Category: Behind the Scenes

Behind the Scenes: “The Hustler” (1961)

It should have been Frank Sinatra in the leading role, not Newman. Sinatra acquired the rights to the Walter Tevis semi-biographical novel published in 1959. When Sinatra moved onto something else and director Robert Rossen took up the slack still Newman should have been ruled out courtesy of a planned re-teaming with Elizabeth Taylor – they had worked together on Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (1959) – for the screen adaptation of Broadway hit Two for a Seesaw. Bobby Darin (Pressure Point, 1962) was being lined up instead. When illness put paid to Taylor’s involvement, Newman would have remained tied to Two for the Seesaw except he had co-star approval and none of the actresses suggested measured up.

Based on reading half the script, Newman, calling his agent at six o’clock in the morning to confirm interest, jumped at the role. Though Exodus (1960) had been a success, and he had managed to ease himself out of his contract with Warner Bros, he was not considered hot box office and he needed a part not just to consolidate his commercial standing but to provide a professional springboard that would shape his career. His previous outing, Paris Blues (1961), hadn’t carved out a clear path. As well as his salary, the actor was in line for ten per cent of the profits.

Initially, the picture was backed by United Artists and it featured in their adverts in the trade magazines in 1959. The studio had shelled out an advance to Rossen to option the rights. But when the director couldn’t find a “box office star as insurance” UA pulled out. By this point, the end of 1959, there was at least a screenplay, Rossen having called upon the services of Sydney Carroll (Big Deal at Dodge City, 1966).

Rossen shopped the package to Twentieth Century Fox which, somewhat surprisingly, signed up to the project when no major star was attached, especially as, according to Rossen, the picture “pulled no punches” with its “frank approach to people and life.” UA had promoted itself as the go-to studio for independents but by Rossen’s reckoning Fox was superior in that department because backing the movie “took some guts.”

Fox chief Spyros Skouras wasn’t keen on the title, believing, understandably, that The Hustler might signal to audiences that it was a story about prostitution. It was changed first of all to A Stroke of Luck and then to Sin of Angels. However, UA objected to the latter title on the grounds it had already registered a similar title The Side of the Angels and with some reluctance Skouras agreed to go with the original title.

It was a critical picture for Rossen, who hadn’t had a solid hit in a decade and hadn’t made a picture that could be mentioned in the same breath as All the King’s Men (1949). In part his low output was due to being blacklisted during the anti-Communist witch hunt of the early 1950s, although finally cleared. But it was as much due to his unusual method of working. “You gamble time which is money,” he said, “because you may work for six months or a year then realize the property is not quite right and your drop the while idea.” That ran counter to the general Hollywood practice where studios would press ahead with inferior product precisely because so much time and money had been spent on it. Rossen’s office was littered with abandoned projects.

Female lead Piper Laurie was also in the market for a comeback. She had bowed out of the business after Until They Sail (1958) – also starring Newman – fed up with ingénue parts, although the director had initially favored daughter Carole Rossen (The Arrangement, 1969) for the role. At one point Rossen identified Yves Montand for a top supporting role. Co-star Jackie Gleason (Soldier in the Rain, 1963), known at this time as a television comedy actor, was already a decent pool player and Newman was coached by Willie Mosconi, a fourteen-time world billiards champ. Except for one maneuver the two actors managed to achieve all the shots caught on camera. Newman believed he was good enough to beat Gleason and it cost him $50 to be proved wrong.

George C. Scott, primarily known for his work on the stage, had attracted attention with an Oscar-nominated turn in Otto Preminger courtroom drama Anatomy of a Murder (1959).

The film, budgeted at $2.1 million, was shot on location in New York City in the winter and spring of 1961. “You get certain values,” noted Rossen, “ in New York that you can’t get on the Coast (Hollywood).” The pool scenes were filmed at Ames Billiard Academy, established in 1946, near Times Square and McGirr’s. Other locations included a townhouse on East 82nd St which doubled as the Louisville home of the billiard player Findley and the Greyhound Bus Station in Manhattan even though it lacked a dining area and the one built on the premises confused regular customers.

Rossen spent five weeks of the 10-week schedule on the pool action. Sarah’s apartment, however, was located on a sound stage. The director, under pressure to revive his career and suffering from diabetes, was tough on the crew but went easy on the cast. He hired street thugs as extras to add authenticity. He fell foul of electricians and they fell foul of him after he exposed a blackmail scam whereby the electricians responsible for inspecting the unit  complained of code violations when it was the same inspectors who should have ensured everything complied with regulations. .

The part was custom-made for Newman. “I spent the first thirty years of my life looking for a way to explode,” recalled the actor. He found an outlet for that problem through acting and he reckoned for Fast Eddie Felson it was pool. “It was one of those movies when you woke every day and could hardly wait to get to work because you knew it was so good that nobody was going to be able to louse it up.”

Though studio 20th Century Fox did its best to louse it up, originally objecting to the location shoot, looking to cut down the running time, especially telescoping the pool sequences it felt might bore the female audience. Desperate to hold onto his vision, Rossen hired Arthur P. Jacobs, then a top-flight PR honcho (and later producer of Planet of the Apes, 1968), who contrived to set up a celebrity screening where the positive response stopped Fox in its interfering tracks. Due to the Actors Strike the previous year, product was in short supply, so although The Hustler was one of 19 pictures opening in September 1961 it didn’t face tough competition, the biggest movies it contended with were Rock Hudson-Gina Lollobrigida comedy Come September and upscale horror The Innocents with Deborah Kerr.

Reviews were positive although in an editorial Box Office magazine railed against a picture which cinemas could not sell to a family audience for a matinee performance.

A surprise box office hit, at least initially, in first run in the big cities, The Hustler creamed  a “wow” $64,000 in opening week at the 3,665-seat Paramount in New York. There was a “boffo” $36,000 in Chicago, a “fast” $20,000 in Detroit, a “hotsy” $15,000 in Cleveland, a “wow” $14,000 in Pittsburgh and a “smash” $11,000 in Providence. The poster which effectively showed Paul Newman thrusting his head into Piper Laurie’s bosom attracted adverse criticism and caused Chicago newspapers to take a stronger line on movie ads.

It was nominated for nine Oscars with Newman, Laurie, Gleason and Scott all earning acting nods, and Rossen up for two gongs in his capacity as director and producer, as well as potentially sharing one with Sydney Carroll for the screenplay. In the event the only winners were for Eugen Schufftan for Cinematography and Harry Horner and Gene Callahan for Art Direction. At the Baftas it was named Best Film while Newman won Best Foreign Actor and Piper Laurie was also nominated.

Oscar nominations ensured the picture went out on speedy reissue in February and March 1962 resulting in domestic rentals of $2.8 million and a decent run abroad.

Robert Rossen only made one more picture. Paul Newman reconfigured his career and George C. Scott added to his lustre. Jackie Gleason got a shot at top billing with Gigot (1962) but Piper Laurie didn’t make another movie until Carrie (1976).

SOURCES: Daniel O’Brien, Paul Newman (Faber & Faber, 2005) pp79-85; Shawn Levy, Paul Newman, A Life (Aurum, 2009) pp 175-182; Aubrey Solomon, Twentieth Century Fox, (Scarecrow Press, 2002) p229 and p253; Advertisement, United Artists, Variety, June 24, 1959, p21; “New York Sound Track,” Variety, August 12, 1959, p17; “Gleaned on a Gondola,” Variety, August 26, 1959, p20; “New York Sound Track,” Variety, November 16, 1960, p17; “Fox Nicer to Indies than UA,” Variety, March 8, 1961, p3; “New York Electrical Inspectors,” Variety, March 29, 1961, p5; “Sins of Angels Tag disputed,” Variety, March 29, 1961, p7; “Artistic Comeback,” Variety, May 24, 1961, p4; “Skinpix Can’t See,” Variety, October 18, 1961, p17; “Hustler Re-Release,” Box Office, January 22, 1962, pSW8. Box office figures: Variety October-November 1961.  

Behind the Scenes: Selling William Holden and Audrey Hepburn – Pressbook for “Paris When It Sizzles” (1964)

One of the main aims of the Pressbook/Marketing Manual ws to provide cinema managers with material for local journalists, which might result in the movie getting a mention outside the entertainment pages. Mostly, these consisted of bizarre snippets that you might imagine editors would instantly reject, notions that an actor had previously had an arcane profession, or something quite random such as that Audrey Hepburn demanding Dressing Room No 55 in a studio. However, marketeers on this picture struck gold.

Having made three pictures in Paris, Audrey Hepburn offered useful tips for prospective travellers. She named five offbeat haunts. “One is a tiny shop near the Madeleine where old and proud workmen are busy all day on all kinds of things from miniature Eiffel Towers to chessmen,” she advised. “Another is a flower stall on the Ile de Cite where an old grandmother whose three sons died in World War I looks after what she has brought from her own garden to sell.

“Another is an ancient Left Bank restaurant, the Procope, which dates from 1686 but few persons except students know about. Robespierre, Danton, Napoleon, Victor Hugo, Balzac, Verlaine and many other famous persons ate there regularly.”

Another favorite is a “small grove” in the Bois du Boulogne near where the Duke and Duchess of Windsor lived. “The combination of the sun filtering through the elms, spruces and chestnut trees against the loveliest beds of blooms with a little waterfall on one side makes an exquisite ‘real life’ painting.” Her final recommendation was the Little Trianon, favored by Marie Antoinette, at Versailles.

