John Wayne – The Magnificent 60s

Behind the Scenes: Becoming a Producer, Part One – The Walter Mirisch Story

You don’t just waltz into Hollywood and start churning out classics like Some Like it Hot (1959), The Magnificent Seven (1960), West Side Story (1961) and The Great Escape (1963). Usually, there’s a long apprenticeship, especially for a producer. Walter Mirisch spent nearly a decade at the B-picture coalface. And before that a year as a gofer, working his way up in the business, but on one of the smallest rungs of all, at Monogram.

Born in 1921, the of a Polish immigrant tailor specializing in custom-made garments, one of whose customers was George Skouras, owner of a cinema chain, Walter, not surprisingly in the Hollywood Golden Age, started out an even lower rung, as an usher in the State Theater in Jersey City, owned by Skouras, an hour’s commute from his home in the Bronx, earning 25 cents an hour. He was quickly promoted to ticket checker.

His older brother Harold was a film booker, receiving an education in negotiation, and then as a cinema manager in Milwaukee flexed his entrepreneurial muscles by starting a concession company. After the family moved to Milwaukee, Walter attended the University of Wisconsin and then Harvard Business School. Physically unfit for active duty during the war, he worked for Lockheed in Los Angeles on its aircraft program in an administrative capacity.

While Harold was a highflyer at RKO, acting as chief buyer and then managing its cinema chain, Walter entered at a lower level in 1946 as a general assistant to Steve Broidy, boss of Monogram, maker of B-pictures of the series variety – Charlie Chan, The Bowery Boys, Joe Palooka, shot within eight days and at budgets under $100,000.

After badgering Broidy for a bigger opportunity, he was granted permission to hunt for a property he could produce. For $500 he found a Ring Lardner short story about a boxer, but Broidy felt the main character was unsympathetic. Stanley Kramer did not and snapped it up to make Champion (1949).

Walter’s first ventures were in film noir. Fall Guy (1947), based on a story by Cornell Woolrich, made for $83,000, broke even. I Wouldn’t Be In Your Shoes (1948) followed, from a Woolrich novel but there was a drawback to being a producer. He was taken off the payroll and his $2,500 producer’s fee didn’t compensate for the loss of a $75 weekly salary. The answer was to invent his own series, ripping off the Tarzan pictures for Bomba the Jungle Boy (1949), starring Johnny Sheffield who had played Tarzan’s son and utilizing stock footage from Africa Speaks. Apart from his fee, Walter had a 50 per cent profit share.

For six years, these appeared at the rate of two a year, earning Walter a minimum of $5,000 and he soon branched out into other genres, sci fi like Flight to Mars (1951) and westerns such as Cavalry Scout (1951) and Fort Osage (1951), both starring B-movie stalwart Rod Cameron.

Monogram had decided to move upmarket with the introduction in 1951 of Allied Artists, its sales division run by Walter’s brother Harold, with Walter acting as an executive producer and other brother Marvin as treasurer, turning out solid B-picture-plus hits like Riot in Cell Block 11 (1954).

When the threat from television hit the B-picture market Allied went properly upscale, investing in William Wyler western Friendly Persuasion (1956) and Billy Wilder’s Love in the Afternoon (1957), both starring Gary Cooper. Their failure at the box office sent Monogram back to basics.

But the Mirisches wanted more of the big time. The three brothers turned to United Artists and negotiated a deal for that studio to finance four pictures a year, cover the brothers’ overhead and salaries and throw in a profit share. The Mirisch Company was born and their creative credit within the industry was so high – and the deals they offered, it has to be said, so advantageous to their creative partners – that soon they were scooping up big names like Wilder (he made his next eight pictures for Mirisch), William Wyler, Gary Cooper, Tony Curtis, Doris Day, Audrey Hepburn and Lana Turner. One of the first pictures announced was a remake of King Kong (1933). Wilder planned My Sister and I with Hepburn. John Sturges was attached to 633 Squadron. Doris Day would star in Roar Like A Dove and there were two-picture deals with Alan Ladd and Audie Murphy.

Their first two efforts didn’t break the budget bank, Fort Massacre (1958) starring Joel McCrea, and Man of the West (1958) headlined by Cooper, but neither were they hits. Hoping to provide ongoing financial sustenance, Walter turned to television, turning Wichita (1955) into the series Wichita Town (1959), and further television contributions were mooted for UA Playhouse but that and Peter Loves Mary and The Iron Horseman failed.

Movies proved a better bet and Walter struck gold with the third picture in the Mirisch-UA deal, Some Like it Hot (1959), costing $2.5 million, an enormous financial and critical success and tied down a triumvirate of top talent in John Wayne, William Holden and John Ford for western The Horse Soldiers (1959), the actors pulling down $750,000 apiece.

Such salaries sent the nascent company on a collision course with traditional Hollywood. The majors “screamed” that independents were overpaying the talent, hefty profit shares accompanying the salaries.

On top of that in 1959 in the space of two weeks Mirisch spent a record $600,000 pre-publication on James Michener blockbuster Hawaii and tied up a deal to film Broadway hit West Side Story. Within two years of setting up, Walter Mirisch announced a $34.5 million production slate, earning the company the tag of “mini-major,” as part of a shift in attitude to a “go for broke” policy. By the start of the new decade it was by far the biggest independent the industry had ever seen, handling $50 million worth of product, including The Magnificent Seven and The Apartment (1960). Average budgets had risen from $1.5 million to $3.5 million.

To outsiders, assuming the Mirisch venture was Walter’s first, it might look as if Walter had knocked the ball out of the park in a very short space of time, but, in reality, by the time he produced Some Like it Hot, he had been responsible for thirty-three pictures. Not bad for a “beginner.”

Explained Walter Mirisch, “Producing films is a chancy business. To produce a really fine film requires the confluence of a large number of elements, all combined in the exactly correct proportions. It’s very difficult and that’s why it happens so infrequently. It takes great attention to detail, the right instincts, the right combinations of talents and the heavens deciding to smile down on the enterprise. Timing is often critical.”

What would have happened to Allied Artists, for example, had Wilder made Some Like it Hot there instead of Love in the Afternoon?

Added Walter, “Where is the country’s or the world’s interest at that time? What is the audience looking for? Asking them won’t help because they themselves will tell you they don’t know what they’re looking for. They don’t know what it is until they’ve seen it. All the elements must come together at exactly the right time. So to say one embarks with great certainty on such an endeavor is an exaggeration.”

After 33 films Mirisch hit a home run with Some Like It Hot and continued to do so throughout the 1960s chalking up further critical and commercials hits like The Pink Panther (1964), In the Heat of the Night (1967) and The Thomas Crown Affair (1968) and vacuuming up a stack of Oscars.

SOURCES: Walter Mirisch, I Thought We Were Making Movies, Not History (University of Wisconsin, 2008); “Mirisch Freres Features Outlet Via United Artists,” Variety, August 7, 1957, p16; “3 Mirisch Bros Set Up Indie Co for 12 UA Films,” Variety, September 11, 1957, p7; “RKO vs Mirisch Kong,” Variety, September 11, 1957, p7; Advertisement, “United Artists Welcomes The Mirisch Company,” Variety, November, 13, 1957, p13; “Brynner, Mirisch Pledge UA TV Tie,” Variety, January 1, 1958, p23; “Mirisch Freres 6 By Year-End,” Variety, March 19, 1958, p3; “Majors Originated Outrageous Wages,” Variety, December 10, 1958, p4; “UA-Mirisch’s $600,000 For Michener’s Hawaii,” Variety, August 26, 1959, p5; “Mirisch West Side Story,” Variety, September 2, 1959, p4; “Mirisch Takes on ‘Major’ Mantle With 2-Yr $34,500,000 Production Slate,” Variety, October 21, 1959, 21; “Mirisch Sets $50,000,000 14-Pic Slate; Biggest for Single Indie,” Variety, August 17, 1960, p7.

