CLEOPATRA 75th ANNIVERSARY EDITION (Universal) — Cecil B. DeMille’s incredibly lavish production of Cleopatra has never looked as good as it does on this beautiful DVD, mastered from the UCLA Film and Television Archive’s 35mm restoration. If you already have Universal’s Cecil B. DeMille Collection (released in 2006) you have the same transfer, which shows off Victor Milner’s cinematography, Travis Banton’s sexy costumes, and Hans Dreier and Roland Anderson’s elaborate sets to full advantage.

The bonus features on this disc include a brief review of DeMille’s career, including an interview with his granddaughter Cecilia DeMille Presley, an overview of pre-Code movies that also appears on the studio’s Pre-Code Hollywood Collection, and a superficial if celebratory look at the career of Claudette Colbert that has some good observations by such film experts as Richard Jewell and Patricia King Hanson but is disappointingly light on film clips. (It also repeats the story about Colbert only being shot from one side—a tale refuted in a viewing of Torch Singer, which appears in the Pre-Code set.)

The best reason to acquire, or rent, this DVD is to listen to F.X. Feeney’s perceptive remarks on the commentary track. Feeney rattles off the kind of background information you expect, but more importantly he makes cogent, original observations about DeMille’s staging, the actors’ performances, and how the screenplay strikes a middle ground between the Cleopatras dramatized by Shakespeare and Shaw.

PRE-CODE HOLLYWOOD COLLECTION (Universal) — Cheers to Universal for releasing six rarely-seen Paramount titles of the 1930s that haven’t been on home video before, in exquisite transfers from the original negatives. In years past I’ve seen most of these in museum or archive showings, often in 16mm, and they’ve never looked so good.

Not one of these titles could be called a classic, but each one has qualities that make it notable, or at least worth a look, and every film earns its “notorious” pre-Code status to some degree. Merrily We Go to Hell (1932) is a romantic drama that doesn’t amount to much but it’s got a dilly of an opening sequence, in a miniature rendering of Manhattan’s rooftops, and strong, sincere performances by Sylvia Sidney and Fredric March. Search for Beauty (1934) is the silliest of the bunch, with Buster Crabbe and Ida Lupino (in her bleach-blonde starlet period) as Olympic athletes who are exploited by scheming Robert Armstrong and his partner-in-crime James Gleason. (I hadn’t seen this film in thirty-five years but I’ve always remembered one dialogue exchange between Armstrong and cynical girlfriend Gertrude Michael. Fired up with a new cockeyed get-rich-quick scheme, Armstrong enthuses, “What’s the most sought-after thing in the country today?” Michael replies drily, “A medium-priced giraffe.”) The movie also features the “30 Winners in the International Beauty Contest, Chosen from England, Scotland, Ireland, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, Canada and The United States.”

Murder at the Vanities (1934) is a murder mystery set backstage at Earl Carroll’s Vanities. It’s a fascinating curio and one of those few pre-Code movies one might actually call smutty. Why, it’s got everything the Code was established to wipe off the screen: near-nudity, street slang (“nuts to you”), sexual innuendo, a song called “Sweet Marijuana” and a production number with the unfortunate title “The Rape of the Rhapsody.” The staging of those numbers by Larry Ceballos and Leroy Prinz is eye-popping, both in its creativity (a bevy of chorines lying supine on the stage, brandishing ostrich-feather fans, is made to simulate waves on the ocean) and in its leering of female flesh. The cast is led by Jack Oakie, Victor McLaglen, romantic leads Carl Brisson (who introduces “Cocktails for Two”) and Kitty Carlisle, and such supporting favorites as Gertrude Michael, Jessie Ralph, Toby Wing, Gail Patrick, and Dorothy Stickney. Duke Ellington and his Orchestra show up for one number, dressed in white tie and tails, and there’s a lovely featured spot for one of my all-time favorite character men, Charles Middleton (Ming the Merciless) as—of all things—a ham actor. Director Mitchell Leisen even gives himself a cameo as the show’s conductor in the orchestra pit.

Torch Singer (1933) is a lavishly-mounted soap opera with Claudette Colbert having a child out of wedlock, giving it up for adoption, then leaving that life behind as she becomes a scandalous nightclub chanteuse. Colbert’s singing voice is passable but makes it clear why she didn’t star in musicals, though she “sells” the movie’s keynote song, “Give Me Liberty or Give Me Love” by Leo Robin and Ralph Rainger. (Rainger even turns up on camera as a pianist in one scene.)