On the fashion front we discover that Hubert de Givenchy worked for six months on designing her clothes for the picture. A hundred sketches “were discarded” before the final selection was whittled down to eight dresses.

Having acted the part of a secretary, Hepburn also felt qualified to pass on tips to those occupying such a position. Don’t ask about your boss’s personal life, she emphasised. Also, make sure you wear the kind of make-up he likes, don’t dress better than the rest of the staff and be prepared to give up your coffee break to pound your typewriter.

Not to be outdone, and possibly encouraged by working alongside a fashion icon, William Holden let rip on male fashion. “Who says that a man has to wear a coat in a fashionable restaurant?” he rages. “And this   business of the extra-heavy coat lapel. That’s got to go along with those stupid folded-handkerchief pockets. Also, I can’t understand why men have that extra bottom button on their coat, you know, the one they never button.”

He rails against trouser cuffs and objects to the fashion that “dictates” he has to wear cuff links inside his jacket sleeve.” He and director Richard Quine once fashioned their own suits during the filming of The World of Suzie Wong (1960).

Quine was discounted as having any publicity value in the 10-page A3 Pressbook, but screenwriter George Axelrod was deemed worthy of an article about the “wacky” concept. He argues, “Pictures today must be unconventional. Stories that old-time editors might tell you are the safest may lead to disaster.”

Unasked, he also sprung to the defence of the principals, claiming “They are never late, are spark plugs of enthusiasm and ask to spend extra time rehearsing.” This would have come as something of a surprise to studio executives enduring Holden’s alcoholism – at one point during filming he had to go and dry out.

Perhaps believing that the names of the stars would automatically sell the picture, the advertising team stinted on poster variety, relying on two simple designs and taglines.

Otherwise there was a wealth of marketing ideas, the pick of which was a “gigantic national contest” to win an escorted tour of Europe, including a trip to Paris (natch!) run by Gateway Holidays.

As well as record retailers stocking Nelson Riddle’s soundtrack and bookshops selling a novelization of the script – both of which could offer vital window displays, there was also a tie-in with Givenchy. The fashionista’s dresses weren’t being turned into a line, which the vast majority of the audience couldn’t afford in any case. Instead, Givenchy had created a special perfume for Hepburn called “L’Interdit Perfume.” Its launch was accompanied by half-page ads in the likes of Vogue, the New Yorker and Women’s Wear Daily, each carrying mention of the movie.

Behind the Scenes: “Battle of Midway” (1976)

Mirisch could easily lay claim to be the top independent production outfit of the 1960s generating hits like The Magnificent Seven (1960),  West Side Story (1961), The Great Escape (1963), The Pink Panther (1964) and its sequel A Shot in the Dark (1964), The Russians Are Coming, Russians Are Coming (1966), In the Heat of the Night (1967) and The Thomas Crown Affair (1968) plus a shelf load of Oscars and Oscar nominations. But dependence on a partnership with Billy Wilder in the 1970s and a more lackluster performance at the box office – with the noted exception of Fiddler on the Roof (1971) – spelled the end of its 17-year relationship with United Artists, which was reeling from financial losses and under new management.

The company found a new partner in Universal which had a series of deals with other major producers like Alfred Hitchcock, Zanuck and Brown (Jaws, 1975) and George Seaton (Airport, 1970). Mirisch was not in any financial trouble, having severed ties with UA after Mr Majestyk (1974), a major success abroad, and recovered its development costs for Wheels, based on the Arthur Hailey novel but the script rejected by UA, from Universal which turned it into a mini-series.

The Universal deal was initially not as good as that enjoyed at UA. Universal charged a twenty-five per cent overhead whereas UA had charged nothing and Universal was now doing direct deals with directors rather than relying on the likes of Mirisch to tie up the talent.

Many years before, Mirisch had commissioned a script on the Battle of Midway from Donald S. Sanford who specialized in war pictures but of the distinctly low-budget variety – Submarine X-1 (1968), The Thousand Plane Raid (1969) and Mosquito Squadron (1969), none of which had enjoyed any success. 

Though all of the Mirisch war pictures had concentrated on Europe, Walter Mirisch, generally the creative driving force for the production company, in his previous incarnation with Allied Artists had some experience of the Pacific War, having produced Flat Top / Eagles of the Fleet (1952), set around an aircraft carrier during the Battle of Leyte Gulf, and was an avid reader of books about the Second World War.

John Ford and Louis de Rochmont had made documentaries about the Pacific naval battles. UA rejected the script twice, a shrewd move in the end because Tora! Tora! Tora! (1970) lost a packet for Twentieth Century Fox. The Sanford screenplay had initially taken more of a documentary approach but after gaining the interest of Charlton Heston, who had starred in Mirisch’s The Hawaiians (1970), the script was tweaked.

Programming a war picture was a risk for the studio. There hadn’t been a big-budget war picture in five years. And while Patton (1970) and Kelly’s Heroes (1970) ended up on the right sight of the ledger book, Tora!, Tora! Tora! and Too Late the Hero (1970) were stiffs.

Mirisch signed a two-picture deal with Universal, for Midway and Wild Card with a screenplay by Elmore Leonard (Mr Majestyk). Mirisch proposed to reduce costs by using footage from naval archives, converting the original 16mm film to 35mm. The producer also  took footage from Japanese film Storm over the Pacific / I Bombed Pearl Harbor (1960) – the rights cost him $96,000. Footage of the Pearl Harbor attack in Tora! Tora! Tora! doubled for shots of the attack on Midway Island.   A clip of the Dolittle raid on Tokyo from Thirty Seconds over Tokyo (1944) was used in the credit sequence after “subjecting it to a sepia bath.”

After the success of Earthquake (1975), Heston was back in the top ranks of box office stars and his involvement guaranteed the green light. The U.S. Navy offered its support, not surprising since Midway was considered its greatest success.

John Guillermin (The Towering Inferno, 1974) was hired to direct and Stirling Silliphant (In the Heat of the Night) signed up for a screenplay rewrite. Mirisch had determined to employ the all-star-cast device that had been an essential ingredient of many of the 1960s roadshow pictures, kicking off with Henry Fonda (The Boston Strangler, 1968), by now pretty much a spent force at the box office – he hadn’t made a picture in three years – but still a well-known name. 

The amount of work involved for the other stars was minimal – mostly just one day – and, astutely, Mirisch called on stars who had worked for him in the past and who, like James Coburn (The Great Escape), Cliff Robertson (633 Squadron, 1964) and Christopher George (The Thousand Plane Raid) owed him something in terms of a career leg-up. Others included Robert Mitchum (The Sundowners, 1960), Robert Wagner (The Biggest Bundle of Them All, 1968) and Tom Selleck in an early role. Mitchum was the first of these stars to sign up, in March 1975, six weeks before the scheduled start date of April 27, followed two days later by Coburn.

Toshiro Mifune (Red Sun, 1971) headed up the Japanese cast and proved so meticulous in his preparations that he had his uniform made by Japanese tailors. The white gloves he wore had a finger shortened on the left hand because his character Admiral Yamamoto was missing a pinky. However, despite coaching in English by actress Miko Taka (Walk, Don’t Run, 1966), his dialog was revoiced by Paul Frees. 

Guillermin demanded a bigger budget to accommodate more airplanes and equipment and a longer shooting period. Two months before filming was due to start, Mirisch put his foot down and told the director he couldn’t accommodate his requests as Universal had only provided funding on the basis of Mirisch’s original idea. Guillermin walked. As far as the public was concerned, the parting of the ways was due to a “conflict of schedules.” Jack Smight, who had directed Airport ’75 (1974), a box office success and also starring Heston, was his replacement.

The Navy lent aircraft carrier U.S.S. Lexington – the last remaining World War Two carrier – while it was at sea training pilots as long as the shoot didn’t interfere with those exercises. A limited number of World War Two vintage planes – in great condition having been cared for by their owners – were permitted on board. The Navy charged the crew for accommodation – Mirisch was housed in Admiral Strean’s quarters – and meals. “We had a detailed contract with the Navy,” recalled Mirisch, “in which we agreed to stay out of their way when asked.”

On board, the crew filmed scenes, some silent and others with dialog, and “made plates for rearview projection and aerial shots of our vintage planes so positioned that we could print them into flights of six or nine.” Charlton Heston, Glenn Ford (Rage, 1966) and Hal Holbrook (The Group, 1966) were aboard and the shoot went well.  A scene involving Henry Fonda was shot at Pensacola. The Florida coast stood in for the Pacific. Additional exteriors were filmed in Los Angeles at Long Beach and Point Dune with interiors at Universal.

The construction of the interiors for the Japanese aircraft carriers was so authentic Mirisch was later asked to reassemble the set for the Smithsonian Institute for a presentation there. The interpolation of the old footage was crucial and it was planned in advance where such shots would appear. The old footage was precut and scenes were shot with actors with “scene missing” in those sequences into which the old footage could be dropped. Other devices were used to ensure the background in the old footage was more lively.