Brannigan (1975) ***

File under guilty pleasure. And bear in mind in the early 1970s there was no such thing as the police procedural, certainly not as we know it today, when cops have the benefits of DNA, increased forensics and computer technology. Hollywood in this era didn’t waste time with endless knocking on doors or collecting massive amounts of minutiae in the hope of uncovering a clue.

Generally speaking, cops of this period had two things in common. They were mavericks and they constantly fought authority usually represented by some dumb superior. Normally the narrative consisted of the character taking on the persona of a bull in a china shop and thundering towards a main objective, the more set pieces to demonstrate said bullish tendencies the better, and if in the course of apprehending a criminal he can deliver a catchphrase such as “make my day” or, as here, “knock, knock,” so much the better.

John Wayne had made eight westerns in a row and having turned down Dirty Harry (1971) ventured into the cop genre with McQ (1974) and came straight back for seconds here.

Brannigan (John Wayne) has been shipped over to London to bring back under the extradition treaty Mob gangster Larkin (John Vernon) which would be pretty straightforward except the Brits don’t keep such prisoners in custody – Larkin swans around in a white Rolls Royce – and in any case he’s in custody of another kind, having been kidnapped by some British hoods.

In terms of authority Brannigan battles the sappy Brits who won’t allow him to carry a gun and do things the Chicago way. Luckily, for the picture, top cop Commander Swann (Richard Attenborough) is not the standard stiff-upper-lip buffoon but as likely to pitch in when the fisticuffs begin. There are a couple of excellent car chases and one stunt of French Connection (1971) quality when two cars go sailing over the gap in a raised Tower Bridge. This is a London mixing glory and grit, posh residences and ancient buildings share screen time with rundown docklands. And the movie has the sense not to go all May-December on us and while a certain affection builds up between the U.S. cop and his driver Jennifer (Judy Gesson), it doesn’t teeter into unlikely romance.

The plot’s clever. While in a sauna having a massage Larkin is knocked out cold and bundled into a sweatbox by two apparent delivery guys and then smooth attorney Fields (Mel Ferrer) acts as the go-between, delivering Mob ransom money to the kidnappers, the price increasing with every failed rescue attempt, until the kidnappers are sitting on a cool million. Naturally, there’s some double-crossing and the cops have one tiny magic bullet to use to their advantage.

So mainly the fun is watching Brannigan charge around in a British china shop, mostly bypassing British rules. There’s a subplot involving a hitman hunting Brannigan and even when in a normal cop movie you might think, fair’s fair, the policeman should be able to defend himself with a weapon, that doesn’t equate with the British rules, so you have our hero able to point out that if he wasn’t armed to the teeth Jennifer would be dead, while Swann does his best to insist that it would be better for the young lass to end up on a mortuary slab than British cops go rampaging around with guns.

There’s some gentle fun in poking at British tradition – the obligatory wearing a tie in certain upmarket establishments – and in Swann having to translate to a waitperson Brannigan’s breakfast order.

Except when standing up for rules, Swann is great value, a good match for the American, both in tempering his ruthlessness, and matching him punch-for-punch in a brawl.

Apart from the action sequences, John Wayne is permitted to grow old gracefully, his dialog rarely filled with barbed retorts or salty words and there’s quite nice acting on the Duke’s part when he’s called upon to demonstrate his special skill, which is “reacting”.

Richard Attenborough (Only When I Larf, 1968) has a ball, and not before time, able to let some of the usual repressed intensity burst out. Judy Geeson (The Executioner, 1970) must have been delighted to find a part that didn’t involve her taking off her clothes and she’s afforded some of the best lines. John Vernon (Topaz, 1969) is his usual hardass but Mel Ferrer (The Fall of the Roman Empire, 1964) has a good stab at a bad guy.

Not in the same league as director Douglas Hickox’s Sitting Target (1972). Written by Christopher Trumbo (The Don Is Dead, 1973), William McGivern (The Wrecking Crew, 1968), Michael Butler (The Gauntlet, 1977) and William Norton (The Scalphunters, 1968).

Erroneously tabbed as a box office disappointment, this was made on a budget of $2.6 million but cleared $7 million in rentals (the studio share of the box office) plus another $1.5 million from television.

Obviously, if you’re in the Clint Eastwood camp this falls short, but otherwise it’s enjoyable stuff.

Behind the Scenes: From Big Screen Failure to Small Screen Redemption

Despite a heady concept and some excellent acting, Martin Ritt’s Five Branded Women (1960) – reviewed yesterday – was a flop on initial release. So television studios were not exactly lining up to provide it with its small screen premiere. In fact, the length between big screen release and small screen showing had been so truncated by that point (The Magnificent Seven, for example, out the same year was seen on television within two years of release) that it could have been shown on television any time from 1962 to 1966, and probably would have been had initial performance suggested there was a big audience awaiting its small screen premiere.

The other possibility for a flop was that between cinema release and television screening, the stars had gone on to better things so a small screen showing could be promoted off the back of a current big screen success or, better still, series of successes. But that wasn’t the case with Five Branded Women. Star Silvana Mangano had meant little to US moviegoers since Bitter Rice (1949). Jeanne Moreau’s sizzle at the arthouse box office had diminished and the limited success of Viva Maria (1965) was put down to the presence of her compatriot Brigitte Bardot. Vera Miles hadn’t appeared in a movie since The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962). Barbara Bel Geddes was a long way from career revival in Dallas and all she had to show for the intervening years was a small part in By Love Possessed (1961) and a single episode in television. Italian Carla Gravina had no U.S. imprint at all. As a leading actor, Van Heflin was a busted flush.

So there was some consternation when Five Branded Women took ninth place in the television rankings for movies receiving their television premiere between 1966 and 1968. There was just no accounting for it. The same could be said for Your Cheatin’ Heart (1964) which was one place ahead of Five Branded Women. Star George Hamilton had not made it big, the film was an indifferent performer at the box office and its subject, Hank Williams, was long dead.

But television had a knack of providing unlikely redemption for movies that generally ended up on the wrong side of the box office. Cliff Robertson who headed the cast of PT 109 (1963) was still in the category of rising star with no breakout hits to suggest he was capable of rising to greater things. While 633 Squadron (1964) had done reasonable business, thriller Masquerade (1965) and war picture Up from the Beach (1965) had done so badly he was demoted to second billing in The Honey Pot (1967), incidentally another flop. He did achieve a breakthrough with Charly in 1968 but PT 109 was shown on television the year before. So how did that happen? You could maybe point to the continuing popularity of dead President John F. Kennedy, whose wartime heroism this movie recalled, but he had been dead when the movie first came out and that didn’t send it shooting to the top of the box office charts. On the television charts this came in one place behind Five Branded Women, although 633 Squadron could only manage a distant 92^nd.

There were other surprises. Second Time Around (1961) placed 15^th. But star Debbie Reynolds was still a genuine box office attraction after The Unsinkable Molly Brown (1964) and the unexpected success of The Singing Nun (1966).

Otherwise, the biggest hitters on television were Alfred Hitchcock, Elvis Presley and Doris Day. Hitchcock topped this particular chart with The Birds (1963), though presumably somewhat censored. His North by Northwest (1959) took 14^th spot, Marnie (1964) placed 26^th and Rear Window (1958) 39^th.

Elvis Presley placed 11^th with Roustabout (1964), 21^st with Blue Hawaii (1961), 25^th with Tickle Me (1965) and 41^st with Fun in Acapulco (1963). Doris Day clocked in at 12^th with That Touch of Mink (1962), 19^th with Send Me No Flowers (1964), 23^rd with The Thrill of It All (1963) and 35^th with Move Over, Darling (1963).

Television had paid record sums to acquire the likes of Bridge on the River Kwai (1957) and The Robe (1963), taking second and sixth positions, respectively, and undoubtedly helped by the ongoing success of director David Lean (Doctor Zhivago, 1965) and Richard Burton (Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf, 1966).