Hot Saturday (1932) was a favorite of William K. Everson’s, and I first saw it ages ago when he screened it at the New School in Manhattan. It’s a modest film but awfully interesting on several counts: the winsome Nancy Carroll, whose career was on the downturn, is surrounded by two young leading men who were just beginning theirs, Cary Grant and Randolph Scott. (Carroll even takes second billing to newcomer Grant.) The supporting cast is well-chosen and features Edward Woods, Lilian Bond, William Collier, Sr., Jane Darwell, and my old favorite Grady Sutton. It was shot largely on location, in an unnamed small town just like the one it depicts, and at beautiful Lake Arrowhead. The film’s underscore is a virtual medley of tunes from that year’s Paramount musicals One Hour With You and Love Me Tonight, and there’s a catchy new song, “Burning For You,” by Sam Coslow and Arthur Johnston that isn’t cited in the credits and wasn’t even published. Best of all, the screenplay by the estimable Seton I. Miller (adapted by Josephine Lovett and Joseph Moncure March from a novel by Harvey Fergusson) captures the best and (mostly) worst aspects of small-town life, particularly the notion that everybody knows everybody else’s business. The reliable and underrated William Seiter maintains a light touch throughout this likable film.

The only one I haven’t had time to screen yet is the one I’ve never seen, the 1931 talkie remake of The Cheat starring Tallulah Bankhead. I hope to screen it soon and update this review. In the meantime, I encourage anyone who loves old movies to check out this well-priced DVD set. Incidentally, the cleverest bonus feature of the set is a reproduction of the actual 1934 Production Code manifesto. I wonder how many people have ever actually read it through?

PINOCCHIO: 70th ANNIVERSARY PLATINUM EDITION (Walt Disney Home Entertainment) — It’s a pleasure to report that everything about the new DVD release of Walt Disney’s Pinocchio is first-class. That includes the breathtaking restoration and the bonus features that fill a second disc. (I can’t review the commentary track because I’m on it, along with animator Eric Goldberg and Disney historian JB Kaufman, but I can tell you we had a great time recording it. You even get to see us in the BluRay “Cinexplore” picture-in-picture version, along with several great Disney artists who talk about the film in archival interview excerpts.)

What impresses me most is the effort that EMC West put into its lengthy historical feature about the making of this landmark feature (and yes, I’m one of the interviewees, but my contribution is minor). I learned things I never knew, and felt the same sense of discovery as I perused the well-produced materials on sequences that were planned for the film and then deleted. Even the unearthing of live-action reference footage shot by and for the animators is more extensive than I’d seen before, and better contextualized.

I wish the default function of the DVD didn’t encourage families and kids to watch Pinocchio in a rectangular format. I don’t think it would harm children’s minds if they learned that older films didn’t look the same as modern ones, but I seem to be in the minority on that point. What really matters is that you can easily adjust the format to 1:33.

GASOLINE ALLEY AND FRIENDS (VCI/Kit Parker Films) — I’ve always been curious about the two films Columbia Pictures derived from Frank King’s long-running comic strip in 1951. They were written and directed by two-reel comedy veteran Edward Bernds (who had performed similar chores on the studio’s Blondie series) but they’ve been out of circulation since their original release. In his continuing effort to untie the legal knots surrounding such properties, Kit Parker has now made them available in a two-disc set, in sparkling copies from the original negatives.

The most striking thing about the first Gasoline Alley film is how it attempts to capture the gentle spirit of the comic strip—and how little it resembles a typical Columbia comedy. There is no slapstick whatsoever; it’s what used to be called a “domestic comedy,” with durable character actor Don Beddoe as the kindly, philosophical Walt Wallet, Jimmy Lydon as his adopted son Skeezix (now grown up) and Scotty Beckett as his kid brother Corky. The other key roles are nicely filled by Madelon Mitchel as Walt’s wife Phyllis, Patti Brady as tomboyish daughter Judy, and Susan Morrow as Corky’s new bride Hope. The story is fairly simple: Skeezix is settled in his auto repair business but Corky hasn’t embarked on a career yet. When he impulsively decides to take over a rundown diner, his brother lends him the money he needs—although everyone warns him that it’s awfully risky going into the restaurant business.

What makes the movie fun to watch, especially if you’re a fan of two-reel comedies, is how the director finds parts for so many short-subject veterans including Gus Schilling, Dick Wessel, Christine McIntyre, and Helen Dickson, not to mention such familiar faces as Byron Foulger, Charles Halton, Charles Williams, and Murray Alper. (The ubiquitous Emil Sitka gets his moment to shine in the second film, Corky of Gasoline Alley.)