The final element was in cinematic presentation. Sensurround, a precursor of Imax, had been introduced with great success by Universal to Earthquake and this added greater realism to the battle scenes. While limited to those theaters which had installed the expensive equipment, and although the roadshow was long gone, it created an “event” aspect to those viewing it in that system. In his autobiography Mirisch suggested the addition of Sensurround was last minute and sparked  by the success of Earthquake. But, in fact, Universal had announced a year in advance of opening that Battle of Midway would utilize Sensurround.

Some cinema owners were outraged at the stock footage, whose proposed inclusion had been kept from them when they went into the blind-bidding process at the start of the year. Mirisch countered that there was no alternative. “A great many aircraft,” he argued, “used in the battle no longer exist.” Universal’s terms were stiff – a minimum nine-week run starting at a 70/30 split for the first three weeks in the studio’s favor, a $75,000 advance guarantee from cinemas and 5% of the gross for use of Sensurround.

With the budget kept as low as a reported $4 million it was a massive hit, picking up $20.3 million in rentals (what the studio retains of the box office gross) – sixth in the annual box office league beaten only by Oscar-winner One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest, All the President’s Men with Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman, demonic The Omen, Walter Matthau baseball comedy The Bad News Bears and Mel Brooks’ Silent Movie and just ahead of such offerings as Sidney Lumet’s Dog Day Afternoon with Al Pacino, and comedy Murder by Death but nearly doubling the take of the more critically-acclaimed Taxi Driver, Clint Eastwood western The Outlaw Josey Wales and thriller Marathon Man also starring Hoffman. The final domestic figure amounted to $21.8 million.

Foreign figures were astonishing, especially in Japan, where its gross exceeded $4 million. The benefits of the promotional tour undertaken by Heston in the Far East were soon obvious – in Manila it beat both Jaws and Earthquake. In the annual box office league there and Hong Kong, it ranked third. In Italy it proved a “big surprise”, coming in fourth behind King Kong, Taxi Driver and a local offering.

While a successful movie could expect to benefit from television viewings – this was before the video revolution – the movie had an unusual afterlife. NBC, which had bought the rights, wanted the film to be longer, so it could be shown over two nights, thus increasing advertising and setting it up as a more prestigious event. Largely by adding plotlines to the Heston character, the running time increased by nearly an hour, which proved a bonus for the future home screening revolution. 

“Of all the films that I have made,” noted Mirisch, “it produced the greatest amount of profit.”

SOURCES: Walter Mirisch, I Thought We Were Making Movies Not History (University of Wisconsin Press, 2008) pp324-339; “Readying Midway,” Variety, February 5, 1975, p6;  “Universal in New Shake,” Variety, July 23, 1975, p3; “Admiral Mitchum,” Variety, March 12, 1975, p18; ”Jap Feature Footage Inserted into Midway,” Variety, June 6, 1976, p7;  “Midway Big in Manila,” Variety, August 11, 1976, p24; “Big Rental Films of 1976,” Variety, January 5, 1977, p14; “Jaws Led Bangkok,” Variety, February 9, 1977, p39;  “International,” Variety, June 29, 1977, p35.

Behind the Scenes: “Sweet Bird of Youth” (1962)

Writer-director Richard Brooks had built a reputation adapting heavyweight literary works – ranging from Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov (1958), Tennessee Williams play Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (1958) and Sinclair Lewis’s evangelism opus Elmer Gantry (1960) – the last two box office and critical hits –  and though he had Joseph Conrad’s Lord Jim in his sights he had a hankering after more simple fare. He planned to go out on his own and had paid $30,000 to acquire Arthur Woolson’s Goodbye, My Son focusing on mental health and $70,000 on The Streetwalker, written anonymously by a sex worker, and more nitty-gritty than the current stream of high-end good-time-girl pictures. The Streetwalker would take a semi-documentary approach. Brooks aimed for budgets around the $700,000 mark.

But in the end, he fell for the blandishments of producer Pandro S. Berman, for whom he had made Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, one of MGM’s biggest hits, and Paul Newman, who had played the part of Chance in the original Broadway play. It had run for nearly a year and the cast included Geraldine Page, Rip Torn and Madeleine Sherwood who reprised their roles in the film. Ed Begley had worked with Brooks on Deadline USA (1952).

By this point Newman was rid of the shackles of his Warner Bros contract and spread his wings artistically and commercially, following up Exodus (1960) with Martin Ritt’s Paris Blues and the first of his iconic roles in Robert Rossen’s The Hustler. Newman was paid $350,000, half the total sum allocated to the cast. The play cost a total of $600,000 against a budget of $2.8 million. Even so, Newman’s stock was not as high as later in the decade and even with his name attached a film based on John Hersey’s The Wall about the Warsaw Uprising failed to get backing.

Brooks was reluctant to get back into the ring with Tennessee Williams, still smarting from the “repeated sniping” that followed Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. Brooks recalled that “during filming I talked with Tennessee on the phone a number of times and all was peachy.” But later the author complained Brooks had “butchered” the play. He was especially incandescent because Williams pocketed $1.4 million while the director made do with just $68,000. Brooks demanded “a signed letter written by Williams and published in Variety to the effect that he (Williams) liked the film version” before he agreed to helm Sweet Bird of Youth.

There’s no sign that Williams acquiesced and Brooks proceeded with his version which turned into flashbacks some of the incidents dealt with on stage through dialog.

“Most people go out to Hollywood with a seven-year contract to work,” noted female lead Geraldine Page, wryly, “It looks like I had a seven-year contract to stay away.”  A rising star when selected for the female lead for John Wayne 3D western  Hondo (1954), she didn’t make another movie for seven years, largely as the result of not being considered photogenic enough. For Hondo, a scene had been added, “in which she was called upon to acknowledge that she was not beautiful,” and that designation, although intended purely to reflect a self-deprecating character, stuck. Although another explanation for her absence was that she was blacklisted for her association with Uta Hagen, but it’s unlikely that noted right-winger Wayne would have employed her in the first place has that been the case.

Despite an Oscar nomination for Hondo, she made her way on the stage instead, to critical approval, New York Drama Critics Award and Tony nomination for Sweet Bird of Youth. After an Oscar nomination for another Williams adaptation Summer and Smoke (1961), her career was revived, after the industry “found out how to employ one of the top performing talents of the last decade.” No surprise, however, that she wasn’t MGM’s first choice. The studio preferred the likes of Ava Gardner, Lana Turner and Rita Hayworth, who would be doing little acting to portray themselves as fading stars.

“When I saw how they fixed me up (for Sweet Bird),” said Page, “I said, look at me I’m gorgeous.” Brooks made her get rid of “those fluttering gestures” that he reckoned “subconsciously were efforts to cover her face.”

Shirley Knight didn’t have to audition. She and Brooks met at the Oscar ceremony. All he asked of her was that she lighten and grow her hair.

“He was a man who really knew what he wanted,” recalled Knight, “He wanted you to do a certain thing and was clear about the look of it.” She was so in thrall to the director that she followed his instruction to the steer a boat in one direction even though she knew it would lead her to smash straight into a dock.

Given the controversial nature of the play, there were concerns the entire project would be blocked by the Production Code, the U.S. censorship body. But Berman was quick with the reassurance. He claimed it would be “the cleanest picture ever made…clean as any Disney film.”  To achieve that would require considerable trimming as the play involved abortion, hysterectomy and castration. Berman ensured these elements were eliminated. Brooks changed the ending.

Commented Williams, “Richard Brooks did a fabulous screenplay of Sweet Bird of Youth but he did the same f…ing thing (as Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.) He had a happy ending. He had Heavenly and Chance go on together which is contradictory  to the meaning of the play. It was a brilliant film up to that point.”

Actually, Brooks was undecided about the ending. He wanted to shoot two endings, one as unhappy as the play. “But once the ending was on film – the one the studio wanted – production was shut down.”

Newman was more relaxed about any changes. “You have to make peace with the idea when you make a motion picture version of a play, it’s so difficult and it’s no sense struggling with things that were in the play.” With enough controversy riding on the picture, the studio banned the actors from talking to the media.

Initially, box office expectations were high when the movie hit first run. A $72,000 first week take in New York was considered “boffo.” It scored “a lusty” $28,000 in Chicago, a “bang-up” $15,000 in Buffalo, a “brilliant” $28,000 in Los Angeles, a “lush” $14,000 in Pittsburgh, a “bright” $16,000 in St Louis, and a “wow” $17,000 in Detroit. It generated a “loud” $4,500 in Portland, a “wham” $15,000 in Minneapolis and was “sockeroo” in Washington DC with $21,000.

But once it left the rarified atmosphere of the big cities, it stumbled. There was precent, the touring production of the play had also flopped once it left the environs of Broadway. Variety reckoned the timing was to blame as audiences showed “more aloofness to this type of fare” than they did a couple of years before.

The movie limped to $2.7 million in rentals – and a lowly 30th spot on the annual rankings – at the U.S. box office though foreign was more promising, ninth overall in France and 10th in Italy.

