Artists and Models (Frank Tashlin, 1955)

Shirley MacLaine, Jerry Lewis, Dorothy Malone, Dean Martin in Artists and Models

Cast: Dean Martin, Jerry Lewis, Shirley MacLaine, Dorothy Malone, Eddie Mayehoff, Eva Gabor, Anita Ekberg, George Winslow, Jack Elam. Screenplay: Herbert Baker, Hal Kanter, Frank Tashlin, Don McGuire, based on a play by Michael Davidson and Norman Lessing. Cinematography: Daniel L. Fapp. Art direction: Tambi Larsen, Hal Pereira. Film editing: Warren Low. Music: Walter Scharf; songs: Jack Brooks, Harry Warren. 

Pushover (Richard Quine, 1954)

Kim Novak in Pushover

Cast: Fred MacMurray, Kim Novak, Philip Carey, Dorothy Malone, E.G. Marshall, Allen Nourse. Screenplay: Roy Huggins, based on novels by Thomas Walsh and Bill S. Ballinger. Cinematography: Lester White. Art direction: Walter Holscher. Film editing: Jerome Thoms. Music: Arthur Morton.

Pushover is a noirish cops-and-robbers movie that gave Kim Novak her first big role -- the only reason some people remember it. But it's a good deal better than that bit of trivia would suggest -- a well-paced, well-acted film that begins with a skillfully directed bank robbery, played entirely without dialogue. Then it cuts to mink-clad Lona McLane (Novak) coming out of a movie theater -- Pushover was made for Columbia, so the posters and marquee titles are those of 1954 Columbia releases. She finds that her car won't start, but a guy (Fred MacMurray) offers to help, then takes her back to his apartment while it's being repaired. They hit it off immediately and begin an ongoing affair. It turns out that their meeting is a set-up: The guy, Paul Sheridan, is a cop, and Lona is the mistress of one of the bank robbers, Harry Wheeler (Paul Richards), who killed a bank guard making his getaway. Sheridan is part of a team staking out Lona's apartment -- which they can see into from another apartment across a courtyard -- in expectation that she'll make contact with Wheeler. But Sheridan is a bad cop, and he soon enlists Lona in a plot to double-cross Wheeler and take the loot from the robbery. It's this dual role -- cop and robber -- that generates much of the film's suspense, as things go wrong, one by one, with their plans and Sheridan has to keep coming up with alternate plans to foil the cops with whom he is supposed to be working. One of the complications involves the occupant of the apartment next to Lona's, a nurse, Ann Stewart (Dorothy Malone), whom Sheridan's partner, Rick McAllister (Philip Carey), begins watching through his binoculars more avidly than he does the real object of the surveillance. The voyeurism in Pushover is reminiscent of Hitchcock, and though that master might have made a richer film of the material, Richard Quine does a good job of it.

Written on the Wind (Douglas Sirk, 1956)

Lauren Bacall, Rock Hudson, and Robert Stack in Written on the Wind

Mitch Wayne: Rock Hudson
Lucy Moore Hadley: Lauren Bacall
Kyle Hadley: Robert Stack
Marylee Hadley: Dorothy Malone
Jasper Hadley: Robert Keith
Dan Willis: Robert J. Wilke
Biff Miley: Grant Williams
Dr. Cochrane: Edward Platt

Director: Douglas Sirk
Screenplay: George Zuckerman
Based on a novel by Robert Wilder
Cinematography: Russell Metty
Art direction: Robert Clatworthy, Alexander Golitzen
Set decoration: Russell A. Gausman, Julia Heron
Film editing: Russell F. Schoengarth
Costumes: Bill Thomas
Music: Frank Skinner

In All That Heaven Allows (1955) and Imitation of Life (1959), Douglas Sirk demonstrated his unsurpassed skill with the "woman's picture," centered on the problems women face in trying to conform to society's demands. But in Written on the Wind, Sirk delivered an essential twist on the genre: a woman's picture about men. There may be no keener exploration of impotence than this portrait of the inability of Rock Hudson's Mitch Wayne and Robert Stack's Kyle Hadley to live up to the concept of masculinity. Kyle is the more obvious example of the problem: He is so terrified that he's sterile that when his wife, Lucy, becomes pregnant, he turns on Mitch, his best friend, accusing him of impregnating her. Granted, he's tricked into this by his malicious sister, Marylee (Dorothy Malone), who is taking her revenge on Mitch for spurning her advances. But this also brings into focus Mitch's problem: Everyone -- Marylee, Lucy, and, yes, Kyle -- is in love with him, and he can't satisfy all of them and remain true to himself. He has been set up by Kyle's father (Robert Keith) as a kind of model of masculinity -- a rags-to-riches success story -- so Kyle, who has never known anything but riches, both admires and resents him. No wonder Mitch wants to escape from the turmoil of the Hadley household and go to work in Iran. Seething under all of this psychodrama is a subtext we now know in greater detail: Hudson's secret life as a gay man. It's reasonably sure that Sirk, who boosted Hudson's career, elevating him into a major star, knew about the actor's off-screen life, so Written on the Wind has grown in stature over the years as one of those films in which a star's personal life deepens a character's backstory. As usual, Sirk and cinematographer Russell Metty provide a rich Technicolor environment for the story, with a masterly use of visually metaphoric shadows and (as in the still above) reflections. Sirk also made the most of the Universal art department, crafting a milieu of excess and sometimes dubious taste for the Hadleys: Notice the array of bottles and geegaws on the dresser in that image. And Bill Thomas's costuming, including some retina-burning reds and oranges for bad girl Marylee, contrasting with muted tones for good girl Lucy, is almost eloquent in what it says about the characters. Written on the Wind is usually cited as a precursor of those 1980s prime-time soaps about the superrich, Dallas and Dynasty, but Sirk gives it more edge and wit than they ever showed.