I talked to Ed so many times over so many years that I wish he were here right now so I could learn more about this series, which was aborted after just two installments. The second feature is radically different from the first and I can’t help but wonder if it was planned that way or if it came about because someone—perhaps a Columbia executive —demanded a broader type of comedy. It seems as if all the money that was saved on stuntmen and special rigging in the first episode was spent on the second. Even more curiously, the second feature plays as if it’s the third or fourth installment in the series: Skeezix suddenly has two children, and the story is driven by the arrival of an obnoxious cousin of Hope’s (well played by Gordon Jones) who comes for a short stay and then won’t leave. Jones’ harebrained schemes lead to a variety of slapstick disasters, relegating the family members to “straight men.” (Patti Brady does such a good job as teenage Judy that I wonder why her career came to a halt after these two pictures.)

I can’t label the Gasoline Alley movies as major cinematic discoveries, but I thoroughly enjoyed watching them and filling in that gap in my knowledge of movies derived from popular comic strips. If you have a fondness for that branch of pop culture—or if you’re an avid follower of B movies and two-reel comedies—you ought to give them a try. (As for the other comedy features that fill out these DVDs, the William Tracy-Joe Sawyer military series—represented here by As You Were and Mr. Walkie Talkie—may have its followers, but a Sid Melton double-feature—Stop That Cab and Leave It to the Marines—will send any rational person running from the room.)

THE LOST & FOUND RKO COLLECTION (Turner Classic Movies/TCM Vault Collection) - For years my curiosity was piqued by a handful of titles that were plucked from the RKO library and salted away by Merian C. Cooper, who for a brief time was executive in charge of production at the studio. These six titles reportedly appeared on New York television in the 1950s but went back into Cooper’s vault after that. Fortunately he was wise enough to transfer the original 35mm negatives to safety film decades ago, and the original materials wound up alongside his extensive collection of papers and memorabilia at Brigham Young University in Utah. Prints of some titles were screened over the past decade at Cinefest in Syracuse, New York, revealing that there were no forgotten classics in the group—but they were still worth seeing for anyone who loves movies of the 1930s.

Last year the good folks at Turner Classic Movies arranged to screen all six titles and bring them back to a wide and appreciative audience. Now they’ve gone one step further and released them on DVD with a variety of extras, including a brief but informative interview with film historian Rudy Behlmer about the Cooper collection and a welcome array of original photos, behind-the-scenes stills, posters and pressbooks. (The pressbooks can also be downloaded as pdf files on your computer.) The Stingaree disc includes an enjoyable excerpt from a 1975 interview with director William Wellman, who discusses his early life and career—but not the film at hand. It’s also great fun to listen to Garson Kanin on the disc of A Man to Remember. A professional wordsmith, he speaks with precision and gentle humor about his experiences in Hollywood but doesn’t talk about the hoopla that surrounded this particular film, which marked his directing debut.

As for the films themselves: Rafter Romance (1933) is a likable-enough romantic comedy starring Ginger Rogers and leading man (and later director) Norman Foster as boarding-house neighbors who wind up sharing an apartment: she spends her evenings there while he rests during the day and vice versa. RKO thought it was sturdy enough material to recycle as a B movie in 1937, Living on Love, starring James Dunn and Whitney Bourne.

Stingaree (1934) was one of RKO’s lamentable attempts to find a Richard Dix vehicle that would match the success of the 1930 Oscar winner Cimarron. Here again he plays a larger-than-life character named Stingaree who, despite his notoriety as an outlaw, falls in love with a would-be opera singer (Irene Dunne). It’s a handsome production that does give Dunne an opportunity to sing several undistinguished songs, but even a director as skillful as Wellman couldn’t enliven a lumbering screenplay. Dix could be delightful when he played naturalistically, but in these overblown sagas he adopts a grandiose manner that seems positively antiquated.

Double Harness (1934) is a sophisticated comedy-drama about a purposeful woman (Ann Harding) who traps wealthy William Powell into marriage and then tries to win him over romantically. It’s not hard to recognize that this was based on a play, but director John Cromwell does a capable job with two trusted stars.

My favorite film of the lot is One Man’s Journey (1933), a sentimental story about a small-town doctor (Lionel Barrymore) who sacrifices his own happiness for the sake of the people in his community—although they scorn him and take him for granted. Joel McCrea plays Barrymore’s son, who vows to make good in the city and leave small-town life behind. Frances Dee and Dorothy Jordan (soon to be Mrs. Merian C. Cooper) costar in this deeply-felt drama that’s built on the rock-solid foundation of Lionel Barrymore’s performance in the lead. It’s amazing how much plot and character development a studio movie could pack into just 72 minutes back in the 30s; it’s a lesson that today’s filmmakers could stand to learn.