SOURCES: Douglass K. Daniel, Tough as Nails, The Life and Films of Richard Brooks (University of Wisconsin Press). pp146-154; Daniel O’Brien, Paul Newman (Faber and Faber, 2005), pp86-7; Shawn Levy, Paul Newman, A Life  (Aurum Press, 2009), pp169-171; “Folks Don’t Dig That Freud,” Variety, May 9, 1960, p1; “Metro Hot for Brooks,” Variety, June 15, 1960, p2; “Sweet Bird of Youth Will Be Ok for Kiddies,” Variety, September 13, 1961, p5; “Brooks Prostie and Psycho Indies,” Variety, September 13, 1961, p4; Vincent Canby,  “Seven Years After Her Film Discovery, Geraldine Page May Be Accepted,” Variety, November 15, 1961, p2; “Picture Grosses”, March-May 1962, Variety; “Fun-Sex Plays, ‘Sick’ Slowing,” Variety, August 8, 1962, p11; “Big Rental Pictures of 1962,” Variety, Jan 9, 1963, p13; “Yank Films,” January 23, 1963, p18.

Behind the Scenes: “Birdman of Alcatraz” (1962)

It took three attempts by different producers before Birdman of Alcatraz finally hit the screens. After the novel by Thomas E. Gaddis was published in 1955, Ingo Preminger, brother of director Otto Preminger, a year later was first to throw his hat in the ring – on behalf of director Joshua Logan.

Logan was on a roll, Oscar-nominated for Picnic (1955) starring William Holden and lining up Marilyn Monroe for Bus Stop (1956). Explained Preminger, “I knew Joshua Logan was looking for something off the beaten path for a personal project…(and found) exactly what he was looking for in the controversial novel.” Given Ingo’s track record – he wouldn’t produce his first film until Mash (1970), admittedly a smash – it was small wonder he didn’t make it to first base.

Twentieth Century Fox, under the aegis of Buddy Adler, had the movie on its schedule until abruptly dropping the project in 1958 when he failed to secure the cooperation of the Federal Bureau of Prisons. In fact, the Feds actively opposed the production, feeling the oxygen of publicity for the prisoner was undeserved.

Next up was accomplished independent producer Harold Hecht, who had formed a partnership with Burt Lancaster – Apache (1954), Trapeze (1956), The Unforgiven (1960). He was no more successful with the prisoner authorities – denied permission to shoot in Alcatraz or Leavenworth. But at least with Lancaster on board, he had a marketable commodity. Although he had a close relationship with United Artists, Birdman of Alcatraz was initially set up at Columbia and while shot on that studio’s backlot it was released through UA as a part of a 46-film three-year production package promising to be “as diverse, offbeat and box office” as previous offerings.

Lancaster had abandoned the actioners which had made his name and moved on to more challenging pictures. These days you’d call it virtue-signalling as he took on subjects as varied as evangelism (Elmer Gantry, 1960), juvenile delinquency (The Young Savages, 1961) and the Holocaust (Judgement at Nuremberg, 1961).

Neophyte Stuart Millar was brought in as director. He had set up in partnership with former agent Lawrence Turman (The Graduate, 1967) with a deal to make six movies in three years. His tenure at the helm didn’t last long and eventually he moved sideways to take on the role of producer. (He didn’t land a directing gig for another decade).

Though Lancaster had his eye on Jules Dassin (Never on Sunday, 1960), next in line was Charles Crichton (The Lavender Hill Mob, 1951) but he didn’t last long either. A decidedly odd choice, he fell foul of Lancaster’s impatience and was quickly replaced by John Frankenheimer (Seconds, 1966), one the new breed of directors emerging from live television, and who had made his debut on The Young Savages. Frankenheimer, going through a divorce, was reluctant to set foot in Los Angeles, and was lured there on another pretext by the actor who announced that, having just seen a cut of Young Savages, he was ideal for Birdman.

Not only was Frankenheimer he intent on revolutionizing the movie business, but he had the notion that he could reinvent television. After the demise of television’s Playhouse 90, he planned to set up a “creative stock company” of his former television colleagues and make two-hour programs for the small screen with the aim of helping “the medium out of its degradation.” He expected to win the backing of the likes of Arthur Penn, George Roy Hill, Delbert Mann, Ralph Nelson, Robert Mulligan and Sidney Lumet, who would all become major figures in Hollywood, as well as significant writers like Rod Serling and Horton Foote.

More pertinently to the project at hand, he intended to transition from mere director (i.e. gun for hire) to producer (in charge of his own career) and learn to function at “the business end of production” and to that extent was seeking overseas finance and lining up a $1 million adaptation of William Styron’s 1951 novel Lie Down in Darkness (never made) and Flowers of Hiroshima (never made). “Frankenheimer meant a new voice just at the time Lancaster needed it.”

Lancaster embarked on the picture as a campaign to free Stroud, who by now had served 40 years of a 50-year sentence in solitary confinement (a record). Obsessive by nature, the actor excelled himself, immersing himself in a study of Stroud’s books, letters, coverage of the case and penal law. Despite the enormity of the obstacles, Lancaster thought the movie and its attendant publicity would persuade the authorities to release the prisoner. Nor was Stroud much  help. “Stroud will not kowtow,” said Lancaster, “He will not make polite amends for what he has done.” He was impressed by the fact that “Stroud took a miserable unnatural existence and yet made it a meaningful thing.”

While the actor saw Stroud as rehabilitated through his ornithology, the Feds begged to differ, viewing him as a double murderer who was a danger to society. Lancaster turned down other more lucrative work – though still managing to squeeze in a $750,000 payday for Judgement at Nuremberg – in order to “tinker and groom this very uncommercial” picture.

Writer Guy Trosper (One Eyed Jacks, 1961) was hired to make the character, within a realistic framework, as appealing as possible.

The film was budgeted at $2.65 million though that included some of the losses incurred on The Sweet Smell of Success (1957) and The Bachelor Party (1957)  It proved a major collaboration between actor and director. “We blocked scenes,” explained Frankenheimer, “We decided to do the whole business of building the birdcage, of finding the first bird, of working with the birds – everything.” The movie was made in sequence to aid the ageing of the character. Lancaster didn’t wear a bald cap. His head was shaved halfway to the back and each gray and white hair was added individually

Lancaster spent two weeks rehearsing with 2,000 canaries imported from Japan as well as sparrows, until he could persuade the birds to hop onto his hand and peck at birdseed. To assist the recalcitrant birds, feathers were clipped so they couldn’t fly away. The method of achieving the scenes where the birds got sick and dropped from their perches was achieved by pouring lighter fuel down their throats.

The original cut ran four-and-a-half hours. The first half of the picture was rewritten and reshot. Editing would last another three months. Prior to release, Lancaster began his campaign to win Stroud a release, touring the country, addressing groups and journalists. He walked out of a television interview with Mike Wallace. Issues arose about Stroud’s homosexuality and the public opposition to Lancaster’s campaign soon derailed it.

United Artists planned an experimental release for the movie. Instead of going down the tried-and-tested route of the movie opening in big cinemas in big cities and working its way down stage by stage to the fleapits, A wanted to open the picture in as many houses as possible in new York in what it dubbed a “Premiere Showcase” (I’ve written about this elsewhere).

In one of those quirks that trade journalists pick up, it was noted that there was an ornithological cycle – on the path to release or in production were Bye, Bye, Birdie, To Kill A Mockingbird, The Sweet Bird of Youth, The Birds and Birdman of Alcatraz. The movie managed to see the inside of a jailhouse but only for a screening at Wayne County Jail in Detroit. Relations with the prison authorities otherwise remained frosty – Stroud was denied gifts and cards sent to him by stars and crew of the film.

Simultaneous with screenings at the 1094-seat Astor on Broadway and the 550-seat Trans-Lux 85th arthouse, UA opened the movie in eight other New York theaters (a process known then as daydating). The haul was $490,000 over three weeks. Stage two was an immediate moveover to 54 houses which locked up $196,000 in five days. Elsewhere it attracted the type of business expected of a prestige drama, not a prison movie as such. It finished the year with $2.2 million in rentals (the studio share of the box office gross) – enough for 27th spot on the annual chart – though observers reckoned it might be good for another $1 million or so once the effect of the ~Oscars (it was nominated for four and Lancaster was named Best Actor at the Venice Film Festival) kicked in.

It was successful overseas, ranked 25th of all the movies released in Italy over a two-year period. (Interestingly, in the same list poorer performer at the domestic box office The Notorious Landlady and The Counterfeit Traitor came eighth and 13th respectively, It was televised in October 1964.

SOURCES: Kate Buford, Burt Lancaster, An American Life, (Aurum,2008) pp 207-210; “Clips from Lots,” Variety, June 13, 1956, p24; “Banks Read Titles,” Variety, June 20, 956, p13; “Feds Veto Alcatraz,” Variety,  October 19, 12958, p3; “Stuart Millar,” Variety, October 12, 1960, p17; “New York Sound Track,” Variety, November 23, 1960, p4; “Feds Not Helpful,” Variety, December 7, 1960, p19; “Cruel and Unusual Punishment,” Variety, February 15, 1961, p2; “Playhouse 90 Alumni Band Together,” Variety, March 8, 1961, p25; “If Changes in UA Plans Due,” Variety, October 18, 1971, p7; “To Be Creative Not Enough,” Variety, February 11, 1962, p11; “Homosexual Question Raised at Birdman Feed,” Variety, May 2, 1962, p2; “Audubon Influence,” Variety, May 2, 1965, p3; “Birdman Jail Screening,” Variety, July 4, 1962, p64; “Frankenheimer Thinks Out Loud,” Variety, July 18, 1962, p13; “Premiere Showcase,” Variety, August 22, 1962, p7; “Big Rental Pictures of 1962,” Variety, January 9, 1963, p13.

