ANECDOTAS I

El accidente más trágico de una película de DeMille, fue cuando mataron uno de sus actores. Filmando la película "La cautiva", un grupo de soldados tenía que prender fuego una puerta, y después tirarla abajo. La puerta fue construída para ser muy fuerte, y los armas de los soldados debían haber sido cargadas con salvas. Por error alguien había cargado uno de los rifles con un cartucho vivo. Cuando los tiros sonaron hacia fuera, uno de los actores regulares de DeMille se hundió a la tierra y murió de un tiro en la cabeza. Puesto que se habían estado manipulando muchas armas simultáneamente, nunca fue determinado quién era responsable. DeMille guardó a la viuda del hombre que fue matado en la nómina de pago por muchos años. Por mucho tiempo Cecil se preguntó “si el sufrimiento de ella era mayor, que el del hombre que llevó con él a su propio sepulcro la memoria de tomar la vida de otra persona tan inútil”

WILLIAM WELLMAN (3 PARTE)

Did you do any flying yourself?

I did one stunt-one of the German planes that landed and rolled over a few times.

How did you avoid getting hurt?

How can you get hurt? You're strapped in, you duck your head, and let the goddam thing roll over. And you have very little gas in it, to avoid setting yourself on fire.

Being a young director on his first important film, didn't you feel a bit unsure of yourself directing a famous actor like H. B. WaIthall?

No, he was a wonderful guy. I always got along well with character men and women. It was only the stars I had trouble with. And a lot of the stars other directors had trouble with got along fine with me.

How did you come to pick Gary Cooper for Wings?

I'd been looking at so many people, so many guys, and suddenly I saw him. He had that wonderful smile, that wonderful way. I took him down to Texas for weeks. We did the scene and he came up to see me in my hotel room, calling me "Mr. Wellman".

"Mr. Wellman, could I do that over again?"

"Well, what is it that you think you can do better this time?"

''Well, I picked my nose.''

"You keep on picking your nose and you'll pick your way into a fortune."

I told Cooper to always back away from everything and as long as he did that he was great. Hell of a nice guy.

Buddy Rogers has always said you were the best director he ever had.

I love Buddy. He's a tough son of a bitch. To show you how tough he is, he hates flying - it makes him deathly sick. He logged over ninety-eight hours of flying on that one picture. Every time he came down, he vomited. That's a man with guts. I love him.

In the fight scene that takes place in the training camp, Arlen, who I don't like as much as Buddy - too cocky - came to me and said, "You know I can fight. You better tell Rogers because I don't think Rogers knows how to fight." So I said O.K. and that I'd tell Buddy to be very careful. So I went to Buddy and told him exactly what I just told you. He said, "Well, I don't know how to fight." I said, "I know, but you can still kick his brains out." And he did. Kicked the living hell out of him, simply on guts alone.

Did you feel yourself getting into a rut with the aerial combat type of picture?

Not really. After Wings was a hit, they asked me to do another one and I said O.K. [Legion of the Condemned, 1928.] A little while later, Howard Hughes wanted me to do Hell's Angels. They told me, "You don't have to do it, just make an appearance. We don't want to get in wrong with him." So I went over and met him and said, "No, I'm sorry. I've just done two of them and I'm sick to death of them. I wouldn't make a good picture for you." He was very nice and we had an amicable talk. That was the only time I met the great Hughes.

Why did you make Young Eagles?

Buddy's [Rogers'] box-office had fallen off and it was an attempt to make another Wings. It was frightful - a bad movie

. Why did you move from Paramount to Warners?

Money. Every time I ever made a change, it was for either freedom or money, usually money.

How did you come to make Public Enemy?

I got the story from two druggists from Chicago. They were visiting the studio when they stopped me and asked me if I'd read their story. They were such nice guys that I asked them to sit down and have lunch with me. There they told me the story. At that time, it was called "Beer and Blood". I went nuts about it and went in to see Zanuck and told it to him. He said, "Bill, I can't do this, I've just made Little Caesar and Doorway to Hell." I said, "I'll make this so goddamn tough you'll forget both of them." So he said O.K.