RKO knew how good the movie was and trotted it out again as a property for its hot “wonder boy” director Garson Kanin in 1938. A Man to Remember tells the exact same story (in 79 minutes) but sacrifices a bit because it was made so quickly and inexpensively. The cast isn’t bad, but while Edward Ellis is a stalwart character actor he’s no Lionel Barrymore. Still, A Man to Remember was greeted as a sleeper in 1938 and received a surprising amount of critical attention for a B movie off the RKO assembly line. Unfortunately the original negative no longer exists, and all we have is a print with Dutch subtitles and insert shots; still, we’re lucky to have that.

Old-movie buffs are always on the lookout for discoveries from the past, and while these six films don’t fill any particular gap in our knowledge of the 1930s it’s still great to have them back in circulation. TCM deserves our thanks for all the wonderful work they do on behalf of movie lovers. For more information on these films, including information on ordering, visit this TCM site.

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I write everything you read on this site, for better or worse, and I am grateful to the video distributors who submit DVDs for review purposes. The folks at Acorn Media have faithfully sent me all of their British television series over the past few years and—to my regret—I have never had time to watch a single one. However, my wife Alice and my associate Darwyn Carson have become Acorn junkies! I thought it only fair and proper to let them weigh in on these exceptional DVD offerings. L.M.

IN PRAISE OF ACORN MEDIA

MIDSOMER MURDERS, REBUS, FORTYSOMETHING, THE GRAND — By Alice P. Maltin — You don’t have to be an Anglophile to enjoy the fruits of this company’s DVD releases, but in all fairness, I must warn you that their mystery series can be addictive. I speak from personal experience. So, sit in a comfortable chair by the hearth with a cup of tea and I’ll tell you my story…

I spend an hour a day on my recumbent stationary bike. I know: you’re not supposed to admit that you review shows in this manner but I need intelligent, engrossing and entertaining material to stay focused and ignore my fatigue. Well, thanks to Acorn Media I’m in the best health of my life. Watching their episodic shows is like reading a good book that makes you want to come back day after day.

I’m not a crime-series junkie but Midsomer Murders is delightful in a murderously charming way. The beautiful, quaint English countryside is soothing until the ghastly murders begin…and then they keep coming.All are solved in good time by the quietly courteous and efficient Detective Chief Inspector Tom Barnaby. John Nettles, a longtime English favorite, is new to this Anglophile, but I got hooked and watched the entire series (consisting of many volumes). I can’t wait for more—and Acorn has just obliged with a new anthology.

Rebus is about an Edinburgh detective (Ken Stott) with unorthodox methods. I began watching this one because I love Scotland and thought I’d give it a try. Again, I became addicted to the story of a tough, hard drinking cop who fights crime and his bureaucratic by-the-book bosses. This series is well worth your time and if you don’t find Ken Stott sexy—well, I can’t help you.

Now that we Americans have discovered Hugh Laurie (on House), here’s an opportunity to see all of him (and I do mean all of him) in Fortysomething. He plays a doctor with a beautiful and understanding wife and a houseful of kids. Those of us who enjoy House will wonder where his American accent went. By Jove, he is British after all, and watching this series is a guilty pleasure. (Please don’t tell my husband.)

I dove into The Grand, the complete collection because I watched Susan Hampshire way back when she starred in The Forsyte Saga, the granddaddy of all British dramatic miniseries. It was first shown in the U.S. on PBS’s Masterpiece Theater and I watched it when I was a teenager. Thus began my obsession with all things British. The Grand deals with an opulent hotel in Manchester, England, during the 1920s. It’s an interesting and entertaining soap opera because it deals with the class system and the rumblings of change coming to post-World War I Britain.

My hour is up and I’ll check the mail for new arrivals from Acorn. Cheerio.

THE LAST DETECTIVE and THE COMMANDER (Acorn Media) — Reviewed by Darwyn Carson

Right off, I admit there’s a soft spot in my heart for British-produced mysteries and dramas. The Last Detective is right at the top of my fav’s list. This lighthearted BBC TV-fare, based on the Dangerous Davies novels by Leslie Thomas, escaped my attention until last year after Acorn released season four on DVD. I watched it all in one weekend and wanted more. Lucky me: Acorn is distributing the entire series in one package (17 episodes) and I get to see how Detective Constable Dangerous Davies came to be Dangerous—he is not—from the very beginning. What a treat!