Behind the Scenes: The Disgruntled Audience (2025 and Counting)

Heard the latest trend at the water cooler?. It’s not, have you seen House of Guinness (2025) / Monster (2025) / Black Rabbit (2025) / Frauds (2025)? But when did you stop watching House of Guinness / Monster / Black Rabbit / Frauds? When streamers show such contempt for audiences is it any wonder the audiences retaliate with the only weapon in their arsenal – switching off?

It’s not as if House of Guinness is treading a fine line between Downton Abbey and Succession. Any fine line is purely in the imagination of the makers of the Irish saga. There’s no fine line to be found. Downton Abbey is a traditional historical drama focusing on characters and relationships with an occasional nod to the outside world, Succession is a ramped-up business drama focusing on vicious characters and bitter relationships on which the outside world rarely intrudes. There’s no hybrid possible. You just can’t merge them.

Am I going to keep watching House of Guinness because some critic says it picks up in the third episode? It’s not a historical tale in the grand tradition of country houses, quarrels and bonking, but actually some post-modernist number where characters do what, historically, they otherwise wouldn’t. The women wouldn’t swear in company, didn’t even attend funerals in those days and the Dublin populace did not bombard the funeral carriage of the most distinguished person in the country with tomatoes not even when rallied by rebellious forces.

The Crown began this ridiculous idea that you just fictionalize the factual because you can. The resultant controversy is good for column inches and clickbait but nothing else. I stopped watching that after the second series.

There has to be enough in the Ed Gein story without a mother straight out of Carrie (1976) and a bad guy with a squeaky accent majoring on Ilsa, She-Wolf of the S.S. I gave up on Monster and House of Guinness after one episode. I didn’t get past two episodes of Black Rabbit, wondering why it required more episodes before these ineptly-drawn characters got their comeuppance.

But Frauds takes the biscuit. This only works if you fall for the idea that security cameras never work in Spain and that a criminal who has been locked up for a decade and must be way behind in her knowledge of such can still tell at a glance whether they are working or not. And that the Spanish are so hard-up that they can only manage a padlock to deter thieves from a bullring. Or that the most famous bullfighter’s outfit in the history of bullfighting will equally be bereft of even the simplest of security measures that a thief can walk off with it undisturbed.

Laughable is the tone set here early on. Stands to reason that if you can smuggle a gun into prison you can smuggle a gun out and that if you can have sex with male wardens you will have everyone in the palm of your hand especially if you plan to steal a major piece of art. Try getting your head round the notion that the prison authorities would hand over on compassionate grounds an inmate dying of cancer to her best pal who hasn’t visited her once while she’s been inside. It wouldn’t surprise me if the cancer is faked, if you can smuggle in a gun etc then surely you can bribe a doctor or two.

Frauds aims at Thelma and Louise country and fails. Hubris is the major flaw in House of Guinness, Black Rabbit and Monster, the idea that showrunners know best and that studio executives had better give them their head otherwise they’ll slope off to another studio which will accede to their demands.

But then studio heads appear to have little idea of what will attract an audience. There’s nothing new in that, otherwise Hollywood wouldn’t be littered with a back catalog of flops and stinkers. What happened to audience research that The Smashing Machine (2025) was expecting an opening weekend of $15 million only to come up $9 million short and my guess is that they took the Oscar promotional route because the movie was such a mess there was little choice.

Television studios can spend millions pumping up a new release so that it gains some initial audience traction but underestimate the audience and your viewing figures will tumble.

Behind the Scenes: “Kaleidoscope” (1966)

Producer Elliott Kastner had been angling to make a picture with close friend Warren Beatty for several years and already two highly-touted projects had bitten the dust – Honeybear, I Love You with a screenplay by Charles Eastman and Boys and Girls Together adapted from the William Goldman bestseller with Joseph Losey (Accident, 1966) lined up as director and filming set to begin in May 1965. Beatty was also first choice for comedy The Bobo (later filmed with Peter Sellers) when Kastner was trying to get that off the ground in 1965,

Like Carl Foreman (The Guns of Navarone, 1961) before him, Kastner had moved to London in a bid to find his production feet, setting up an office there in 1964, and living in a suite in the five-star Connaught Hotel for 14 months. He had commissioned a screenplay from Bob and Jane Carrington (Wait until Dark, 1967), their first work for the movies. Despite his close relationship with Beatty, he eyed up Frank Sinatra for the leading role of Barney Lincoln in Kaleidoscope. He cold called the actor at Goldwyn Studios. Sinatra operated out of a bungalow there and, while working an agent for MCA, Kastner knew his way around the locale, meeting up with the likes of Marilyn Monroe, William Holden, Gregory Peck, Billy Wilder and John Huston.

Elliott Kastner, second from right, managed to snag Raquel Welch for the world premiere.

Sinatra liked the screenplay. His only concern was how to fit into proceedings a shot of his Lear jet (which presumably he would hire out to the production). “The main thing yet to be done to the script,” he instructed the writers, “is to insert one Lear jet.” He suggested ways this could achieved – seen in the title sequence or flying the main character to France.

A bigger immediate problem was that Sinatra didn’t have an agent and his deals were made by his lawyer Mickey Rudin. With Sinatra potentially on board, Warner Bros was keen to back the picture. With his partner Jerry Gershwin, Kastner visited Rudin in his office at Gang, Tyre, Rudin and Brown in Los Angeles. But the meeting didn’t go as planned – nor followed the usual Hollywood pattern. Instead of the star being signed up by the producers, Rudin wanted it to go the other way around, the producer surrendering the property.

Kastner complained to the attorney, “It’s our project. We own it and the way you’re placing this negotiation is that you will agree to what fees and what points we want and it’s your picture and we work for you.” Despite Gershwin’s protests, Kastner ended the meeting.

Oddly enough that suited Kastner. He planned to replace Sinatra with Warren Beatty. Which was a pretty odd calculation given Beatty’s last five pictures – The Roman Spring of Mrs Stone (1961), All Fall Down (1962), Lilith (1964), Arthur Penn’s Mickey One (1965) and Promise Her Anything (1965) – had all been flops. “The vicissitudes of the industry are the same now as they were then,” explained Kastner, “if you are a movie star you can stay a movie star as long as you don’t have four flops in a row. Nobody really wanted Warren, including my partner who hated him.”

Jack Warner was of the opinion that nobody turned down Frank Sinatra and that Kastner should find a way to make a deal. When Kastner refused, Warner relented because he liked the script and because Kastner agreed to give the female lead to Sandra Dee (Come September, 1963) who  had been groomed by Universal to take over from Doris Day who had flown the studio nest. Dee’s contract came with some unusual provisos – hotel accommodation for her mother and the son Dodd from her marriage to Bobby Darin. The $525 per week, additional to her salary, that Dee expected for incidentals was par for the courser, but not another $300 per week for her mother

But what really appealed to Jack Warner was the innovative deal. Kastner had invented what would be known as the “negative pick-up.” As long as Warner agreed on a set budget, he wouldn’t have to stump up a dime until the movie was finished. An incredulous Jack Warner asked, “You mean I don’t have to give you any money until you deliver the picture to me?”

Which meant Kastner, who had nothing like that amount of money to hand, had to find the finance. Using Warner’s agreement as collateral, he persuaded the United California Bank to lend him $1.6 million. The only proviso was that Kastner find a completion guarantor. Kastner turned to Film Finance in London and won its approval.

In fact, Beatty was not the only actor under consideration. Also on Kastner’s short list were bigger stars of the caliber of Burt Lancaster (Elmer Gantry, 1960), Steve McQueen (The Great Escape, 1963), Sean Connery (Woman of Straw, 1964), Peter O’Toole (Lawrence of Arabia, 1962) and Paul Newman (The Hustler, 1961). For the female lead, the producer was eyeing up Jane Fonda (Cat Ballou, 1965), Julie Christie (Doctor Zhivago, 1965), Brigitte Bardot (Contempt, 1963) or Tuesday Weld (The Cincinnati Kid, 1965).

The likes of Yul Brynner (The Magnificent Seven, 1960), Rod Steiger (The Pawnbroker, 1964),  Jack Hawkins (Masquerade, 1965) and Kenneth More (Sink the Bismark!, 1962) were suggested for main supporting roles. Megging duties could have fallen to Brian G. Hutton (The Wild Seed, 1965), Bryan Forbes (King Rat, 1965), Richard Lester (A Hard Day’s Night, 1964), Clive Donner (What’s New, Pussycat?, 1965) or Karel Reisz (Saturday Night and Sunday Morning, 1960).

Although Warren Beatty had failed to capitalize on the early promise of Splendor in the Grass (1961) he wasn’t short of interesting offers including Youngblood Hawke from the Howard Wouk bestseller, John Updike’s Rabbit, Run, The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter adapted from the Carson McCullers novel – all films that were ultimately made but minus Beatty. He turned down Is Paris Burning? (1965) and walked away from What’s New, Pussycat? (1965), a massive hit. “All this talk about Beatty being difficult, refusing scripts etc is nonsense,” averred producer Charles K. Feldman, “I think he’s smart.”