How'd you pick Cagney?

Didn't pick Cagney - Eddie Woods played the role, the main role. We had shot for three days, Thursday, Friday and Saturday. On Sunday, I went in to see the rushes and called Zanuck who was in New York at the time.

"We've made a frightful mistake. We've got the wrong man playing the wrong part. This Cagney is the guy."

So he said, "O.K., make the switch."

Didn't Woods resent it?

Sure he resented it, but I didn't give a goddamn. I said, "Look, you're not good enough for us. Play the second lead." And he was lucky to get that. I had to be honest with him. So he agreed - what else could he do? I could always get somebody else if he didn't like it and he knew it.

What about the famous grapefruit scene?

I've been married so many times, and they were all beautiful. 90% of all the domestic troubles I had with these wives was my fault. But this one particular wife, whenever there was any anger (and you've got to have a few rows, for Christ's sake), this beautiful face would just freeze and wouldn't say a word. It used to just kill me. You're whipped, you're licked before you start. Anyway, I like grapefruit halves and when we used to eat breakfast I often thought of taking that goddamn grapefruit and just mushing it right in that lovely, beautiful, cold face. I never did it really, because I did it in Public Enemy.

That was your scene?

That was my scene. I know Zanuck says it's his but he's a goddamn liar. I can show you in the script. Cagney was supposed to throw the grapefruit at the woman.

I'm one of the very few directors who likes Zanuck - as a producer. You see, pictures that still live, that are still successful, are made with the combination of a writer and a director and a producer. The writer and the director gave the producer the talent, the producer gave them the money and got the hell out of the way. Now, for Christ's sake, there's the Producer, the Associate Producer, the Assistant to the Producer, the Assistant to the Associate Producer, all of them lined up against one poor goddamn director. And all the women that they've got, whether they're married to them or living with them . . . Jesus, the pillow talk that goes on has ruined more great pictures than anything you can imagine, including the agents and the unions.

CIENCIA FICCION Y CLASE B

Este link, que a partir de hoy ingresa en la sección de enlaces nos lleva a una completa e interesante base datos de películas de uno de los géneros más entrañables que tiene el cine: La ciencia ficción. Espero lo disfruten

http://www.scifilm.org/

KATE: THE WOMAN WHO WAS HEPBURN

William J Mann acaba de editar una completa biografía sobre quien debe haber sido una de las actrices más representativas de Holywood. Basándose en biógrafos anteriores y bastante de investigación personal, Mann reconstruye la vida de Kate. Un largo camino que va desde la formación de su caracter casi masculino, influenciado por el suicidio de su hermano a los 15 años, los malos tratos sufridos en su infancia, y ya más adelante en el tiempo sus complicadas relaciones amorosas. En este aspecto, Spencer Tracy ocupa un interesante capítulo, no sólo por la relación que mantuvo con la diva en un secreto a voces, sino también porque Mann descubre que todos los amantes de Hepburn eran bisexuales. Siendo más puntual, la misma heroina lo era, ya que su pareja homosexual fue Laura Harding. Al final de este viaje a lo largo de una vida tormentosa, nos queda la mirada del autor que nos dibuja a una mujer fría, calculadora e inquebrantable.

El libro cuesta $19.80 dólares y se consigue en:

http://www.amazon.com/Kate-Woman-Who-Was-Hepburn/dp/0805076255

THE BLACK ANGEL (1946)

Como todo hombre irlandés, Roy William Neill, supo trazar las relaciones entre los personajes de sus películas de una forma muy visual y a la vez delicada. Desgraciadamente "The Black Angel", fue su último film de una escasa trayectoria en el período sonoro, Neill provenía del mudo donde realizó 20 películas. De esta despedida, vale rescatar un guión poco interesante que no impide al director para crear una joya del policial. La cámara se mueve como un pincel y la palabra permanece ausente, y lo mejor, otorgando una dinámica pocas veces vista. Esta película podría encasillarse en la misma temática de "Call 777 Northside" (Henry Hataway) o "True Crime" (Clint Eastwood), en todas estas hay un crimen y un condenado a muerte. El tiemo juega como un factor de presión para intentar salvar a quien se presume inocente, quizás este elemento del tiempo sea lo único que no funcione a la perfección, pero no opaca la realización. Peter Lorre, magnífico como siempre, encarna a un sospechoso dueño de un club nocturno, con un secreto que guarda literalmente en una caja fuerte que debe enfrentar a una mujer dispuesta a entregarlo todo para salvar a su marido condenado. Claramente esta producción de la Universal, es un film noir con todo lo que debe tener, policias implacables, personajes con pasados tan oscuros como la noche que transitan, y sobre todo una densa atmósfera en la puesta escena.