Peter Davison stars as Davies, a forty-something man on the fast-track to nowhere in the township of Wimbledon, England. Estranged from his wife, denigrated behind his back and to his face by his cohorts, Davies is given nothing but scut work by his direct superior who, straight-out, tells Davies that if an assignment is important he will be the last detective to be sent out. If the assignment is unimportant Davies will be the first. Poor Davies seems appreciated only by his lumbering St. Bernard and an occasional local miscreant. He just might be the nicest man north of London: the opposite of aggressive, only too willing to let bygones be. But Davies is not a stupid man. His on-target detective’s intuition, along with his determination to pursue that which is right, thankfully begins to play out in his favor. Even his coworkers—grudgingly, at first—give him his hard-won due.

The Last Detective could be just another detective series but gets a fresh lift from creative writing (Thomas has written several episodes himself) and an excellent ensemble of actors. The episodes are full of inventive characters who spout the most unbelievably rude things! The storylines meander a bit, but I like this series and Peter Davison, who brings Davies to life with just the right blend of pathos and wit. By the way, Sean Hughes, well known in Britain’s comedic circles, portrays Mod Lewis, Davies’ closest mate; the interchanges between these two are delightful. Included in the Special Features is an unexpected bonus: the original 1981 Dangerous Davies movie starring Bernard Cribbins as Davies and Bill Maynard as Mod.

As for The Commander, nothing’s quite as sticky as the tangled webs spun by writer-producer Lynda La Plante, who consistently delves past the point of comfort when weaving plotlines or creating characters to populate her crime-solving worlds. She is best-known to American audiences for her darkly-textured Prime Suspect series. At her plot’s core a powerful female protagonist usually resides. In Prime Suspect it was the strong, complicated DCI Jane Tennison, a role Helen Mirren sank her teeth into with an intensity that created a buzz about her and turned the series into a first-rate hit.

Not unsurprisingly, La Plante has done it again this time using Amanda Burton (Dr. Sam Ryan in Silent Witness) in the lead role of Commander Clare Blake. With her appointment as head of the Murder Review Team, Blake becomes the highest-ranking female officer at the New Scotland Yard. The old boy’s network, set against her from the outset, creates an arena rampant with multi-layered, double crossing mis-directions that never let up. Ever. La Plante even creates a wickedly intricate counterpart for Burton’s character in the two-hour pilot. Hugh Bonneville, playing against type, is cast as a charismatic, wrongly convicted serial killer of woman. I found myself squirming in my chair, more than once, thinking it impossible for Commander Blake to steer herself out of a maze so replete with devilish traps.

And Blake herself is no angel; all of La Plante’s character’s, hero and villain alike, are always authentic, fully-flawed and struggling. It would be a letdown if there were a lack of consequences or easy outs for questionable behavior. La Plante doesn’t let us down, somehow managing to open paths where there were none for her people and tying up loose ends—and sometimes not. In the end we’re left panting until she winds us up again in the ensuing episode. Hang on to your hats for this series. “Bumpy” just begins to describe the ride. The Commander, Set I is out on DVD now. I’m already prepping myself for season two.

More on the above titles can be found at www.acornmedia.com.

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FIVE (Sony Home Entertainment) — Arch Oboler’s little-seen Five (1951) is making a welcome if surprising debut on DVD. For some reason Sony has included it in the second round of its “Martini Movies” series along with such diverse fare as Gumshoe, Our Man in Havana, Getting Straight, and Vibes. How a daring, black & white, star-less independent production about the last five people on earth fits into this group is beyond me, but I’m not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Oboler made his reputation as one of the most original and outspoken writer-directors in the heyday of network radio in the 1930s and 40s. He dealt with ideas both weighty and whimsical and wasn’t always subtle, but his best scripts had extraordinary power. His forays into film production were less successful, on the whole, but never without interest. (For a good summary of his screen career check this posting.)

Having had his fill of compromises while working for a major studio (MGM) Oboler made Five a homegrown production top to bottom, executed with the help of film students and a talented cast of unknown actors. He even used his own Frank Lloyd Wright-designed home in Malibu as its primary location.

In the wake of so many subsequent post-apocalyptic dramas Five must be explored as a period piece, but since it deals with human interaction and not visual effects it holds up pretty well. A progressive thinker, Oboler includes a black man in his micro-universe—and being a realist, sees to it that one of his fellow survivors is a racist. Although the prose can run purple at times, Five remains a provocative drama that’s well worth a look.

CAVEMAN: V.T. HAMLIN AND ALLEY OOP (VCI Entertainment) — I cannot tell a lie: I never read Alley Oop when I was a kid, even though I remember its presence in the Sunday comics section. But because I admire the work of author and filmmaker Max Allan Collins I decided to explore this DVD, which he wrote and directed—and I’m glad I did.