Beatty had his own idea what he wanted to do and set up Tatira Productions to avoid “studio dictatorship” and interference. First project was Mickey One, a co-production with Arthur Penn, a $1 million flop. He claimed he had projects lined up involving screenwriters Elaine May – longer-term she wrote Ishtar (1987), a monumental flop –  and Budd Schulberg but nothing resulted from that arrangement.

So in some respects the future of Beatty’s career appeared to depend on Kaleidoscope. However, once the deal was done and the papers signed, Beatty agitated to replace Sandra Dee with Susannah York (Sands of the Kalahari, 1965), whom Kastner had originally suggested. “Now I had to double cross my partner, double cross Jack Warner and double cross Sandra Dee. All of which I did.” Kastner settled with Dee for $50,000, paid out of his own pocket.

Initial budget was set at $1.65 million – though this increased to $1.8 million – and for guaranteeing the production Film Finance charged $21,906 payable within 14 days of the first day of shooting. Beatty received $100,000 plus 5% of the gross.

Kastner handed directing duties to Jack Smight who had just made Harper for him. Smight was on  roll, having set up a production company. With writer James Lee, he owned the rights to Rabbit, Run and American Dream by Norman Mailer. He had a five-picture deal with WB and was hoping to pair William Holden and Julie Christie in The Lonely Side of the River.

The cast was filled out with British dependables like Clive Revill (The Double Man, 1967) and Eric Porter (The Lost Continent, 1968) and model Pattie Boyd, future wife of Eric Clapton and George Harrison, in a bit part. Beatty was “totally professional” although Kastner noted “he turned out to be a piece of shit later on.” Future director Peter Medak (Negatives, 1968) acted as associate producer.

Shooting “went fairly smoothly” at Pinewood and on location in Monte Carlo and Eze in the South of France and despite one day of reshoots on the Corniche thanks to cloudy weather the picture came in ahead of schedule and only slightly over budget.

Only when it came to the financial reckoning with Jack Warner was Kastner’s astuteness obvious. He and Gershwin took home $500,000 – around a third of the total budget. In essence the movie had cost around $1.3 million. So whether the movie was a hit or not (it wasn’t – rentals came to little more than $1 million) – and that would depend to a large extent on the amount Warner spent on advertising and promotion – Kastner walked away with a fortune.

SOURCES: Elliott Kastner Memoir, courtesy of Dillon Kastner; Elliott Kastner Archives,  courtesy of Dillon Kastner; “Elliott Kastner’s Partner on Honeybear Is Warren Beatty,” Variety, January 23, 1963, p4;  “New York Sound Track,” Variety, February 6, 1963, p7; Youngstein Sets Novel,” Variety, December 11, 1963, p5; “Dilemmas Already They Got,” Variety, June 24, 194, p13; Warren Beatty Firm Aim,” Variety, February 10, 1965, p3; “Warren Beatty Partner and Star of Goldman Tale Via Elliott Kastner,” Variety, March 31, 1965, p7; “Radical Kastner-Gershwin Policy: Get Scripts in Shape Way Ahead,” Variety, May 19, 1965, p19; “Clement Launches Is Paris Burning?”, Variety, July 21, 1965, p5; “Feldman Sees Beatty Director,” Variety, November 10, 1965, p15; “Landau-Unger On-The-Making,” Variety, November 17, 1965, p3; “Smight Starts Preparation of Kaleidoscope,” Variety, November 24, p4.

Behind the Scenes: “Bus Riley’s Back in Town” (1965)

Small wonder that Bus Riley’s Back in Town found scant appreciation on producer’s Elliott Kastner’s dance card. He preferred to have people believe that his career began with box office smash Harper / The Moving Target (1966) rather than the two flops – Kaleidoscope (1966) and Bus Riley’s Back in Town (1965) – that preceded it. As his son Dillon Kastner pointed out: “He always preferred to forget his first film. He liked to think his first film was Harper so he never put that title (Bus Riley) on his list of credits for investors.”

After jockeying in the Hollywood trenches for three years, Kastner should have been delighted to finally get his name on a picture after so many potential movies had slipped through his grasp. But he had good reason to want to forget the experience of working on Bus Riley. It sat on the shelf for a year and, minus the involvement of the producer, was “butchered” by the studio.

By the time the movie appeared it was the latest in a long line of failed attempts by former agent Elliott Kastner to get onto the Hollywood starting grid. He had previously been involved in a pair to star Warren Beatty – Honeybear, I Love You with a screenplay by Charles Eastman and Boys and Girls Together adapted from the William Goldman bestseller with Joseph Losey (Accident, 1966) lined up as director. Also on his scorecard were 1963 William Inge play Natural Affection, Tropic of Cancer from the controversial Henry Miller novel and The Crows of Edwina Hill. At the time of the Bus Riley opening, he had acquired a further seven properties.

Bus Riley was never intended as a major picture, the budget limited to $550,000 – at a time when a decent-sized budget was well over $1 million. Shot in Spring 1964, and in post-production in July, release was delayed until Universal re-edited it and added new scenes because Ann-Margret had  achieved surprising movie stardom between her recruitment and the film’s completion. Along with Raquel Welch, she became one of the most glamorous stars of the decade and in building up her own career Welch clearly followed the Ann-Margret template of taking on a bucket of roles and signing deals with competing studios.

After making just three movies – A Pocketful of Miracles (1962), State Fair (1962) and Bye, Bye Birdie (1963) – Ann-Margret shot into the fast lane, contracted for three movies with MGM at an average $200,000 per plus an average 12% of the profit, substantial sums for a neophyte. On top of that she had four far less remunerative pictures for Twentieth Century Fox, three for Columbia, Marriage on the Rocks with Frank Sinatra and a couple of others. By the time Bus Riley finally appeared, she had expanded her appeal through Viva Las Vegas (1964) opposite Elvis and top-billed roles in Kitten with a Whip (1964) and The Pleasure Seekers (1964).

Universal also had another property to protect. Michael Parks was one of small contingent of novice actors in whom the studio had invested considerable sums, using them in television roles before placing them in major movies. Others in this group – at a time when most studios had abandoned the idea of developing new talent – included Katharine Ross and Tom Simcox who both appeared in Shenandoah (1965), James Farentino (The War Lord, 1965), Don Galloway (The Rare Breed, 1965), Doug McClure (The Lively Set, 1964) and Robert Fuller and Jocelyn Lane in Incident at Phantom Hill (1965).

However, the introduction of Parks had not gone to plan. He was set to make his debut in The Wild Seed (1965) – originally titled Daffy and going through several other titles besides – but that was also delayed until after Bus Riley, riding on Ann-Margret’s coat-tails, offered greater potential. Kastner had been instrumental in the casting of Parks – whom he tabbed as “a wonderful up-and-coming actor” – in The Wild Seed.

Also making their movie debuts in Bus Riley were Kim Darby (True Grit, 1969) and Canadian director  Harvey Hart (Dark Intruder, 1965), an established television name. Hart joined David Lowell Rich and Jack Smight as the next generation of television directors making the transition. Universal was on a roll, in 1964 greenlighting 25 pictures, double the number of productions in any year since 1957.

Falling just behind Tennessee Williams league in terms of marquee clout, playwright William Inge had won an Oscar for Splendor in the Grass (1961) and been responsible for a string of hits including Come Back Little Sheba (1952) – Oscar for Shirley Booth – the Oscar-nominated Picnic (1955) starring William Holden and Kim Novak and Bus Stop (1956) with Marilyn Monroe.

Kastner had persuaded him to turn his little-known 1958 one-act play All Kinds of People into a movie-length screenplay. Inge was initially keen to work on a low-budget picture, anticipating “more freedom with an abbreviated budget.” He asserted, “You don’t have the front office calling you up all the time.” Since the movie was not initially envisaged as a star vehicle for Ann-Margret (and, in fact, she plays the supporting role) he saw it as a “way of breaking up that old Hollywood method of selling pictures before they were made” on the back of a big star and hefty promotional budget.

Unfortunately for him, once Universal realized they had, after all, a star vehicle, the studio concluded that her image was more important than the “dramatic impact” of the film. “When we signed Ann-Margret she wasn’t a big star but in six months she was and Universal became very frightened of her public image. They wanted a more refined image.”

Kastner and Inge were elbowed aside as Universal ordered a rewrite and reshoots. Inge took his name off the picture. The credited screenwriter Walter Gage did not exist, he was created to get round a Writer’s Guild dictat that no movie could be shown without a writer’s name on the credits.

Despite her supposed growing power, Ann-Margret had little say in preventing the changes either. She expressed her disappointment to Gordon Gow of Films and Filming: “You should have seen the film we shot originally. William Inge’s screenplay…had been so wonderful. So brutally honest, And the woman, Laurel, as he wrote her, was mean and he made that very sad. But the studio at the time didn’t want me to have that image for the young people of America. They thought it was too brutal a portrayal. They wanted me to re-do five key scenes. And those scenes completely changed the story. There were two of these scenes that I just refused to do. The other three I did, but I was upset and angry.”

Film historian James Robert Parish refuted Ann-Margret’s recollection of events. He claimed the changes were made at her insistence because she wanted to be the focal point of the narrative rather than Bus Riley (Michael Parks).