ENTREVISTA A WILLIAM WELLMAN (2 PARTE)

Just because you wanted to learn to fly?

That simple.

Didn't the prospect of getting killed enter your mind? I was nineteen years old, a crazy bastard. It never occurred to me until I got into it. When I got out there, I thought to myself, "What the hell are you doing here?" Then I wished I'd never gotten into it.
How close did you come to getting killed?

I had a crack-up caused by the most useless things in the entire war: anti-aircraft guns. I and an Englishman are the only ones I know of who got shot down by those things. It didn't hurt me, but it blew my tail off so I had no control over the thing at all. Greatest goddamm acrobatics you ever saw in your life.

The courage it must have taken to go up in those flimsy crates . . .

It wasn't courage: we all wanted to learn to fly and that was the quickest way. We only had four instruments, none of which worked, and no parachutes. It was wonderful!

Are you scared of dying?

I hate to think about it. Certainly I am. I don't want to die now and I didn't want to then. I just didn't think about it as much then as I do now. I'm funny that way; I'm an Episcopalian, supposedly. I'm supposed to think there's a God. I say my prayers every night because my mother always taught me to.

Nowadays, lots of people look on World War One with nostalgia, as the last of the "noble" wars.

Balls. In that movie The Blue Max and others, these guys would come back to these beautifully dressed dames and champagne. Goddamn! At Lunéville, where I was stationed, there was one fairly good-looking girl and her mother. One. All the menfolk had been killed and she and her mother took in laundry. She wore wooden shoes, and your reputation was based on whether you were a no shoe man, a one shoe man or a two shoe man. If, during sex, you could shake both her shoes off, you were a hell of a lay.

She took everybody on?

Not everybody. She confined it mostly to flyers. But, hell, there was no one else.

How many pilots were left after the war?

Out of 222, eighty-seven were killed. I flew with Tom Hitchcock, the great polo player. Tom and I were in the "Black Cat" group.

What happened after the war?

During the last six months of the war, I joined the American Air Corps because I was broke and they were trying to get us in. They made me an officer and sent me down to Rockwell Field in San Diego. I taught combat. I used to fly up and land on Doug Fairbanks' polo fields and spend the weekend with him; he had met me when I was playing hockey up in Boston and he was playing at the Colonial Theatre in a thing called "Hawthorne of the U.S.A." He used to come up and watch us play at the Boston Arena on Sundays. For some reason or another, he liked me and asked me to come backstage at the Colonial; that was the start of a very wonderful relationship.

So one day he told me that, after the war was over, he'd have a job for me. So when it was all over, he made me an actor. I was the juvenile in Knickerbocker Buckaroo and then I played a sub-lieutenant in Evangeline.

Eventually, I had guts enough to go look at myself and it made me so sick . . . I ran out of the theatre, went to Doug and said, "I don't mean any disrespect, but I'm no actor." Jesus, the guys from the Lafayette Flying Corps that were still alive were sending me the most insulting letters!

So Doug said, "What do you want to be?" So I pointed to Albert Parker, who was the director of occasion, and said, "Well, what does he make?" So Doug told me and I said "That's what I want to be." It was purely financial. So I finally got a job as a messenger boy, as an assistant cutter, an assistant property man, a property man, an assistant director, second unit director, and eventually I became a director.

What were those early westerns, your first directorial jobs, like?

Oh, we had stories. Bad ones. That was when I made two of the worst pictures I've ever made in my life. One was with Dustin Farnum called The Twins of Suffering Creek [actually released as The Man Who Won]--now, you can just tell what a hell of a picture that had to be. Then I made one with Buck Jones, who was a western star, called Cupid's Fireman. Great, great pictures!