Others in the top then were Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (1958), which had been successfully reissued in cinemas in a double bill with Butterfield 8 (1960), both headlining Elizabeth Taylor, to capitalize on her Oscar-winning turn in Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf. This came in third followed by The Great Escape (1964) and John Wayne as McLintock (1963) with Maureen O’Hara. Lilies of the Field (1963) was seventh.

The Made-for-TV films were beginning to make an impact. The Doomsday Flight (1966), released theatrically overseas, was 17^th, one spot ahead of The Longest Hundred Miles (1967) with rising stars Doug McClure and Katharine Ross and seven ahead of Fame Is the Name of the Game (1967) with Tony Franciosa (Fathom, 1967) and Jill St John (Tony Rome, 1967).

Other notable small screen results were registered by Natalie Wood-Warren Beatty starrer Splendor in the Grass (1961) which took 12^th spot, Shirley MacLaine and an all-star cast in What A Way To Go (1964) in 16th, Susan Hayward Oscar-winning weepie I Want To Live (1958) in 21^st, and Henry Fonda and Maureen O’Hara in Spencer’s Mountain (1963) in 23^rd.

SOURCE: “All Network Prime Time Features” (Seasons 1966-1967 and 1967-1968),” Variety, September 11, 1968, p47.

All-Time Top 50

It’s five years now since I started this Blog. This little exercise that I generally undertake twice a year reflects the films viewed most often since the Blog began in June 2020. There’s no shaking Ann-Margret, a brace of her movies embedded in the top three, though the sequence has been punctured by the sudden arrival of Anora (2024) and followed by Pamela Anderson as The Last Showgirl (2024), both films making the highest ranking of any contemporary films I’ve reviewed, though I hated the former and adored the latter.

The figures in brackets represent the positions in December 2024 and New Entry is self-explanatory. I’ve expanded the list from 40 movies to 50, which still represents a small fraction of the 1600 pictures I’ve reviewed since I started.

(1) The Swinger (1966). Despite shaking her booty as only she knows how, Ann-Margret brings a sprinkling of innocence to this sex comedy..
(New Entry) Anora (2024). Mikey Madison’s sex worker woos a Russian in Oscar-winner.
(2) Stagecoach (1966). Under-rated remake of the John Ford western. But it’s Ann-Margret who steals the show ahead of Alex Cord in the role that brought John Wayne stardom.
(New Entry)) The Last Showgirl (2024). Pamela Anderson proves she can act and how in this touching portrayal of a fading Las Vegas dancer.
(4) In Harm’s Way (1965). Under-rated John Wayne World War Two number. Co-starring Kirk Douglas, Patricia Neal, Tom Tryon and Paula Prentiss, director Otto Preminger surveys Pearl Harbor and after.
(3) Fraulein Doktor (1969). Grisly realistic battle scenes and a superb score from Ennio Morricone help this Suzy Kendall vehicle as a World War One German spy going head-to-head with Brit Kenneth More and taking time out for romantic dalliance with Capucine.
(5) Fireball XL5. The famous British television series (1962-1963) from Gerry and Sylvia Anderson, now colorized. “My heart will be a fireball…”
(6) Once Upon a Time in the West (1969). Along with The Searchers (1956) now considered the most influential western of all time. Sergio Leone rounds up Claudia Cardinale, Henry Fonda and Charles Bronson and that fabulous Morricone score.
(New Entry) Squad 36 / Bastion 36 (2025). Corruption and interdepartmental rivalry fuel this French flic directed by Olivier Marchal.
(7) Jessica (1962). Angie Dickinson doesn’t mean to cause trouble but as a young widow arriving in a small Italian town she causes friction, so much so the local wives go on a sex strike..
(20) Young Cassidy (1965). Julie Christie came out of this best, winning her role in Doctor Zhivago as a result. Rod Taylor as Irish playwright Sean O’Casey.
(8) Thank You Very Much/ A Touch of Love (1969). Sandy Dennis dazzles as an academic single mother in London impregnated by Ian McKellen.
(10) Baby Love (1969). Controversy was the initial selling point but now it’s morphed into a morality tale as orphaned Linda Hayden tries to fit into an upper-class London household.
(30) The Girl on a Motorcycle / Naked under Leather (1968). How much you saw of star Marianne Faithfull depended on where you saw it. The U.S. censor came down heavily on the titular fantasizing heroine, the British censor more liberal. Alain Delon co-stars. These says, of course, you can see everything.
(9) Pharoah (1966). Polish epic set in Egypt sees the country’s ruler at odds with the religious hierarchy.
(24) A Dandy in Aspic (1968). Cold War thriller with Laurence Harvey as a double agent who wants out. Mia Farrow co-stars.
(31) Claudelle Inglish (1961). Diane McBain seeks revenge for being stood up at the altar in the Deep South.
(New Entry) The Family Way (1966). Hayley Mills comes of age in this very adult drama. Co-starring her father John Mills and Hywel Bennett.
(12) Vendetta for the Saint (1969). Prior to James Bond, Roger Moor was better known as television’s The Saint. Two television episodes combined sees our hero tackle the Mafia.
(15) Go Naked in the World (1961). Gina Lollobrigida finds that love for a wealthy playboy clashes with her profession (the oldest). Look out for highly emotional turn from the usually taciturn Ernest Borgnine.
(13) The Appointment (1969). Inhibited lawyer Omar Sharif discovers the secrets of wife Anouk Aimee in under-rated and little-seen Italian-set drama from Sidney Lumet.
(New Entry) Istanbul Express (1968). Gene Barry plays a weird numbers game in spy thriller that sets him up against Senta Berger.
(19) Pressure Point (1962). Nazi extremist Bobby Darin causes chaos for psychiatrist Sidney Poitier. Stunning dream sequences.
(25) Pendulum (1968). Fast-rising cop George Peppard accused of murdering unfaithful wife Jean Seberg
(11) The Sins of Rachel Cade (1961) Angie Dickinson (again) as African missionary falling foul of the natives and Commissioner Peter Finch. Roger Moore (again) in an early role.
(16) Diamond Head (1962). Over-ambitious hypocritical landowner Charlton Heston comes unstuck in love, politics and business in Hawaii. George Chakiris, Yvette Mimieux and France Nuyen turn up the heat.
(27) Fathom (1967). When not dodging the villains in an entertaining thriller, Raquel Welch models a string of bikinis as a skydiver caught up in spy malarkey.
(36) Prehistoric Women / Slave Girls (1967). Martine Beswick attempts to steal the Raquel Welch crown as Hammer tries to repeat the success of One Million Years B.C.
(18) The Golden Claws of the Cat Girl (1968). Cults don’t come any sexier than Daniele Gaubert as a French cat burglar.
(14) The Sisters (1969). Incest rears its head as Nathalie Delon and Susan Strasberg ignore husbands and lovers in favor of each other.
(17) Moment to Moment (1966). Hitchcockian thriller set in Hitchcock country – the South of France – as unfaithful Jean Seberg is on the hook for the murder of her lover. Also featuring Honor Blackman.
(New Entry) Age of Consent (1969). Helen Mirren frolics nude in her debut as the freewheeling damsel drawn to disillusioned painter James Mason.
(28) Farewell, Friend / Adieu L’Ami (1968). A star is born – at least in France, the States was a good few years behind in recognizing the marquee attractions of Charles Bronson. Alain Delon co-stars in twisty French heist thriller featuring Olga Georges-Picot and Brigitte Fossey.
(35) Horizon: An American Saga – Chapter 1 (2024). Kevin Costner’s majestic western that became one of the biggest flops of the year was underrated in my opinion.
(New Entry) Genghis Khan (1965). Omar Sharif as the titular warrior up against Stephen Boyd. Co-starring James Mason and Francoise Dorleac. Robert Morley is hilariously miscast as the Chinese Empteror.
(26) Once a Thief (1965). Ann-Margret again, in a less sexy incarnation, as a working mother whose ex-jailbird thief Alain Delon takes a detour back into crime.
(29) Woman of Straw (1964). More Hitchockian goings-on as Sean Connery tries to frame Gina Lollobrigida in a dubious scheme.
(New entry) The Demon / Il Demonio (1963). Extraordinary performance by Daliah Lavi in Italian drama as she produces the performance of her career.
(New entry) Guns of Darkness (1962). David Niven and Leslie Caron on the run from South American revolutionaries.
(New Entry) Operation Crossbow (1965). George Peppard is the man with the mission in Occupied France during World War Two. Co-stars Sophia Loren.
(34) She Died with Her Boots On / Whirlpool (1969). More sleaze than cult. Spanish director Jose Ramon Larraz’s thriller sees kinky photographer Karl Lanchbury targeting real-life MTA Vivien Neves.
(21) Can Heironymus Merkin Ever Forget Mercy Humpe and Find True Happiness? Fellini would turn in his grave at the self-indulgence of singer Anthony Newley who manages to lament that women falling at his feet cause him so much strife. Joan Collins co-stars.
(23) The Chalk Garden (1964). Wild child Hayley Mills, trying to break out of her Disney straitjacket, duels with governess Deborah Kerr.
(New Entry) Dark of the Sun / The Mercenaries (1968). Rod Taylor’s guns-for-hire break out the action in war-torn Africa. Jim Brown and Yvette Mimieux co-star.
(New entry) La Belle Noiseuse (1991). Emmanuelle Beart is the mostly naked model taking painter Michel Piccoli to his artistic limits.
(New Entry) A Fine Pair (1968). Rock Hudson and Claudia Cardinale join forces for a heist picture.
(33) Lady in Cement (1969). Raquel Welch models more bikinis as the gangster’s moll taken on as a client by private eye Frank Sinatra in his second outing as Tony Rome.
(New Entry) Carry On Up the Khyber (1968). The most successful of the Carry On satires poking fun at the British in India.
(New Entry) The Venetian Affair (1966). Robert Vaughn investigates spate of suicide bombs. Elke Sommer provides the glamor.
(22) The Secret Ways (1961). The first of the Alistair MacLean adaptations to hit the big screen features Richard Widmark trapped in Hungary during the Cold War. Senta Berger in an early role.