The Tarnished Angels (Douglas Sirk, 1958)

Rock Hudson and Dorothy Malone in The Tarnished Angels

Burke Devlin: Rock Hudson
Laverne Shumann: Dorothy Malone
Roger Shumann: Robert Stack
Jiggs: Jack Carson
Jack Shumann: Christopher Olsen
Matt Ord: Robert Middleton
Col. Fineman: Alan Reed
Sam Hagan: Alexander Lockwood

Director: Douglas Sirk
Screenplay: George Zuckerman
Based on a novel by William Faulkner
Cinematography: Irving Glassberg
Art direction: Alexander Golitzen, Alfred Sweeney
Music: Frank Skinner
Costume design: Bill Thomas

CinemaScope and black-and-white are an odd combination. The former was developed and premiered in 1953 as a way for exhibitors to give audiences something they couldn't find at home on their television sets, which were of course black-and-white. It was meant for color and spectacle, and hastened the making of films in color toward its now default status. But although Douglas Sirk was noted for his use of color, and although The Tarnished Angels has scenes that would have benefited from both color and the CinemaScope extra-wide screen, such as the Mardi Gras sequences and the airplane races, he chose to make the film in black-and-white. And it works: It imposes a kind of film noir chiaroscuro on the story, which could easily have devolved into yet another routine action melodrama. The Tarnished Angels was not well received by contemporary critics: Bosley Crowther in the New York Times called it "badly, cheaply written" and "abominably played." (It might be noted that Crowther wasn't paying too close attention to those abominable players: In his review he misidentifies Jack Carson as Jack Oakie.) Today, however, the film has benefited from the wholesale reevaluation of Sirk's oeuvre, and it feels like the work of a master, if one not always fully in control of his art. Sirk creates a shadowy milieu for the story of barnstorming pilots in the Depression, including the shabby interior of the apartment to which Devlin invites them. And there's a wonderfully creepy use of Mardi Gras masks as motifs. But is there any way to excuse the ridiculously fake and exploitative scene in which Dorothy Malone is forced to dangle from a parachute against a process screen while an unseen wind machine blows up her skirts? None, except to blame it on the insistence of producer Albert Zugsmith, who followed up this film with a series of exploitation flicks starring Mamie Van Doren, like High School Confidential (Jack Arnold, 1958) and Sex Kittens Go to College (Zugsmith, 1960). Otherwise, however, Sirk managed to steer clear of Zugsmith's bad taste. It's true that Rock Hudson is miscast as the alcoholic, chain-smoking Times-Picayne reporter Burke Devlin, a part that demands someone who can look less healthy and strapping than Hudson does. But in fact he gives one of his best performances, emphasizing Devlin's vulnerability. Sirk chose to use long takes in the scene in which Devlin delivers an impromptu eulogy to Roger Shumann in the newsroom, beginning drunkenly but gradually sobering as he warms to the topic. Hudson rises to the acting challenge beautifully. Malone doesn't allow the studio's determination to show off her legs to prevent her from also showing the weary, hard-bitten side of Laverne Shumann. Of the leads, I find Stack's performance the least satisfying: There's not enough ambiguity and conflict in Roger's decision to prostitute Laverne to Matt Ord so he can fly Ord's plane; as Stack plays him, Shumann just comes off as an irredeemably obsessive shit. The Tarnished Angels is based on Pylon, one of those William Faulkner novels I've never got around to reading, but Faulkner reportedly said it was his favorite among all the films that have been made from his works. That's not saying a lot, I fear: Faulkner has been sadly mishandled by filmmakers. But judging it purely as a study of characters enduring what life throws at them, a favorite Faulknerian theme, the film stands on its own.

Watched on Turner Classic Movies