Harvey Hart reckoned Universal got cold feet after the audience attending a sneak preview made “idiotic” comments on the questionnaire. Recalled Kastner, “I had nothing but heavy fiddling and interference from Universal.” Even so, given it was his debut production, he wasn’t likely to disown then and didn’t follow Inge in removing his name.

Despite the changes, the movie received a cool reception at the box office. It turned in opening weeks of a “modest” $7,000 in Columbus, “slow” $9,000 in Boston, “modest” $9,000 in Washington, “lightweight” $10,000 at the 1642-seat Palace in New York, “mild” $4,000 in Provident, “so-so” $4,000 in Portland, “not so good” $7,000 in Pittsburgh, “okay” $7,000 in Philadelphia, and $98,000 from 22 houses in Los Angeles with the only upticks being a “good” $7,000 in Cincinnati and a “fast” $7,000 in Minneapolis. The movie didn’t register in Variety’s Annual Box Office Chart which meant it earned less than $1 million in U.S. rentals and was listed as a flop.

SOURCES: Elliott Kastner Memoir, courtesy of Dillon Kastner; “Elliott Kastner’s Partner on Honeybear Is Warren Beatty,” Variety, January 23, 1963, p4; “Elliott Kastner Will Helm Crows for U,” Variety, May 1, 1963, p21; “Escalating Actress,” Variety, May 22, 1963, page 4; “Raid Canadian Director,” Variety, March 4, 1964, p24; “Inge Thinks Writer Contentment May Lie in Creative Scope of Cheaper Pix,” Variety, May 6, 1964, p2; “Ann-Margret Into the Cash Splash,” Variety, July 22, 1964, p5; “Universal Puts 9 Novices Into Pix,” Variety, March 3, 1965, p25; “ A Collective Byline,” Variety, March 17, 1965, p2; “U Stable of Promising Thespians,” Variety, March 17, 9965, p2; “Fear Ann-Margret Going Wrongo in Her Screen Image,” Variety, March 24, 1965, p5; “Radical Kastner-Gershwin Policy: Get Scripts in Shape Way Ahead,” Variety, May 19, 1965, p19; “Warren Beatty Partner and Star of Goldman Tale Via Elliott Kastner,” March 31, 1965, p7; “Picture Grosses,” Variety – March-May 1965.

Behind the Scenes: United Artists Goes to War on a Low Budget – “Submarine X-1” (1968) and Five Others

With the contraction of Hollywood production in the 1960s, cinemas worldwide were always crying for pictures – any pictures – that could take up a weekly slot or pad out a double bill. (The single-bill programming that is standard these days was not welcome in most cinemas, except a prestigious few, and audiences expected to see two movies for the price of their ticket). Indie unit Mirisch had scored such a big hit with aerial war number 633 Squadron (1964) – it recouped its entire cost from British distribution so was in profit for the rest of its global run – that Walter Mirisch persuaded distribution partner United Artists to attempt to capitalize on the idea and thus set in progress a series of war pictures to be made in Britain.

There would be cost savings through the Eady Plan. Each film would have a “recognizable American personality in the lead” and have American directors. Budgets would be held under $1 million. Half a dozen movies were planned, the first appearing in 1967, the last in 1970.

Quite whether James Caan (Red Line 7000, 1965) passed muster as a well-known enough star to qualify as a “personality” at the time he headlined Submarine X-1 (1968) is debatable, as was the presence of James Franciscus (The Valley of Gwangi, 1969) in Hell Boats (1970) and Christopher George (Massacre Harbor, 1968)  in The Thousand Plane Raid (1969) though Stuart Whitman (Rio Conchos, 1964)  exerted a higher marquee appeal for The Last Escape (1970). Veteran Lloyd Bridges (Around the World under the Sea, 1966) who headlined Attack on the Iron Coast (1968) was probably the best known, but these days that was mostly through television. And David McCallum owed whatever fame he had to television as part of The Man from U.N.C.L.E. double act and the idea that would still be enough to attract an audience for Mosquito Squadron (1969) seemed dubious.

Beyond setting up the project, Walter Mirisch had little to do with the actual production, putting that in the hands of Oakmont Production, which beefed up the action with judicious use of footage from other pictures. Invariably, reasons had to be given to explain why actors with American accents were members of the British fighting forces – most commonly they were represented as Canadian volunteers or might have British nationality by dint of having a British mother.

Storylines followed a similar template. At its heart was a dangerous mission. Leaders were invariably hated for some previous misdemeanor or because they were ruthless and drove the men too hard. If there was romance – not a given – it would border on the illicit. And someone required redemption.

And while none of the stars chose – or were chosen to – repeat the experience, Oakmont established something of a repertory company behind the scenes, writers, directors and producers involved in more than one movie.

Italian poster (photobusta) for “Hell Boats”. I found Japanese and Australian posters
for most of the films in the series.

Boris Sagal (Made in Paris, 1966) directed both The Thousand Plane Raid and Mosquito Squadron and then made his name with The Omega Man (1971). Paul Wendkos (Angel Baby, 1961) helmed Attack on the Iron Coast and Hell Boats. Walter Grauman who had kicked off the whole shebang with 633 Squadron returned for The Last Escape. William Graham (Waterhole #3, 1967) as the only outlier with just Submarine X-1 to his name.

Veteran producer Lewis Rachmil (A Rage to Live, 1965) oversaw three in the series – Hell Boats, Mosquito Squadron and The Thousand Plane Raid. Another veteran John C. Champion, younger brother of celebrated Broadway choreographer Gower Champion, was involved in a variety of categories. Champion is almost an asterisk these days, best known these days for producing the film Zero Hour! (1957) that inspired disaster parody Airplane! (1980). He was only 25 when he produced his first picture, low-budget western Panhandle (1948). He was behind another four low-budget westerns pictures before Zero Hour!, which had a decent cast in Dana Andrews and Linda Darnell. But that was his last movie for nine years as he switched to television and Laramie (1959-1963), barely reviving his movie career with The Texican (1966) starring Audie Murphy.

He produced Attack on the Iron Coast and Submarine X-1 and was credited with the story for both plus The Last Escape. Irving Temaner produced The Last Escape and received an executive producer credit on Attack on the Iron Coast and Submarine X-1.  Donald Sanford (Battle of Midway, 1976) was the most prolific of the writers, gaining screenplay credits for Submarine X-1, The Thousand Plane Raid and Mosquito Squadron. Herman Hoffman (Guns of the Magnificent Seven) wrote Attack on the Iron Coast and The Last Escape.

Cinema managers were not, it transpired, queuing up for the product. Most commonly, when reviewed in the British trade press, their release date was stated as “not fixed” which generally meant that United Artists was hoping the review would do the trick and alert cinema owners.

In the United States, they rarely featured in the weekly box office reports, though Portland in Oregon appeared partial to the product, Attack on the Iron Coast appearing there as support to Hang ‘Em High (1968), Mosquito Squadron supported The Christine Jorgensen Story (1970), Hell Boats supported Lee Van Cleef western Barquero (1970) while The Last Escape supported Mick Jagger as Ned Kelly (1970). To everyone’s astonishment a double bill of Hell Boats / The Last Escape reported a “big” $10,000 in San Francisco, but that proved an anomaly.

In Britain, the movies fulfilled their purpose as programmers, not good enough to qualify as a proper double bill, but accepted as supporting feature for a circuit release on the Odeon chain. Since UA supplied Odeon with its main features, it proved relatively easy to persuade the circuit to take the war films to fill out a program. This kind of second feature would be sold for a fixed price not sharing in the box office gross. However, they were given the kind of all-action poster they hardly deserved.

So in 1968 Attack on the Iron Coast went out with The Beatles Yellow Submarine. In 1969, Submarine X-1 supported slick heist picture The Thomas Crown Affair, which with Steve McQueen and Faye Dunaway in top form scarcely needed any help securing an audience. Hell Boats was supporting feature in 1970 to Master of the Islands (as The Hawaiians starring Charlton Heston was known). As well as accompanying it on the circuit Mosquito Squadron in 1970 made a very brief foray into London’s West End with thriller I Start Counting and then reappeared a few months later as an alternative choice of support for Billy Wilder flop The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes. If you went to see Burt Lancaster western Lawman in 1971 you might have caught The Last Escape – equally it could have been If It’s Tuesday, It Must Be Belgium (cinema managers could choose either).

United Artists, under the financial cost in the early 1970s, pulled the plug on “programmers” such as these. Walter Mirisch in his biography, disingenuously suggested that the six movies had done relatively well. But that wasn’t supported by the studio’s own figures.

Collectively, they made a loss of $1.7 million. Only Attack on the Iron Coast made it into the black and then by only $59,000. Hell Boats lost $700,000. None of the movies earned more than $200,000 in rentals in the United States.

Although Mirisch managed to keep budgets down to around the million-dollar mark, they would have had to be much smaller to see a profit. Ironically, it was the cheapest, Attack on the Iron Coast costing $901,000,  that made the most. Submarine X-1 lost $150,000 on a $1 million budget, Mosquito Squadron lost $253,000 on a $1.1 million budget while The Thousand Plane Raid lost $50,000 more on the same budget. The longer the series went on, the worse the losses – The Last Escape lost $449,000 on a $995,000 budget while for Hell Boats the budget was $1.36 million.