El Dorado (1966) ****

John Wayne incapacitated? Robert Mitchum a liability? The hell you say! You bring together two of the greatest male action figures only to turn the genre upside down and inside out. And I know it’s tradition for heroes to be unable to listen to their hearts, never mind deal with emotion, but it’s a heck of a stretch for them to just completely fall apart when spurned. And I know also that Duke is not invulnerable, this isn’t the MCU for heaven’s sake, and he’s been known in his long career to take a bullet, but to be shot by a woman! That’s very close to taking the proverbial.

Also, westerns usually operate on fairly tight timeframes. If the situation takes place over a longer period that’s usually because it involves a journey. Here, there’s a split of six months between the opening section and the main action, and it does kinda defy belief that the bad guys don’t make the necessary hay while the sheriff is drunk and his main assistant has scarpered.

There’s hardly a word spoken here – between the good guys again for heaven’s sake – that isn’t an insult. Never mind The Magnificent Seven (1960) this is teed up as The Bickering Quartet. And I do have to point out a couple of elements that won’t go down so well with a contemporary audience, one character imitating a Chinese, and a scene where one of our heroes is constantly interrupted in the bath by females, a twist to be sure on the usual scenario of the female lead skinny dipping in a handy pool or river, but it’s like a lame comedy sketch.

This won’t have been influenced by the spaghetti western, the first Sergio Leone game-changer wasn’t screened in the U.S. until the following year, so it’s also worth pointing out that some of the action is pretty savage, both John Wayne and Robert Mitchum indulging in the kind of mean behavior that was usually the prerogative of the villains. Wayne even cheats when it comes to the traditional shoot-out. And while there’s none of the blood-letting that later became synonymous with the genre, director Howard Hawks does something else that is far more realistic than anything that has gone before and would count as a genuine shock to our senses. The gunfire is incredibly loud. Imagine that on Imax and you’d be jumping out of your seat every few minutes.

And just in case you think this is nothing more than a remake of Rio Bravo (1959) where a gunslinger and a drunken sheriff are holed up in jail, here the jail is mostly used as a base, the good guys racing out every now and then to pick someone off. That running, too, by older guys certainly prefigures later action pictures like Taken (2008).

We need the time gap to allow Sheriff J.P. Harrah (Robert Mitchum), one of the three best gunslingers alive, to disintegrate. He goes from tough lawman keeping an unruly town in order and holding back the worst instincts of land-owner Bart Jason (Ed Asner) planning to go in mobhanded against rival rancher Kevin MacDonald (R.G. Armstrong) in an argument over water rights.

Hired gun Cole Thornton (John Wayne), one of the three best gunslingers alive, turns up for a job with said Jason but is turned off the idea when J.P. gives him the lowdown on the situation. He dallies long enough to set up the notion that he’ll try to win back saloon-owning old flame Maudie (Charlene Holt) from J.P.

Thornton moseys off to the Mason spread to give the owner the bad news. On the way back, Luke Macdonald (Johnny Crawford), Kevin’s youngest son, on guard duty, mistakes Thornton for the enemy and shoots at him. Which results in his death. So Thornton does not get a good welcome when he arrives at the Macdonald farm toting a corpse.

Turns out the young whelp, although taking bullet in the gut, committed suicide because the pain was too much and Luke had been told by his dad that he wouldn’t recover anyway and just suffer a hideous death. While the father accepts this, his daughter Joey (Michele Carey) does not and ambushes Thornton, putting a bullet in his back. Said bullet is mighty inconveniently lodged close to his spine and needs more than the town quack to remove it. Despite sparking up old feelings for said old flame and the prospect of stealing her back from old buddy J.P., Thornton doesn’t dally longer than it takes to get temporarily fixed up, bullet still in place to cause later problems.

Now the tale takes a detour. Not only has six months passed and Thornton miles away from El Dorado, but we’ve got to hold up proceedings to introduce naïve youngster Mississippi (James Caan). Howard Hawks certainly hasn’t learned the knack of the compact introduction from John Sturges a la The Magnificent Seven (1960) so we learn that this young whelp is best with the knife and has spent two years tracking down the four killers of his foster father. The last man to die happens to be an employee of Nelse McLeod (Christopher George), one of the three best gunslingers alive, on his way to take up the job Thornton turned down, a task made a helluva lot easier because J.P is now the town drunk, having hit the bottle when spurned by a woman, not Maudie I hasten to add.

Thornton heads for El Dorado with Mississippi tagging along, armed with of a sawn-off shotgun. First task is to sober up the sheriff – by fistfight and awful concoction – and stop him becoming a worse figure of fun. On the evidence here Deputy Bull (Arthur Hunnicutt) was probably one of the three best riflemen – not to mention archers – alive. He also totes a bugle.

The sober J.P. strolls into the saloon and arrests Bart Jason and sticks him in jail, and to avoid being in a complete siege situation, the quartet, sometimes as a group, sometimes a pair, sometimes alone, venture out, as I mentioned, to pick off the enemy. This allows Mississippi a meet-cute with Joey who’s planning a short-cut to justice by shooting Jason. Maudie re-enters the frame.

The bullet in the back sporadically paralyzes Thornton and J.P. is wounded in the leg so eventually the pair are hobbling around on crutches. Maudie also turns out to be a liability, taken hostage, ensuring Thornton goes to the rescue. But the bullet in the back plays up at exactly the wrong time and Thornton’s also captured, trussed up like a hog (what, John Wayne?) then traded in for the prisoner.

Having by now reduced the odds and not wanting to be caught in a siege, the quartet take the battle to the enemy, ambushing them front and back in the saloon, Thornton ridding Nelse of the notion that he and Thornton will enjoy a winner-takes-all shootout by killing him with a rifle while lying on the ground.