The long-running caveman comic strip was the invention of an eccentric cartoonist and storyteller named V.T. Hamlin, whose work was widely admired by fans and aficionados like the late Will Eisner, who is interviewed here at length. Hamlin’s story is surprisingly interesting, and Collins has left no stone unturned in presenting the many facets of his life, work, and legacy. (His longtime assistant and successor, Dave Graue, also became his son-in-law, but they had a falling-out. It’s fortunate that Collins got Graue on camera before his untimely death in 2001.)

If you like comics history and/or popular culture I think you’ll find this hour-long program (and its copious bonus features) as enjoyable and enlightening as I did.

MICHAEL POWELL DOUBLE FEATURE: A MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH and AGE OF CONSENT (Sony) — At last! Movie lovers have waited for decades to add the 1946 Powell-Pressburger classic A Matter of Life and Death to their collections. The folks at Criterion have presented us with impeccable editions of such other gems as The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp, The Red Shoes, and Black Narcissus, but because the remake rights to A Matter of Life and Death (originally known in the U.S. as Stairway to Heaven) were sold some years ago it isn’t part of the same library. First its rights had to be untangled, then it had to be restored, and finally Sony had to be persuaded that it was worth releasing on DVD. The happy result is a beautiful copy of this memorable film with an eloquent on-camera introduction by Martin Scorsese and a knowledgeable commentary track by British film scholar Ian Christie.

If you’ve never seen A Matter of Life and Death you owe yourself that treat. Watch the opening scene, which begins in the heavens and then zeroes in on a fighter pilot in a burning plane that’s about to crash, and you’ll be hooked. Only Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger could have conceived such a bold, bracingly original fantasy rooted in the grim reality of war and its aftermath. It also addresses the question of what it means to be English—and how that Englishness relates to Americanism. There isn’t another film like it. The performances by David Niven, Kim Hunter, Roger Livesey (that glorious voice!), Marius Goring, and Raymond Massey are unforgettable, as is the haunting music score by Allan Gray. The use of Technicolor—and black & white—by master cinematographer Jack Cardiff is equally striking, with Powell and Pressburger exercising their individuality by depicting heaven in black and white and life on earth in color instead of the other way around!

Age of Consent is perhaps Michael Powell’s least-known film, and while it’s not in the same league as his classics of the 1940s it’s still worth seeing; this marks its welcome home video debut. (I was lucky enough to screen it some years ago because Kit Parker Films had a 16mm rental print!) It was Powell’s swan song, but it marked the screen debut of a talented young actress named Helen Mirren. Her willingness to appear naked was a notable asset to the project, a portrait of notorious Australian artist Norman Lindsay, well played by James Mason. (Sam Neill portrayed him in the 1994 movie Sirens.) Mirren provides a candid and charming interview on the new DVD, along with several of Powell’s collaborators who speak about the film with great affection.

MURNAU, BORZAGE AND FOX (20th Century Fox Home Entertainment) — I never, in my wildest dreams, thought a major studio would back an enterprise such as this: two great directors’ work for Fox Films in the silent and early-talkie era, accompanied by an ambitious feature-length documentary and two beautifully produced softcover books, all in one elaborate set. This unparalleled work of preservation and scholarship belongs in every film buff’s library, and if the price seems steep, please consider all you’re getting—and how miraculous it is that these films are being made available at all! I reveled in the opportunity to revisit Frank Borzage’s beautiful Street Angel, which I like even better than 7th Heaven, and marvel that I can refer to those DVDs any time I please.

More than thirty-five years ago, lifelong film buff Alex Gordon went to work at 20th Century Fox and set about digging through its vaults to see what survived. Fox suffered a devastating vault fire in its New Jersey depository in 1937 and for decades we were told that no films made prior to 1935 had survived. That did not account for 35mm studio vault prints, however, and Gordon found many of these. Some were in excellent condition, while others fell apart even as he struck 16mm reduction prints. (One such title, Harry Lachman’s charming Face in the Sky, starring Spencer Tracy, survives in the William K. Everson collection now housed at George Eastman House in Rochester, New York.)

Other key titles were preserved from negatives and positives by the Museum of Modern Art, UCLA Film and Television Archive, and other archives around the globe, working in cooperation with Fox. In recent years Fox’s preservation director Schawn Belston has performed heroic work, aided by digital technology that wasn’t available in the 1970s.

