyone with an interest in the war.

The Cruel Sea (1953)

Grade: A

Directed by Charles Frend

Starring Jack Hawkins, Donald Sinden, John Stratton, and Denholm Elliot

Released by Ealing Studios

Running time: 125 minutes

Availability: DVD, Netflix

A Man Called Peter (1955)

Hollywood got religion in the years after the Second World War. Biblical epics, sword and sandal adventures, and religious biographies formed a sizable (and very profitable) part of the motion picture landscape for a decade-and-a-half following the allied victory. The mid-century fervor for religious pictures was the result of a confluence of numerous interrelated causes. Primary among these was the desire to project American society and culture as superior to that of the Soviets. If the commies were godless, then we needed to embrace religion in as many ways as possible — although the phrase “In God We Trust” had adorned US coins since the days just prior to the Civil War, it wasn’t added to paper currency until 1957; the phrase “Under God” was added to the Pledge of Allegiance during the Eisenhower years as well. There was also great pressure to conform to a Rockwellian model of the perfect community, a notion that included public displays of religiosity. It’s also fair to suggest that in the boom years following the war, as citizens embraced The American Dream of home, auto, and appliance ownership they also sought to compensate for their materialism by creating what has been described as a “veneer of piety.”

Such a narrowly defined utopia couldn’t last however — the pressure to conform was simply too great for a culture that at its core was still a diverse melting pot. By the late fifties and early sixties films began to question the values and the hypocrisy of the postwar decade, and cynicism became a thematic force in the movies — as witnessed in such films as The Sweet Smell of Success, Elmer Gantry, and The Manchurian Candidate. Yet 1955’s A Man Called Peter is about as sincere a movie as you’ll ever find; and being that it is contemporaneous rather than a period piece, it functions as a telling historical document as well as an entertaining biopic. It stars Richard Todd as Peter Marshall, a Scotsman called to service in his homeland, who nevertheless ends up serving in the United States. The film follows his rise through the clerical ranks from a small Georgia church, to ministering the New York Avenue Presbyterian Church in Washington DC, to becoming chaplain of the US Senate. Along the way he meets and marries Catherine (Jean Peters), and together they have a son. The film is surprisingly engrossing, with dramatic tension coming from multiple sources: his DC parishioner’s reluctance to accept him, his wife’s illness, and the Second World War. Todd and Peters are fine in their roles, the Oscar-nominated color cinematography is rich and vibrant, and Henry Koster’s direction is suits the material. If you are amenable to the subject and watch this as simple entertainment, you’re certain to enjoy it.

For my part, I was more fascinated by the telling attitudes projected by the film. It certainly sees itself as progressive — time and again throughout Marshall bucks the status quo in his sermons, to the chagrin of the old folks, and tries to create a church based on equality, open and welcoming to all … well, sort of. Early on he invites a few of the younger members of his Atlanta congregation, including Catherine, to speak at a “youth rally.” When things begin to unravel Catherine rises and offers an impassioned speech about what it means to be a young Christian woman. Her sermon would have been considered hip and unorthodox at the time, but seen through a contemporary lens is characterized by its effort to place women nowhere other than the home. A sort of equality to be sure, but a separate sort at best — and Catherine’s message to those girls who might want to do the same sorts of things that men do (like work) is problematic: Why bother? Women simply aren’t meant to do such things. Here’s a girl who attends an expensive Atlanta university in order to become a teacher (of course), but after she finds her husband her career ambitions are dropped and are never mentioned again as she takes on the role of wife and mother. A Man Called Peter seems to characterize co-education as little more than a very expensive matchmaking service. Certainly the movie wasn’t the only one to take such a stance, but only the most deluded would argue that a multitude of fifties women didn’t have or aspire to a professional life. 