While it could be trimmed – television screenings generally eliminate the racist Chinese impersonation – the action when it comes is blistering. There’s a terrific scene in a tower when Bull targets the bells to disorientate the enemy with their horrendous ear-jarring clanging. And the final shoot-out is exceptionally well done.

In ways not usually gone into, the quartet are experts in their fields. Thornton backs up his horse to get out of a difficult situation, J.P. detects a man hidden behind a piano in the saloon, Mississippi stalks a potential lone assassin, Bull uses bow-and-arrow when silence is required.

Theoretically, Robert Mitchum (Five Card Stud, 1968) steals the show as the drunken sheriff, but that’s only if you are taken in by the surface. The sight of John Wayne with his useless twisted right hand harks back to the arm in The Searchers (1956) and his one-armed rifle action predates True Grit (1969). James Caan (The Rain People, 1969) tries to steal scenes but what chance does he have with these two stars at the top of their game and past master at the scene-stealing malarkey Arthur Hunnicutt (The Cardinal, 1963). Charlene Holt (Red Line 7000, 1965) and Michele Carey (The Sweet Ride, 1968) come out honors even as do Edward Asner (The Venetian Affair, 1966) and Christopher George (The Thousand Plane Raid, 1969).

I don’t put this in the same bracket as Howard Hawks’ Red River (1948) and Rio Bravo, but it’s certainly one of the best westerns of the decade. Written by Leigh Brackett (Hatari!, 1962) from a novel by Harry Brown.

Not one to miss.

Behind the Scenes: “The Green Berets” (1968)

As if John Wayne hadn’t endured enough directing The Alamo (1960), he took on an even weightier task with this Vietnam War picture which, from the start, was likely to receive a critical roasting given the actor’s well-known stance on the conflict and his anti-Communist views that dated back to the McCarthy Era of the 1950s. Wayne had enjoyed a charmed life at the box office with three successive hit westerns, Henry Hathaway’s The Sons of Katie Elder (1965) with Dean Martin, Burt Kennedy’s The War Wagon (1967) co-starring Kirk Douglas, and best of all from a critical and commercial standpoint Howard Hawks El Dorado (1967) pairing Robert Mitchum. Outside of box office grosses, Wayne’s movies tended to be more profitable than his box office rivals because they were generally more inexpensive to make.

Columbia had been the first to recognize the potential of the book by Robin Moore and purchased the rights pre-publication in 1965 long before antipathy to the war reached its peak. A screenplay was commissioned from George Goodman who had served in the Special Forces the previous decade and was to to return to Vietnam on a research mission. But the studio couldn’t turn out a script that met the approval of the U.S. Army. Independent producer David Wolper (The Devil’s Brigade, 1968) was next to throw the dice but he couldn’t find the financing.

In 1966 Wayne took a trip to Vietnam and was impressed by what he saw. He bought the rights to the non-fiction book by Robin Moore (who also wrote The French Connection) for $35,000 plus a five per cent profit share. While the movie veered away in many places from the book, the honey trap and kidnapping of the general came from that source, although, ironically, that episode was entirely fictitious, originating in the mind of Robin Moore.

Universal originally agreed to back The Green Berets with filming scheduled for early 1967 but when it pulled out the project shifted to Warner Bros. And as if the director hadn’t learned his lesson from The Alamo, it was originally greenlit for a budget of $5.1 million, an amount that would prove signally inappropriate as the final count was $7 million. Wayne turned down the leading role in The Dirty Dozen (1967) to concentrate on this project. Wayne’s character was based on real-life Finnish Larry Thorne who had joined the Special Forces in Vietnam in 1963 and was reported missing in action in 1965 (his body was recovered four decades later).

As well as John Wayne, the movie was a platform for rising stars like Jim Hutton (Walk, Don’t Run, 1966), David Janssen (Warning Shot, 1967) and Luke Askew (Easy Rider, 1969) who replaced Bruce Dern. Howard Keel, who had appeared in The War Wagon, turned down a role.

Wayne holstered his normal $750,000 fee for acting plus $120,000 for directing. But it turned out The Alamo had taught him one important lesson – not to shoulder too much of the responsibility – and Ray Kellogg for the modest sum of $40,000 was brought in as co-director. It was produced by Wayne’s production company, Batjac, now run by his son Michael. But neither Wayne nor Kellogg proved up to the task and concerned the movie was falling behind schedule and over budget the studio drafted in veteran director Mervyn Leroy – current remuneration $200,000 plus a percentage – whose over 40 years in the business ranged from gangster machine-gun fest Little Caesar (1931) to his most recent offering the Hitchcock-lite Moment to Moment (1966).

But exactly what LeRoy contributed over the next six months was open to question. Some reports had him directing all the scenes involving the star; others took the view that primarily he played the role of consultant, on set to offer advice. Even with his presence, the movie came in 18 days over schedule – 25 per cent longer than planned. Unlike the later Apocalypse Now (1979), it didn’t go anywhere near South-East Asia so the location didn’t add any of Coppola’s lush atmosphere, though the almost constant rain in Georgia, while a bugbear for the actors, helped authenticity.

It was filmed instead on five acres of Government land around Fort Benning, Georgia, hence pine forests rather than tropical trees. President Lyndon B. Johnson and the Department of Defense offered full cooperation. But that was only after the producers complied with Army stipulations regarding the screenplay. James Lee Barratt’s script was altered to show the Vietnamese involved in defending the camp and the kidnapped was switched from being over the border. Also axed, though this time by the studio, was Wayne’s wish for a romantic element – the studio preferred more action. Sheree North (Madigan, 1968) was offered the role of Wayne’s wife but she also turned it down on political grounds. Vera Miles (The Hellfighters, 1968) was cast but she was edited out prior to release.

The Army provided UH-1 Huey helicopters, the Air Force chipped in with C-130 Hercules transports, A-1 Skyraiders and the AC-47 Puff the Magic Dragon gunship and also the airplane that utilized the skyhook system. Actors and extras were kitted out in the correct jungle fatigues and uniforms. Making a cameo appearance was Col Welch, commander of the Army Airborne School at Ft Benning. The sequence of soldiers doing drill was actually airborne recruits.

The attack on the camp is based on the Battle of Nam Dong in 1964 when the defenders saw off a much bigger enemy unit.

This set was built on a hill inside Fort Benning. The authentic detail included barbed wire trenches and punji sticks plus the use of mortar fire. While the camp was destroyed during filming the other villages were later used for training exercises. .

The pressure told on the Duke physically – he lost 15lb. But the oppressive heat and weather of that location – it was mostly shot in summer 1967 – was nothing compared to the reviews. It was slated by the critics with Wayne’s age for an active commander called into question, never mind the parachuting, the gung-ho heroics and the dalliance in an upmarket nightclub.

“In terms of Wayne’s directorial career,” wrote his biographer Scott Eyman, “The Alamo has many defenders, The Green Berets has none.” That assessment, of course, would be to ignore the moviegoers around the world who bought tickets and put the picture into reasonable profit.

Wayne was clear in his own mind about the kind of movie – “about good against bad” – he was making and accommodated neither gray areas nor took note of current attitudes to the war as exemplified by nationwide demonstrations. Co-stars David Janssen, Jim Hutton and George Takei were opposed to the war. Takei, a regular on the Star Trek series, missed a third of the episodes on the second season; his lines were written to suit the character of Chekov, who went on to have a bigger role in the television series. Composer Elmer Bernstein turned down the gig as it went against his political beliefs. “The Ballad of the Green Berets,” heard over the opening credits was not composed for the film, having been released two years earlier.

Most critics hated it – “Truly monstrous ineptitude” (New York Times); “cliché-ridden throwback” (Hollywood Reporter); “immoral” (Glamour). Even those reviews that were mixed still came down hard: “rip-roaring Vietnam battle story…but certainly not an intellectual piece” (Motion Picture Exhibitor). Not that Wayne was too concerned. At the more vital place of judgement – the box office – it took in $9.5 million in rentals (what’s returned to the studios once cinemas have taken their cut) – $8.7 million on original release and a bit more in reissue – in the U.S. alone plus a good chunk overseas.