If you look through my whole record, I made a lot of lousy pictures (never intentionally), a lot in the middle, and a few I puff my head out about. I think that's true of everybody. Even Jack Ford, as much as I admire him, went overboard on the Civil War. I got so sick of all those Civil War pictures; he used to have books under his pillow about the Civil War.
Tell me about Wings.

God, I made it in 1927, it's silent, the whole method of making pictures is different, the tempo is different, even the frame size is different. I look at some of those scenes today and say "Jesus, I couldn't have made that." But Clara Bow is magnificent; she holds the thing up. And Coop is good.

The battle sequences are still magnificent.

Oh yeah. All done with hand-cranked cameras. And those air battles - Arlen and Rogers had to go up and do it. There's even a zoom lens effect in one shot: Rogers crashes and jumps in a shellhole; then the enemy plane dives in on him, shooting. As the bullets splash around him, the camera zooms in; how'd you get that effect?

You really want to know the answer? I don't know; I can't remember. Honest and truly, I'd tell you in a minute but I can't remember. I think I did it with a hand-held, battery-run Eyemo. I think. We didn't have zooms, I know that.

In the air battles, how did you get the effect of the planes being on fire after they were hit?

Well, we didn't set them on fire. Almost. We had incendiary torches that the guys would release from the cockpit on signal. We hoped that they wouldn't set the planes on fire and they didn't. We had a great bunch of guys on that film - all those crazy flyers, crazy as I am. We got along fine. They'd do anything I asked.

ENTREVISTA A WILLIAM WELLMAN (I PARTE)

Entrevista originalmente publicada en 1978 en el número 29 de la revista Focus on Film

PRIMERA PARTE

You were born in New England?

Yeah, in Brookline, Massachusetts. My father was a stockbroker, although not a particularly successful one. And my mother was a wonderful, wonderful woman. She was a little bitty gal named Cecilia McCarthy; she was from Ireland. She had two sons, my brother and myself. When she died she was within two months of being ninety-eight years old and sharp as a tack!

When I was a kid, I was a crazy bastard. I was a good athlete; quarterback on the football team, shortstop on the baseball team, and rover-the fastest and dirtiest player of them all - on the ice hockey team - in those days, there were seven men on ice hockey teams.

When my father had some money, my mother became the probation officer for Newton Highlands, outside of Boston. She always called the delinquents "wayward boys"; she absolutely refused to let anybody call them anything else. So, when I got kicked out of high school, I had to report to the probation officer of the city of Newton for six months - who was my own mother.

What did you do to get kicked out?

I dropped a stink bomb on the principal's bald head. A direct hit. My mother was such a successful probation officer that she was asked to speak to Congress about juvenile delinquency. She told them that of all the thousands of boys she'd worked with, the only one she couldn't control was her own son!

So you had a turbulent, middle class upbringing?

I think it was a little above middle class. But I had a beautiful boyhood, with a wonderful mother. My dad had a little drinking problem, but my mother was in love with him and there was never anyone else. My brother and I had a hell of a boyhood. I used to borrow cars at night and take them out for a ride. But we always brought them back.

After you got booted out of high school, did you go directly into the Lafayette Flying Corps?

No, I tried various things. I tried being a candy salesman, but I never sold a pound of candy. I tried being a cotton belting salesman but I never sold a foot of that. Then my brother, who was in the wool business, got me into Coffin and Gilmour, a Philadelphia wool firm, as a salesman. I never sold any of whatever the hell you sell wool by, pound or whatever. So then I went to work in a lumberyard, and I was a hell of a success.

I started in Waltham, Massachusetts, in the middle of the winter with great big freight cars full of South Carolina flooring. I started out as a lumper and then a piler and I did those things so well that they made me a truckdriver. Then I lost control of the truck one day in Roxbury, Massachusetts and drove through a barn. They fired me, so I decided to get the hell out of there. I'd always wanted to learn to fly, so one of my father's brothers, Francis Wellman, got me in the Flying Corps.