It’s also troublesome that a film that tries to deliver a message of love and equality fails so miserably whenever the issue is race. Considering A Man Called Peter is set in Atlanta and Washington DC and would likely receive many southern bookings, it isn’t surprising that it is so drastically conservative, but that being the case, why have any black cast members at all? Instead there are many, and every single one of them is a servant. We aren’t discussing a film from the thirties or forties here either, but one in theaters at the same time as The Blackboard Jungle. To cast blacks as only servants in a film such as this represents conscious pandering on behalf of 20th Century Fox to the racist attitudes of the country (and theater chain owners) at the time. It greatly mars a film in which the main character delivers a lengthy sermon about hypocrisy. Despite these flaws, there’s still much to like in this sincere film, the trick is to watch it with some sense of removal. And for those who don’t like it, A Man Called Peter yet offers a glimpse at a fascinating moment in our history.

A Man Called Peter (1955)

Grade: C+

Directed by Henry Koster

Starring Richard Todd and Jean Peters

Released by 20th Century Fox

Running time: 119 minutes

Availabilty: DVD, Netflix Instant Watch.

For Me and My Gal (1942)

Having spent a great deal of time in recent weeks watching and rewatching musicals made during the Second World War, I’ve come to the conclusion that For Me and My Gal might be the best of the bunch. Produced by Arthur Freed and ably directed by none other than Busby Berkeley, For Me and My Gal is probably most well-known for being the screen debut of Gene Kelly. Yet Kelly’s debut aside this is still a fine wartime musical, of which charming may be the most appropriate one-word description.

The film represents the first of three pairings [The Pirate (1948) and Summer Stock (1950) being the other two], of young stars Gene Kelly and Judy Garland. Kelly left Broadway at the behest of David O. Selznick to come west as a replacement for the previously cast Dan Dailey, and he never looked back. The film is also evidence that Kelly didn't have much of a learning curve either — he looks almost as polished here as he does in any of his legendary fifties roles. Yet at age twenty Judy Garland was a screen veteran. But For Me and My Gal wasn’t just another film for her, it represented her first truly grown up role, and a testing of the waters away from her usual male lead, Mickey Rooney.

I’ve never considered myself much of a Judy Garland fan, but I have always clearly recognized the it that made her one of the screen’s great stars. And although I have always adored Deanna Durbin, Judy’s talent is such that you can’t hold Louis B. Mayer’s famous decision against him. Still, I usually struggle to hit the play button on a Garland film, but once it gets going I’m

always somehow inexorably pulled in. There’s just something charismatic about Judy — some vulnerability — that draws you into her performances, and unlike other stars she accomplishes this magic without being overtly sexual. It’s almost as if Judy comes across as a little sister whose happiness you desperately want to ensure. She has fine romantic chemistry with Kelly, and the young couple’s numbers together are tops. I’ve seen so many films that I hold every performer’s individual role against the arc of his career, so when Garland and Kelly sing and dance the title number of For Me and My Gal in a deserted coffee shop, the effect is marvelous. On its own merits it’s a great number, but attaching the weight of the careers and the great routines that this one portends leaves one with chills.

Unlike other rah-rah musicals of the War era, this one is something of a period piece: it’s set in the Great War. Gene and Judy are vaudevilleians who meet, fall in love, and set their hearts on playing the Palace on Broadway — the dream destination for those slogging and hoofing on the circuit. The dramatic tension comes after the US enters the war, and circumstances contrive for Judy to believe Gene a coward. They try to go their separate ways but are thrown together once again, this time overseas doing the USO thing (YMCA during WWI). Of course Gene’s no coward, but Judy has to learn it the hard way. The film is light on propaganda, which makes it moving moments all the more effective — and there are a few of them. By the fade out I was ready to load up on war bonds.

For Me and My Gal (1942)

Grade: B+

Directed by Busby Berkeley

Starring Judy Garland, Gene Kelly, and the sadly forgotten George Murphy.