It was virtually impossible to examine a movie like this without taking a political stance. Other movies covering the same topic were allowed greater latitude regarding authenticity, audiences and critics like appearing to accept that creating watchable drama often took precedence over the facts. Both The Deer Hunter (1978) and Apocalypse Now, considered the best of this sub-genre, clearly ventured away from strict reality. With over half a century distancing the contemporary viewer from those inflammatory times, it’s worth noting that it still divides critics. Or, rather, critics and the general public take opposing views.

Although Rotten Tomatoes deems it “an exciting war film”, the critics voting on that platform gave it a lowly 23 per cent favourable report compared to a generally positive 61 per cent from the ordinary viewer. That contrasts, for example, with a more even split for the likes of Exodus (1960) – 63 per cent from critics and 69 per cent from audiences. However, The Green Berets attracts twice as much interest, collaring 9,000 votes compared to just 4,300 for Exodus.

After this, Wayne’s fee went up to a flat million bucks a picture. “He wasn’t a guarantee of success,” explained his son Michael, “he was a guarantee against failure.” At this point in his career, he was gold-plated. Where other stars in his commercial league suffered the occasional box office lapse – Paul Newman’s career in the 1960s, for example, was riddled with flops like The Secret War of Harry Frigg (1968) – he did not. Especially with a global following, his pictures never lost money.

SOURCES: Michael Munn, John Wayne, The Man Behind the Myth, Robson, 2004; Scott Eyman, John Wayne, The Life and Legend, Simon and Schuster, 2014; Brian Hannan, The Magnificent 60s, The 100 Top Films at the Box Office, McFarland, 2023; Robin Moore, Introduction, The Green Berets, 1999 edition, Skyhorse Publishing; Laurence H. Suid, Guts and Glory, University of Lexington Press, 2002; The Making of The Green Berets, 2020; Review, Hollywood Reporter, June 17, 1968; Review, Motion Picture Exhibitor, June 19, 1968; Renata Adler, “The Absolute End of the ‘Romance of War’”, New York Times, June 30, 1968; Glamour, October 1968; “Big Rental Pictures of 1968,” Variety, January 8, 1969.

The Green Berets (1968) ***

Apart from attempts to justify the Vietnam War and a hot streak of sentimentality, a grimly realistic tale that doesn’t go in for the grandiosity or self-consciousnesss of the likes of Apocalypse Now (1979), The Deer Hunter (1978) and Platoon (1978). It’s been so long since I’ve watched this that my DVD is one of those where you had to turn the disc over in the middle.

The central action sequence is a kind of backs-to-the-wall Alamo or Rorke’s Drift siege. There’s no sense of triumphalism in the battle where the best you can say is that a reasonable chunk of the American soldiers came out alive but only after evacuating the staging post they were holding, more like Ridley Scott’s Black Hawk Down (2001) where survival is all there is to savor. It’s all pretty brutal stuff, the Americans handicapped by having to also look after the fleeing Vietnamese villagers taking refuge in their camp.

There are plenty grim reminders of how war has become even more devastating in the aftermath of World War Two. The Vietcong take, literally, no prisoners, seen as killing civilians as easily as soldiers. The Americans, for their part, have no compunction in using more sophisticated weaponry, with the addition of targeted air strikes.

Into the mix, somewhat unnecessarily, comes left-wing journo George (David Janssen) whose main job is to change his mind about the work the soldiers are doing, though admitting that to report the truth will lose him his position. He’s slung into the middle of a defensive action headed up by Col Kirby (John Wayne) to hold a position under threat against superior (in numbers) forces. There’s a fair bit of the detail of war but virtually zero about the strategy, whether that’s the U.S. Army’s plan to defeat the enemy or this individual unit’s method of defending this position. Apart from extending the perimeter of the camp to create a more effective killing zone, it’s hard to work out what the heck is going on, no matter how often orders are barked through field telephones or walkie talkies. There are squads out in the field and units in the camp and how the whole operation is meant to mesh is beyond me.

There’s not much time to flesh out the characters, save for “scrounger” Sgt Peterson (Jim Hutton) who adopts an orphan, Vietnamese soldier Capt Nim (George Takei) and Sgt Provo (Luke Askew). The rest of the motley bunch are the usual crew of monosyllabic tough guys and friendly medics and whatnot.

Though the emotional weight falls on Lin (Irene Tsu), fearing shame and being ostracized by her family for befriending the Vietcong general who killed her father and for whom she now lays a honeytrap, Kirby expresses guilt at having to kill anybody.

Despite being sent out to reinforce the position, the Americans are forced to retreat and enjoy only a Pyrrhic victory when the cavalry, in the shape of an airplane, arrives to mow down the enemy after they have captured the position.

The fighting is suitably savage, and there is certainly the notion that the Americans are not only being out-fought but out-thought and that no amount of heavy weaponry is going to win the day.

Possibly to prevent the idea of defeat destabilizing the audience, the movie shifts into a different gear, more the gung-ho commando raid picture that the British used to do so well, where Kirby heads up an infiltration team to capture the Vietcong general who has been seduced by Lin. This sets up a completely different imperative, all stealth and secrecy, the kind of operation that in the past would have been a whole movie in itself rather than the tag-end of one.

While the prime aim of this is to have the audience leave the cinema happier than if they had just witnessed the retreat from the camp, in fact it also serves two purposes. One is worthwhile, to emphasize the sacrifices made by the Vietnamese. Lin, having agreed to prostitute herself, fears being cast out as a result. But the other outcome of this mission is to kill off Sgt Peterson thus leaving the little Vietnamese lad even more orphaned than before.

John Wayne (The Sons of Katie Elder, 1965) doesn’t attempt to gloss over the weariness of his character. Jim Hutton (Walk, Don’t Run, 1966) shifts with surprising ease from comedy to drama. Even as a cliché David Janssen (Warning Shot, 1966) is underused. Watch out for Aldo Ray (The Power, 1968), George Takei (original Star Trek series), Raymond St Jacques (Uptight, 1968), Luke Askew (Flareup, 1969) and Irene Tsu (Caprice, 1967).

Three hands were involved in the direction: John Wayne, veteran Mervyn Leroy (Moment to Moment, 1966) and Ray Kellogg (My Dog, Buddy, 1960). Written by James Lee Barrett (Bandolero!, 1968) from the book by Robin Moore. Worth pointing out the score by triple Oscar-winner Miklos Rosza (The Power, 1968) especially the low notes he hits to provide brooding tension.

Certainly a mixed bag, the central superb action sequence weighted down by the need to find something to shout about.

The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962) *****

A mighty cast headed by John Wayne (True Grit, 1969), James Stewart (Shenandoah, 1965), Lee Marvin (The Dirty Dozen, 1967) and Vera Miles (Pyscho, 1960) with support from Edmond O’Brien (Seven Days in May, 1964) Woody Strode (The Professionals, 1966), Strother Martin (Cool Hand Luke, 1967) and Lee Van Cleef (The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, 1967) do justice to John Ford’s tightly-structured hymn to liberty and equality and reflection on the end of the Wild West. So tight is the picture that despite a love triangle there are no love scenes and no verbal protestations of love.

The thematic depth is astonishing: civilization’s erosion of lawlessness, big business vs. ordinary people and a democracy where “people are the boss.” Throw in a villain with a penchant for whipping and a lack of the standard brawls that often marred the director’s work and you have a western that snaps at the heels of Stagecoach (1939), Fort Apache (1948) and The Searchers (1956).

The story is told in flashback after Senator Ransom Stoddard (James Stewart) and wife Hallie (Vera Miles) turn up unexpectedly in the town of Shinbone for the funeral of a nobody, Tom Donovan (John Wayne), so poor the undertaker has filched his boots and gun belt to pay for the barest of bare coffins. Intrigued by his arrival, newspapermen descend, and Stoddard explains why he has returned.