SOURCES: United Artists Archives, University of Wisconsin; Walter Mirisch, I Thought We Were Making Movies, Not History (University of Wisconsin Press, 2008) p204; Reviews, Kine Weekly – Feb 9 1968, Aug 31 1969, January 1970, April 18 1970; “Flops Loss-Cutting,” Variety, August 26, 1970, p6; “Picture Grosses,” Variety – March 13 1968, May 8 1968, April 24 1968, October 2 1968, June 10 1970, July 1 1970, July 8, 1970, August 12 1970, August 26 1970.

Behind the Scenes: “The Sundowners” (1960)

Whereas Deborah Kerr had always been first choice from the moment in 1957 Fred Zinnemann – he had directed her in From Here to Eternity (1953) –  announced plans to film the Jon Cleary bestseller about itinerants in the Australian Outback, Robert Mitchum was third choice. Despite having been successfully paired with Kerr for John Huston’s box office hit Heaven Knows Mr. Allison (1957), he was passed over in favor of, initially, William Holden with whom she had starred in the equally successful The Proud and the Profane (1956). When Holden dropped out, he was immediately replaced by Gary Cooper who had scored a big success with William Wyler’s Oscar-nominated Friendly Persuasion (1956)

And rather than Peter Ustinov (Topkapi, 1964) and Glynis Johns (The Cabinet of Caligari, 1962) in the major supporting roles, Zinnemann had hoped to secure the services of Claudette Colbert and Errol Flynn, both of whom had once been substantial box office attractions, though Colbert had been offscreen since Texas Lady (1955) and Flynn’s marquee appeal was spotty to say the least, though he had just signed up John Huston’s Roots of Heaven (1958). That decision was taken out of Zinnemann’s hands by Flynn’s premature death in 1959.

At this point Peter Ustinov was an all-purpose supporting actor and had not appeared in a major Hollywood production in six years but was just about to make a name for himself in Spartacus (1960) while Glynis Johns, at one time a major British star, had lost much of her marquee allure. Kerr and Johns had worked previously on Perfect Strangers (1945) and remained friends.

Nor was Zinnemann first to pounce on the tale. After the novel – based on the lives of the author’s parents – was published in 1952, rights were acquired by producer Joseph Kaufman who commissioned a screenplay from Kay Keavney. But when he failed to secure funding, Zinnemann scooped the rights after being persuaded by Tasmanian-born Dorothy Hammerstein, wife of the lyricist, that Australia would be a great location.

Screenplay duties then fell to Aaron Spelling (Guns of the Timberland, 1960), best known later as an uber-producer in television. After his draft was deemed “unsatisfactory,” he was replaced by Isobel Lennart (Please Don’t Eat the Daisies, 1960), though Zinnemann later claimed that her dialog was “not Australian enough” and author Jon Cleary (uncredited) was called in to solve “these problems.” .

Studio boss Jack Warner wanted Arizona to stand in for Australia but gave in to Zinnemann’s insistence on reality in part because the director had shot the successful The Nun’s Story (1959) in Africa, even though it added $500,000 to the budget. In fact, Warner gave in relatively easily. He understood that “were we to shoot in Arizona,” Zinnemann explained, “it would emerge as a half-assed Western with bars instead of pubs, cowboys instead of sheep-drovers – they move differently, walk and react differently.” It was the first major Hollywood film to be shot there.

In the second half of 1959 the director spent 12 weeks in advance of the stars arriving filming scenery and most of the scenes involving the sheep – 2,000 of them transported 800 miles to the location. Rather than hiring them, Warner Brothers bought them wholesale and afterwards sold them for a profit.  Despite their reputation for docility, sheep proved difficult to wrangle. A whole day was lost when the leader of the sheep just decided he would move no further and the entire flock did the same.

The crew was initially based in Cooma, a small town in New South Wales. Second unit camera operator Nicolas Roeg would return to Australia a decade later to director Walkabout (1971). The movie was hit by unseasonal bad weather – heavy rain and hailstones – which added several weeks to the schedule.

“There’s a good deal of Ida in me,” said Kerr, “I can settle anywhere and call it home.” Her second husband, screenwriter Peter Viertel (The Old Man and the Sea, 1958), made life more palatable by venturing out into the backs streets and finding German and Italian makers of foodstuffs and thereafter the stars took turns to cook for each other. “Bob Mitchum had a way with steaks,” noted Kerr, “but we all decided Peter was the best and most imaginative cook.”

It’s worth killing off the canard that Kerr only gained top-billing in this picture thanks to the generosity of Robert Mitchum. In fact, Kerr was by far the bigger star. She had been top-billed in Heaven Knows Mr. Allison ahead of Mitchum, The King and I (1956) ahead of Yul Brynner, Count Your Blessings (1959) ahead of Rosanna Brazzi, The Journey (1959) ahead of Brynner again, Bonjour Tristesse (1958) ahead of David Niven, Tea and Sympathy (1956) and The End of the Affair (1955) ahead of Van Johnson. She only ceded top billing to the likes of William Holden and Cary Grant (An Affair to Remember, 1957). Although many commentators these days assume that Elizabeth Taylor was the top British star of the decade, Kerr was easily her equal and outranked her – five versus two – in terms of Oscar nominations.

In fact, in terms of marquee appeal, Robert Mitchum could not compete with Kerr. Heaven Knows Mr. Allison was his biggest hit since River of No Return (1954) with Marilyn Monroe. The work with which he is most commonly associated, Night of the Hunter (1955), was a flop, and he was in the main reduced to a diet of westerns and war films.

He was more associated with the wrong sort of headlines than box office. His previous film The Night Fighters / A Terrible Beauty (1960) attracted more attention from journalists for his fight in a bar than from audiences. But Zinnemann was a fan and had tried to hire him for From Here to Eternity.

Mitchum’s notoriety went ahead of him and at the airport he was deluged by reporters, most determined to know, for such a renowned hard drinker, what he thought of Aussie beer. He crossed swords with journalists a few days later, complaining that he was misunderstood and nothing like his screen personality. “I’m no tough guy,” he argued, “all the public knows is some silver, chromium-plated jerk. How could they know what I’m really like?” When he pointed out that his marijuana bust had been expunged from the record, one frustrated newspaperman recorded, “He isn’t a jailbird, he isn’t a drunk, he isn’t a brawler.”

Mitchum had no trouble with cast and director. Zinnemann was astounded by the actor’s mastery of the accent, pronouncing it  “perfect” and adding “he had the uncanny knack of making any accent sound as though he had been born with it.” Mitchum and Kerr renewed their non-sexual love affair. “It was an honor to feed her lines,” said Mitchum. Zinnemann summed him up, “He has a problem with people who take themselves too seriously.”

But Mitchum was hounded by fans and autograph hunters. An audience gathered to watch him eat in local restaurants, his mood not helped by the solitary confinement imposed when rain prevented filming. One journalist, having inveigled his way into Mitchum’s rented home, was astonished to discover the actor could cook. Jon Cleary sprung to his defense. “Robert Mitchum is anything but a droopy-eyed slob once you get to know him. He is extremely well read and writes beautiful poetry.

When it came to horses, Ustinov was the bigger problem. “He was scared of them and they of him,” said Zinnemann, “and the moment he got in the saddle he would forget all his lines.”

Shooting a bush fire was relatively straightforward since they were a “frequent and devastating occurrence”, so the second unit simply flew near to the area in question, hired a taxi and started shooting. But these fires, fueled by the eucalyptus trees they were burning, moved at terrific speed, jumping along the tops of trees “and scattering their burning fragments fast and wide like projectiles.” But if the fire suddenly switched direction – and it moved at 30 miles per hour – there was a danger, as once occurred, that the crew could be cut off.

When the unit headed for Port Augusta in the south, it was a 45-minute commute to the sheep station at Iron Knob where many scenes were shot. Mitchum had had enough of being an object of curiosity and chartered a luxury cruiser, although he was still fending off young ladies who took to swimming out to the boat.

There was little scenic in the journey to the location. “The dust flew along the whole road,” said co-star Dina Merrill, and Mitchum was taken aback by the size of the sheep and found daunting the task of shearing a 400lb Merino sheep in one go. One mistake and you could cut into a vein and the animal would bleed to death. Mitchum relied on Dutch courage. Interiors were filmed in the more hospitable atmosphere of a London studio. There was an unwelcome sting in the tail for Mitchum – he was sent a tax demand from the Australian authorities which he refused to pay.

Although Jack Warner had given his assent to the overseas shoot, he was incapable of directing the advertising department to produce a poster that didn’t focus on the notion that this was the frisky Deborah Kerr of From Here to Eternity, “a highly-sexed lady who could harldy wait for the sun to go down so she could lay her hands on Bob.” Audiences were naturally disappointed when the projected love affair failed to materialize.  

While the critics were generally in favor of the movie and audiences in the U.S. big cities responded well, its attraction faded as it set out across the U.S. However, it did better abroad  and not surprisingly was a massive hit in Australia. Mitchum and Kerr re-teamed for Stanley Donen comedy The Grass Is Greener (1960) – with Kerr again billed before Mitchum.

SOURCES:  Eric Braun, Deborah Kerr (WH Allen, 1977) pp173-177; Lee Server, Robert Mitchum, Baby I Don’t Care (Faber & Faber, 2001) pp422-429; Fred Zinnemann, An Autobiography (Bloomsbury, 1992) pp173-183.

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