Released by MGM

Running Time: 104 minutes

Availability: DVD, Netflix

Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo (1944)

I've been bamboozled, but I don't mind. I went into my viewing of Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo thinking I was getting a Spencer Tracy film, but that wasn't the case. Tracy’s role amounts to probably less than five minutes of the 138-minute running time. He plays light colonel James Doolittle, the man who orchestrated an extraordinary carrier-based bombing assault on Japan in the wake of Pearl Harbor. Tracy pops up throughout the film, looking stern, giving the occasional order or making a speech. One is left with the impression that his role is bigger, but the movie actually belongs to Van Johnson. Johnson plays Ted Lawson, one of the many B-25 pilots who volunteers for the raid. (Another is played by a young Robert Mitchum)

The film offers a fairly broad survey of the events surrounding the raid, with a focus on Lawson and his fellow crew members — their feelings about the war and their personal lives. The film follows them through training and on to the raid itself, which is vividly realized (Oscar-winning effects) and surprisingly takes place just after the midpoint of the picture. Most of the second half lingers on events that follow, when the bomber crews were obliged to ditch their ships in Chinese territory overrun by Japanese troops. Dalton Trumbo's screenplay takes on a forgivably mild propagandistic tone as everyone aboard Lawson's B-25 is injured and needs to be cared for by Chinese civilians. Most other films of this type would show the crew struggling to escape from behind enemy lines using their nothing more than their wits, and probably nursing minor injuries. Not so here as almost everyone is incapacitated as a result of the forced landing and has to rely solely on the courage of the Chinese citizenry to make it to health and safety.

While the drama plays out half a world away, Johnson's all-American sweetheart of a wife (Phyllis Thaxter) is worried about her man. She is newly pregnant and frightened that Ted might not come back — though like any good war wife she keeps her chin always up and never lets her fears show. She and Johnson are both standouts, and exhibit that sort of “oh gosh!” purity that occasionally comes across as corn, but seems to strike the right chord in a film actually made during the war. I’m a fairly cynical viewer, but Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo evolves gradually into something of a tear jerker, and I was surprised by how the final scene tugged at me. Thaxter and Johnson play it pretty darn good.

Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo (1944)

Grade: B

Directed by Mervyn LeRoy
Starring Van Johnson, Phyllis Thaxter, Robert Mitchum, Robert Walker and Spencer Tracy
Released by MGM
Running time: 138 minutes.
Availability: DVD

Dive Bomber (1941)

Fred MacMurray and Errol Flynn have strong chemistry together in director Michael Curtiz’ big budget aviation film. I’ve never been a big Flynn fan, but this film helped my opinion of him — he’s certainly more believable here than in a film such as Objective, Burma!, where we are supposed to buy him as a hardened infantry commander. Freddie Mac is as reliable as ever, and Bellamy is fine in a serious role. It's actually nice to see him cast as something other than the boob in a romantic comedy for once.

It may not be accurate to call this a WWII film as it was produced and released during the buildup of 1941, but looking back it functions as one. The film is formulaic in its approach: MacMurray plays a salty flight commander to Flynn's pretty boy M.D. When MacMurray's best friend is killed in a crash, he blames Flynn for the man's operating table death. Flynn keeps his cool and turns his guilt into resolve to do something about the high-altitude blackouts that are really to blame. He transfers into the flight surgeon's unit and draws Freddie Mac as his flying instructor. Of course MacMurray and his pals give Flynn a miserable time, but he eventually wins them over through the progress he's able to make alongside fellow doctor Ralph Bellamy.

Dive Bomber is entertaining, but overlong at two + hours by at least 30 minutes. There are some incongruous and unnecessary comedy bits and even an out-of-place romantic angle with Alexis Smith. What this does have going for it are some spectacular aviation scenes filmed in technicolor. The movie scored Oscar nominations in visual effects and cinematography, both of which were well deserved. Dive Bomber is clearly a cut above other early-war flight films, if not in story then clearly in cinematography. There are numerous scenes are formation flying that are impressively stirring.

Dive Bomber (1941)

Grade: B-

Directed by: Michael Curtiz
Starring: Fred MacMurray and Errol Flynn
Released by Warner Brothers
Running time: 132 minutes
Availability: DVD