Now we are in flashback as, arriving on stagecoach, novice lawyer Ransom is attacked, beaten and whipped by outlaw Liberty Valance (Lee Marvin). He is found by horse-trader Donovan (John Wayne) and taken to a local boarding- house-cum-restaurant where Hallie (Vera Miles) tends his wounds. With a young man’s full quotient of principle, Stoddard is astonished to discover that local marshal Link Appleyard (Andy Devine) has ducked out of responsibility for apprehending Valance on the dubious grounds that it is outside his jurisdiction and that Valance has so mean a reputation he has the town scared witless. When Valance turns up, he humiliates Stoddard and only Donovan stands up to him, rescuing an ungrateful Ransom, who detests violence and any threat of it.

Stoddard soon turns principle into action, setting up his shingle in the local newspaper office run by Dutton Peabody (Edmond O’Brien) and on learning that Hallie is illiterate establishing a school for all ages. In the background is politics, but the push for statehood is inhibited by big ranchers who employ Valance to intimidate. Despite his aversion to violence and insistence that due legal process will eliminate the law of the gun, Stoddard practices shooting. When Donovan gives him a lesson and, to point out his unsuitability to confront such a mean character as Valance, covers him in paint, Stoddard floors him with a punch.

That principle I mentioned has something in common with Rio Bravo (1959) – Howard Hawks’ riposte to High Noon (1952) – in that Stoddard, determined to fight his own battles, refuses to ask for help when targeted by Valance. The inevitable showdown is extraordinary, not least because it takes place at night and Ford, a la Rashomon (1951), tells it twice from different points of view.

Precisely because it retains focus throughout with no extraneous scenes, as was occasionally John Ford’s wont, the direction is superb. As in The Searchers, to suggest emotional state-of-mind, the director uses imagery relating to doors. This time the humor is not so broad and limited primarily to one incident. Both main male characters suffer reversals, in the case of Stoddard it is physical but in the instance of Donovan it is emotional. Either way, action is character. In the romantic stakes, they are equals, dancing around their true feelings.

Upfront there is one storyline, the upholding of law and order whether against an individual such as Valance or against the attempts of big business to thwart democracy. But underneath is a subtly told romance. Donovan and Stoddard are allies but in terms of Hallie they are rivals. Neither has an ounce of sense when it comes to women. Neither actually protests their love for Hallie. Although Donovan brings her cactus roses and is, unknown to her, building an extension to his house to accommodate what he hopes is his future bride, his idea of romance is to mutter, in patronizing manner, the old saw of “you look pretty when you’re angry.” He would have been wiser to have taken note of her spunk, because she can more than direct if need be.

Stoddard isn’t much better. Despite her growing feelings towards him being obvious to the audience, he assumes she prefers Donovan. Action drives the love element, the need to save or destroy.

All three principals are superb. This may seem like a typical Wayne performance, a dominant figure, comfortable with a gun and his abilities, but awkward in matters of the heart. But he shows as great depth as in The Searchers and the despair etched on his face at the possibility of losing Hallie eats into his soul. Stewart combines the man-of-the-people he essayed for Frank Capra with some of the toughness he showed in the Anthony Mann series of westerns. Vera Miles tempers genuine anger with tenderness and practicality. Unlike many Ford heroines she is not a trophy wife, but a worker, mostly seen running a kitchen. Lee Marvin cuts a sadistic figure, with an arrogance that sets him above the law, his tongue as sharp as his whip.

As well as Woody Strode, Strother Martin, Edmond O’Brien and Lee Van Cleef, you will spot various members of the John Ford stock company including Andy Devine (Two Rode Together, 1961) as the cowardly gluttonous marshal, John Carradine (Stagecoach), John Qualen (The Searchers) as the restaurant owner and Jeanette Nolan (Two Rode Together) as his wife.

Written by James Warner Bellah (X-15, 1961), Willis Goldbeck (Sergeant Rutledge, 1960) and Dorothy M. Johnson (A Man Called Horse, 1970).

SPOILER ALERT

Despite its five-star status, I am dubious about the famous “print the legend” conclusion and for two reasons. You could subtitle this picture The Good, the Bad and the Politician. In the first place, what Stoddart tells the newspapermen in the flashbacks is in fact a confession. He did not kill Liberty Valance. Donovan did. By this point in his life Stoddart has served two terms as a Senator, three terms as a governor and been the American Ambassador to Britain. And yet his career is based on bare-faced fraud. He took the glory for an action he did not commit. That is a huge scoop in anybody’s book. And I just can’t imagine a newspaperman turning a blind eye to it.

The second element is that Stoddart does not show the slightest sign of remorse. He built his entire career on this violent action, the antithesis of his supposed stance on the process of law. He takes all the plaudits and fails to acknowledge Donovan, except when it’s too late, and Donovan has died a pauper, his rootless life perhaps engendered as a result of losing Hallie. Hallie’s character, too, is besmirched. She chose Stoddart precisely because he was a man of principle who risked his life to tackle – and kill – Donovan. Those two elements are indistinguishable. Had she known Stoddart had failed and was only saved by the action of Donovan it is questionable whether she would have chosen the lawyer.

There are a couple of other quibbles, not so much about the picture itself, but about other quibblers, commonly known as critics. Alfred Hitchcock famously came under fire for the use of back projection, not just in Marnie (1964) but other later films. That spotlight never appeared to be turned on the at-the-time more famous John Ford. The train sequence at the end of the film uses back projection and the ambush at the beginning is so obviously a set.

Don’t let these put you off, however, this is one very fine western indeed.

Behind the Scenes: From Cinerama to Imax

Given I’m on my annual Cinerama binge, it’s interesting to see how current giant-screen format Imax developed from the previous king of the giant screens, Cinerama.

Quiz question: what connects King Kong (1933) to Cinerama? Follow-up quiz question: what connects Lawrence of Arabia (the man not the film) to Cinerama? Tie-breaker: what connects Cinerama, which had its heyday in the 1960s, to the current Imax.

Merian Cooper, the producer behind King Kong, and Lowell Thomas, the broadcaster whose fame was built on the dramatic footage he took of Lawrence of Arabia during World War One, were both vital to the development of the new screen sensation Cinerama, which made its debut two years before Twentieth Century Fox unveiled Cinemascope.

Both Cinerama and Imax began as vehicles for documentaries, the cinematography they involved initially considered too cumbersome for Hollywood directors to use. Initially, also, both formats were presented in cinemas specifically designed for showing films made in the process.

But, effectively, both Cinerama and Imax followed the same business model, one that Hollywood only too readily appreciated. They were premium priced products. Whereas most items you buy are the same price wherever you make the purchase, movies followed an extended version of the way publishers sold books. Readers had to pay extra to be first in the queue for a favorite author’s latest work, the hardback version of a novel appearing about a year in advance of the cheaper hardback.

In the silent era, Paramount instituted a food chain for movie presentation. Pictures opened first in the big city center theaters at top dollar prices ($2 – the equivalent to $35 now – not unusual in the 1920s) before working their way down a dozen different pricing levels until they reached the cheapest cinemas. As the business developed, although the U.S. cinema capacity grew to around 20,000 outlets, Hollywood reckoned that 70 per cent of a movie’s income came from a fraction of those houses, primarily from the more expensive first- or second-run cinemas.

Treatment of audiences is more democratic now. All tickets cost the same and the food chain is long gone, but in the 1950s and 1960s when Hollywood was battling the beast of television it appeared that audiences could be wooed back to the movies by giving them something bigger and better – and they were happy to pay the price. Imax follows the same pricing strategy.

Cinerama was not just the ultimate in widescreen but it offered visceral thrills. Given camera point-of-view audiences raced down a rollercoaster in This Is Cinerama (1952) and were astonished to see different global vistas presented in their full glory rather than as mere backdrops to actors. And while audience response was astonishing even by industry standards, and receipts tumbled in hand over fist, the concept soon lost popularity as audiences moved on to the more dramatically-accessible Cinemascope and its imitators and by the 1960s the format was more or less dependent on the company spinning out its back catalog in endless reissues.