It is a joy to watch such silent gems as Lazybones (1925) with Charles “Buck” Jones, Lucky Star (1929) with Janet Gaynor and Charles Farrell, and City Girl (1930) with Farrell and Mary Duncan. They all feature newly-composed orchestral scores. I’ve always loved Will Rogers and it’s a treat to see how he works his charm, scarcely intimidated by the newfangled microphone, in his talkie debut They Had To See Paris (1929). The set also includes Borzage’s 1930 version of Liliom, which others would remake with greater success.

To Fox’s credit—and my astonishment—this collection is so thorough that it offers dual versions of many key titles. One can compare domestic and foreign releases versions of Murnau’s masterpiece Sunrise, and watch outtakes from the film made more than seventy years ago. There are part-silent and full-talkie editions of Frank Borzage’s Song o’ my Heart, a showcase for the glorious voice of Irish tenor John McCormack.

Some of Borzage’s early talkies (Bad Girl, Young America, After Tomorrow) have been derived from the sole surviving prints and contain occasional continuity splices. Rather than exclude them from this set Fox decided it was more important to offer them, warts and all. Frankly, they are such weak films that it’s hard to mourn the loss of a line here and there. Bad Girl, starring Sally Eilers and James Dunn, starts out strong with some juicy pre-Code banter, and has a handful of memorable moments, including a remarkably melancholy scene in a New York tenement hallway, but soon bogs down in mediocrity. (The film bears no relation to the spicy book by Vina Delmar and subsequent Broadway play that brought it notoriety.) Spencer Tracy is the only redeeming presence in Young America, a ham-handed story of poverty and juvenile delinquency. And the suffocating parents of young lovers Charles Farrell and Marion Nixon in After Tomorrow are so heinous they deserve a fate worse than nitrate combustion!

John Cork’s documentary is a shining example of how to bring film history to life, even though its subjects are long since gone. Using interviews with film scholars and family members, vintage trade-paper stories and newsreel footage, and excerpts from key movies, Cork traces the intersecting stories of movie mogul William Fox, filmmaker supreme F.W. Murnau, and lifelong movie man Frank Borzage with great skill and compassion. It expanded my knowledge and deepened my appreciation of all three men’s work.

As this country’s reigning scholar on the works of F.W. Murnau, UCLA professor Janet Bergstrom has written the text for the two beautifully illustrated books in this set, illuminating the trajectory of his career in the United States and the fate of his lost movie 4 Devils. The sumptuous reproduction of scene stills and production shots would justify these books’ existence even without Bergstrom’s knowledgeable text. And if she is somewhat dismissive of Frank Borzage’s work, especially in the sound era, that’s a minor quibble. (She does cite some fascinating material regarding censorship of Bad Girl.)

Given the expense of mounting this set I doubt that it will ever go back to press once existing copies are sold. If you care about film history you ought to own it... and we all ought to thank 20th Century Fox for making it available.

FORGOTTEN NOIR & CRIME: COLLECTION 4 (VCI Entertainment/Kit Parker Films) — I can’t explain my abiding fondness for B movies, but there is something inexplicably satisfying about watching a formula story when it’s executed with pizzazz and a dollop of originality. Kit Parker continues to dig up obscure and arcane titles for his VCI boxed sets and this one has its fair share of goodies along with some duds.

The title that interested me most in the set was Mr. District Attorney (1941), made by Republic Pictures but unseen since the underlying rights to Phillips H. Lord’s radio show were sold to Columbia in 1946. (That sale resulted in one of the worst Bs I’ve ever suffered through, in spite of a fine cast led by Adolphe Menjou. Even Columbia must have known it stank, as the prospective series it heralded never came to be. If you’re morbidly curious, it’s part of Forgotten Noir 3.) Like its remake, this film has virtually nothing to do with the long-running radio series. Studios repeatedly purchased these properties in order to lure audiences, then blithely ignored the characters and situations radio listeners were accustomed to hearing every week. Go figure.

In any case, this Mr. District Attorney turns out to be a bright, genuinely funny comedy with a crime story running through it. From the moment D.A. wannabe Dennis O’Keefe runs smack into ace reporter Florence Rice in the opening scene, Malcolm Stuart Boylan and Karl Brown’s screenplay never lets up with snappy patter and fresh ideas. Peter Lorre is pretty much wasted as a bad guy (he hasn’t many scenes, which means he must have commanded a decent salary for only a few days’ work) but, as if to compensate, Republic’s casting director worked overtime to stock the pond with familiar faces—from the always-reliable Stanley Ridges and Minor Watson in key supporting roles to such welcome players in bit parts as Grady Sutton, Ben Welden, Norma Varden and Tommy Cook. Director William Morgan spent most of his long career as a film editor but got a chance to spread his wings at Republic in the early 1940s and acquitted himself quite well, as least with this lively B.