TRACK OF THE CAT (1954)

El mal de montaña que sufría el personaje de Jack Nicholson en "El resplandor", puede tener un antecedente en este film de William Wellman. Una familia compuesta por los padres y sus tres hijos varones, de los que el mayor es Robert Mitchum, viven en una montaña nevada a finales de 1800. Pero este grupo familiar tiene un componente característico que los destaca de cualquier familia cinematográfica y es el alto grado de cinismo con el que manejan sus relaciones, tan elevado que desembocará en locura y muerte. Una madre castradora, un padre alcohólico, un hermano dominante, otro débil y un inútil. A este microcósmos particular podríamos agregarle un indio místico, seguramente fruto de inspiración de toda una galería de personajes que David Lynch trabajaría 30 años después. El núcleo en común es la soledad, no producto del hábitat sino de la mantira con la que se manejan unos con otros. Con un ritmo extraño, ,más para este tipo de producción, una puesta en escena angustiante y un guión magistral, todo coronado con la actuación del gran Mitchum, Wellman nos regala su película más extraña. Es sabido que la visión del director ha sido siempre pesimista centrando su temática en la justicia por mano propia y lo injusto que este método puede ser. En este caso dicha práctica no esta llevada de forma tan cristalina como en "The Ox-Box incident", pero no deja de ser el factor central del film. Para cerrar, otro punto más a favor de John Wayne en su faceta como productor.

BRANDED (1950)

Un sello de hierro caliente con el título del film marca el cuero de una vaca, en ese plano de títulos podríamos resumir la historia que vamos a ver a continuación. Rudolph Maté compone en este western, una tragedia griega realmente oscura, que anticipa lo que Ford consagrará años más tarde con "The searchers". Un niño es raptado por un ladrón que lo pierde a manos de unos pistoleros mejicanos, la única prueba de reconocimiento es un tatuaje que el chico lleva en su brazo. 20 años después el raptor propone a Choya (Alan ladd) tatuarse para hacerse pasar por el secuestrado y conquistar el corazón de su nueva familia rica, para ser finalmente el único heredero. Hasta ahí la trama podría parecer la de un film noir, pero acá no hay refinados cigarrillos. ni femme fatales, sino tabaco mascado y mujeres inocentes. El problema comienza cuando ladd se encariña con sus "nuevos" padres, y su socio empieza a presionarlo. Cuesta creer que esta pieza fundamental para entender el tema de la identidad como uno de los tópicos pricipales a la hora de revisar el género, haya quedado totalmente aislada del puñado de películas que usualmente se escogen. El único inconveniente que podríamos encontrar es hacia el final, donde la narración pierde fuerza visual para resolver los cabos de manera un tanto simple. Sin embargo este detalle no empaña lo construído anteriormente. Excelentemente fotografíado por Charles B. Lang, esta película es una parada obligatoria para los amantes del género.

ALFRED HITCHCOCK'S CAMEOS

En este link podrán ver casi todos los cameos del maestro Alfred, para fanáticos y no tantos. Espero lo disfruten

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B0tZnquxW_U

ROAD TO ZANZIBAR (1941)

Durante mucho tiempo la Paramount se especializó en comedias, no es casual que por varios años uno de los directivos del estudio, encargado de escoger las producciones, fuese el mítico Lubistch, de esa escuela salieron grandes alumnos como Preston Sturges y Billy Wilder entre otros, pero los films que hicieron de esta empresa una verdadera potencia por aquella época fueron los que componían la saga "Road to...". Bob Hope y Bing Crosby eran los dos pilares de la industria que mantuvieron al estudio de la montaña en la cima de la taquilla. Si existe la leyenda (tal vez algo falsa o no tan exacta) que a la Warner la salvó "El cantante de jazz" a la Paramount la mantuvieron con vida estos dos comediantes, que antes que nada eran crooners. Ambos podían cantar, bailar y por sobre todo hacer reír a un público bastante amplio. Quizás la serie "Road" no es el tipo de comedia sofisticada que uno espera ver con ansias, pero la verdad es que no falla en lo suyo porque no pretende más que poner un escenario exótico de fondo para que esta pareja haga de las suyas. La mujer que los acompaño en estas travesías, fue la hermosa y olvidada Dorothy Lamour. A "Road to Zanzibar" le siguen "Road to Utopía", "Road to Rio" y "Road to Bali", entre otras tantas que se hicieron. De movida el estudio no pensó en una saga, de hecho los intérpretes de Zanzibar iban a ser el consagrado por entonces Fred Mac Murray y George Burns, pero alguien sugirió el nombre de Hope y Crosby, y realmente acertó. El complemento de la pareja funciona con la fórmula del equilibrio clásico de pareja en el cine: Crosby como el galán avispado y Hope como el tonto simpático. Zanzibar lleva a estos dos artistas de varieté, que huyen de una deuda al corazón de Africa donde tendrán que vivir montando su show musical, mientras engañan a un millonario que los pueda devolver a América. Durante muchos años esta serie fue la más taquillera de todos los tiempos