Hence, the move towards dramatic storylines as instanced by How the West Was Won (1962) and The Wonderful World of the Brothers Grimm (1962), both initially presented in the premium-priced roadshow, separate performance, format. In quick fashion, too, Cinerama dispensed with the cumbersome three-lens camera and invented a single-lens alternative which made it much easier for directors.

During the 1960s Cinerama presented another eleven big Hollywood pictures ranging from It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad, World (1963) and Grand Prix (1966) to Ice Station Zebra (1968) and Krakatoa, East of Java (1969). But as the industry hit the financial buffers at the end of the decade, the writing was on the wall, and although Cinerama invested in 35mm movies like Straw Dogs (1971) the game was over for the format by 1972.

Imax was pretty soon positioned as its natural successor, unveiled in 1970 in Japan with Tiger Child, the first purpose-built cinema opening in Toronto in 1971 with North of Superior. The screen was much bigger than anything Cinerama or 70mm had offered. It was over three times the size of Cinerama. But it was of different dimensions; where Cinerama went wider, Imax went taller.

But again, the camera was an obstacle for Hollywood use. And like Cinerama, the format’s attraction was sheer spectacle. All the initial output was documentary-based, often with an educational purpose, though soon progressing to what was termed “entertainment” (Everest, 1998) and the movies were short by Hollywood standards, often less than an hour, which permitted Imax theater operators to present a greater number of daily screenings than an ordinary cinema.

Initially, they were not specifically premium-priced, but potentially more profitable because of the number of daily showings. Theaters typically kept 80 per cent of the box office which limited entrepreneurial interest since budgets for these movies were in the $6 million-$12 million range, not low enough to easily turn a profit. The movies could run for months, but there was the same problem as before – shortage of new product.

By 1990 Imax had largely pulled out of exhibition, ownership limited to nine theaters, and out of production.

Oddly enough, it was reissue that revived Imax. Disney planned a reworked version of its classic Fantasia (1940) as a method of generating more money from a picture that had already grossed $184 million on video. Traditionally, Fantasia got its best results from limited release, its previous revival outing shown in a maximum of 500 houses. Nor did Disney agree to the usual financial terms, demanding a 50 per cent share of the box office, rather than the normal 20 per cent.

Fantasia 2000 (2000) was released in 54 cinemas willing to commit to an 18-week run. While every Imax record was smashed, the picture, at a cost of $90 million, didn’t break even. But it did usher in Imax as a reissue vehicle. Disney used Imax for the 10^th anniversary relaunch of Beauty and the Beast (1992), bringing in an extra $25 million in rentals. Two years later The Lion King (1994) in Imax brought in $15.6 million and Apollo 13 (1995) $1.7 million.

Naturally enough, Disney recognized the potential for Imax for new films and made Treasure Planet (2002) in an Imax version. But the big boost came with The Matrix sequels. Both The Matrix Reloaded (2003) and The Matrix Revolutions (2003) were digitally remastered for Imax, the latter the first to be shown simultaneously with the ordinary print.

Nowadays, Imax is part of the release mix, bringing a hefty chunk of premium-priced box office to the overall gross and also, as witness the current Interstellar (2014) a hyped-up reissue vehicle.

SOURCES: Brian Hannan, Coming Back to a Theater Near You, A History of Hollywood Reissues (McFarland, 2016) p5, 10, 12, 295, 297-298; Kim R. Holston, Movie Roadshows (McFarland, 2013 )p 112-113; James B. Stewart, Disneywar (Simon and Schuster, 2008), p346-347; “A Decade of Limited Release,” Variety, February 18, 1998, p23; “Eric J. Olson, “Fantasia Signs Up Increase,” Variety, May 24, 1999, p32; Joseph Horowitz, “A Fantasia for the MTV Generation,” New York Times, January 2, 2000; “Fantasia Hits Imax Record,” Variety, January 4, 2000, p7; “Top 125 Worldwide,” Variety, January 15, 2001, p24; “The Top 250 Worldwide,” Variety, January 6, 2003, p26.

Behind the Scenes: The All-Time Top 20

The “Behind the Scenes” articles have become increasingly popular in the Blog. As regular readers will know I am fascinated about the problems incurred in making certain movies. Perhaps one of the more interesting aspects of this category is that every now and there is out of nowhere massive interest in the making of a particular movie and it shoots up the all-time tree. Most of the material has come from my own digging, and sources are always quoted at the end of each article, but occasionally I have turned to books written on the subject of the making of a specific film.

As with the All-Time Top Movies section, the top 20 comprises the choices of my readers. Alistair MacLean still exerts an influence, which is reassuring because my next book is about the films made from his books.

While Waterloo remains firmly out in front there are some interesting new entries such as The Cincinnati Kid, The Appointment, Mackenna’s Gold, The Train, The Sons of Katie Elder and The Trouble with Angels while Man’s Favorite Sport has made a steady climb upwards.

(1) Waterloo (1970). No doubting the effect of Ridley Scott’s Napoleon in racketing up interest in this famous flop.
(2) Ice Station Zebra (1968). A complete cast overhaul and ground-breaking special effects are at the core of this filming of an Alistair MacLean tale.
(3) In Harm’s Way (1965). Otto Preminger black-and-white epic about Pearl Harbor and after.
(7) The Guns of Navarone (1961). Alistair MacLean again, setting up the template for the men-on-a-mission war picture with an all-star cast and enough production jeopardy to qualify for a movie of its own.
(6) The Satan Bug (1965). The problems facing director John Sturges in adapting the Alistair MacLean pandemic classic for the big screen.
(9) Man’s Favorite Sport (1964). Howard Hawks back in the gender wars with Rock Hudson and Paul Prentiss squaring off.
(4) Battle of the Bulge (1965). There were going to be two versions, so the race was on to get this one to the public first.
(5) Cast a Giant Shadow (1965). Producer Melville Shavelson wrote a book about his experiences and this and other material relating the arduous task of bringing the Kirk Douglas-starrer to the screen are told here.
(10) The Girl on a Motorcycle (1968). Cult classic starring Marianne Faithful and Alain Delon had a rocky road to release, especially in the U.S. where the censor was not happy.
(8) Sink the Bismarck! (1962). Documentary-style British WW2 classic with Kenneth More with the stiffest of stiff-upper-lips.
(11). Tora! Tora! Tora! (1970). Richard Fleischer dispenses with the all-star cast in favor of even-handed verisimilitude.
(New Entry) The Cincinnati Kid (1965). Once Sam Peckinpah was fired from the poker epic, Norman Jewison took over. Steve McQueen, Ann-Margret and Edward G. Robinson are top-billed.
(New Entry) The Trouble with Angels (1966). Hayley Mills causes trouble at a convent school where Rosalind Russell tries to rein her in.
(13). The Bridge at Remagen (1969). John Guillerman WW2 classic with George Segal and Robert Vaughn
(17). The Collector (1963). William Wyler’s creepy adaptation of John Fowles’ creepy bestseller with Terence Stamp and Samatha Eggar.
(New Entry) The Train (1964). Another director fired, this time Arthur Penn, with John Frankenheimer taking over in this cat-and-mouse WW2 struggle between Burt Lancaster and Paul Schofield.
(New Entry) The Appointment (1969). Sidney Lumet has his hands tied in Italian drama with Omar Sharif and Anouk Aimee.
(20) The Way West (1967). Kirk Douglas and Robert Mitchum face off in pioneer western.
(New entry) Mackenna’s Gold (1969). Producer Carl Foreman has his work cut out bringing home western Cinerama epic starring Gregory Peck and Omar Sharif.
(New entry) The Sons of Katie Elder (1965). Long-gestating Henry Hathaway western with John Wayne and Dean Martin as brawling brothers.