ALONG THE GREAT DIVIDE (1951)

El traslado de prisioneros es una temática apasionante, ya sea en clave de policial o en este caso de western. Podría pasarme muchas líneas mencionando algunos de estos films y seguramente no encontraría una que no sea buena. Pero en este caso, voy a detenerme en "Along the great divide" de Raoul Walsh, que viene a ser una suerte de paradigma del género por su economía y presición narrativa. La trama se desarolla bajo la estructura de una road movie, con Kirk Douglas interpretando a un sheriff cuyo padre fue ahorcado que debe conducir a la misma suerte a un brillante Walter Brennan. En esta peregrinación por el caluroso desierto pecaminoso, que lo tienta con la exhuberancia de Virgina Mayo, el marshall Merrick deberá aforntar desde la sublevación de sus asistentes hasta una tediosa melodía silbada por el condenado que sólo piensa en escapar sin detenerse ni siquiera un instante para dormir. En algún punto, ese cocktail de pruebas a vencer termina no sólo representando el vía crucis de Douglas sino una posiblidad de superar el pasado. Si bien es muy difícil referirse a la puesta de Walsh, porque siempre lo hace todo bien, el elemento que se destaca en esta película es el manejo del tiempo y la creación de una atmósfera caragada de opresión que nos hace recordar a los mejores trhillers. Además no deja de estar presente el sello de aquellas pequeñas pero gloriosas películas de la Warner que poseían una mirada pesimista de la justicia.

POSTERS JAPONESES

Acá va otro link interesante acerca de pósters de películas japonesas, la mayoría del período clásico.

http://www.fjmovie.com/tposter/title-e.htm

THE LUSTY MEN (1952)

En "The Misfits"(1961) Huston elegía el western de rodeo para pintar el crepúsculo de la época clásica a través del patetismo de alguno de sus íconos mas notables. Nicholas Ray hacía lo mismo pero a su manera, como siempre varios años antes que cualquiera y por el camino opuesto. Lo que en Huston era un grupo de perdedores vagando por el desierto, en Ray es un trío encabezado por un héroe que viene a transferir su legado, pero no de manera gratuita sino con un precio bastante caro, poner en disputa el amor de la mujer de su pupilo. Cosa que obtendrá como recompensa, pero que no evitará el sacrificio final. El resultado de esta experiencia es una obra maestra, quizás de las mejores películas que un amante del cine pueda disfrutrar. Si bien las imágenes nos dejan adivinar un rodaje complicado, muchas de las escenas fueron rodadas por Robert Parrish (un especialista del género) debido a que Ray estuvo varios días enfermo, la intensidad de las mismas denotan grandes niveles de expresión. La genialidad aparece en varios aspectos como el impecable trabajo de montaje, o en una de las mejores actuaciones de Robert Mitchum, que juega un excelente héroe-perdedor, no confundir con un antihéroe, además se da el gusto de trabajar con su hermano, y en la construcción de ese increíble mundo del rodeo. De ese universo destacamos las fiestas privadas, los cowboys de los '50, las fanáticas seguidoras y el placer de viajar por el Estados Unidos rural viviendo la acción de una competencia que se disputa a vida o muerte.