Another, later Phillips H. Lord radio show, Counterspy, was turned into a short-lived series by Columbia in 1950, yielding just two features starring character actor Howard St. John as the government mastermind. David Harding, Counterspy appeared in Volume 3 of Forgotten Noir. Its follow-up feature, Counterspy Meets Scotland Yard, is part of this latest collection and it’s a diverting 67 minutes. Aussie Ron Randell plays a Scotland Yard agent sent to work with David Harding to discover the source of a leak exposing important government secrets to “the enemy.” A young, skinny, clean-shaven and almost unrecognizable John Dehner plays Harding’s number-one operative (and also provides the film’s opening narration—remember, he was primarily a radio actor at this time). Amanda Blake is well-cast as a secretary and concentration camp survivor (???) who’s being used as a dupe by a nefarious spy ring. I won’t reveal more; suffice it to say that the film is efficiently handled by director Seymour Friedman and spins a good yarn without wasting any time. You’ll recognize such B movie stalwarts as June Vincent, Gregory Gaye, John Doucette, Don Brodie, Rick Vallin, and Jack Rice (“Brother” from the Edgar Kennedy comedies) in supporting roles.

When one leaves the major studio movies behind for the independent efforts of exhibitor-turned-producer Robert Lippert the picture changes considerably. These are threadbare films that test the resourcefulness of its filmmakers—and the patience of its audiences, especially today. Treasure of Monte Cristo has the nerve to use that resonant name for a modern-day movie that has nothing whatsoever to do with Alexandre Dumas—except that its hero is named Ed Dantes, for reasons never explained. Oh, there’s an introductory scene to plant the idea of an ancient unclaimed treasure but believe me, the title is just a come-on.

Treasure of Monte Cristo was made entirely in San Francisco, both indoors and outdoors, in daylight and at night. This would seem to guarantee some degree of interest but only goes to prove that authentic locations don’t add up to much if they aren’t presented in a compelling dramatic context—as, for instance, in the following year’s D.O.A. Glenn Langan plays a sailor on shore leave who comes to the rescue of a damsel in distress (Adele Jergens, whom he later married in real life), which leads him to nothing but trouble. A worn-looking Michael Whalen plays the local D.A., Steve Brodie plays a crooked lawyer, and Sid Melton—from all evidence producer Lippert’s favorite comedian—has a glorified bit part as a delivery boy. I cannot tell a lie: I needed to use the fast-forward button to get through this 76-minute opus. It’s difficult to know whether to blame the script, by writer-producers Aubrey Wisberg and Jack Pollexfen, or hard-working Lippert director William Berke for the dreary doings. Radio dramas of the period spun this same kind of story with snap and crackle—and wrapped everything up in a half-hour.

On the other hand, Western Pacific Agent (1950), directed by B-movie workhorse Sam Newfield and written by Fred Myton—the man who gave us Nabonga and the Double Indemnity ripoff Apology for Murder—is surprisingly watchable, from its opening scenes in the skylight dome of a passenger train—with an unbilled Jason Robards, Sr. establishing the story framework—through the resolution of its juvenile-delinquent saga. Mickey Knox plays the bad egg whose father, storekeeper Morris Carnovsky, can’t bring himself to admit may be the cold-blooded killer railroad agent Kent Taylor is looking for. Sheila Ryan is the leading lady this time, with Robert Lowery in a surprisingly brief appearance (perhaps earning a quick paycheck from Lippert) and the ever-popular Sid Melton adding comedy relief.

Are the other titles on this set worth exploring? That depends on how adventurous you are—and how much you like B movie fixtures like Hugh Beaumont, Pamela Blake, Tom Neal, and Ralph Byrd. Bless ‘em all.

THE WICKED WIT OF THE WEST by Irving Brecher as told to Hank Rosenfeld (Ben Yehuda Press) — Virtually the last man standing from the era of vaudeville, radio comedy, and the Marx Brothers’ heyday, the screenwriter of Meet Me in St. Louis, and the creator of The Life of Riley, Irving Brecher had a long, amazing career, but he never gave serious thought to writing an autobiography. Then an ardent admirer named Hank Rosenfeld insinuated himself into the nonagenarian’s life, becoming a friend and confidant and wisely taking a tape recorder along every time he spoke to Brecher or accompanied him to an event. The result is an unconventional but entertaining book, full of great stories, wonderful show business memories, rants and salty opinions. (Told by Rosenfeld that I don’t credit writers in my Movie Guide—which is not entirely true—Brecher hurls a profanity in my direction.) It also offers a bittersweet portrait of old age, although Brecher refuses to surrender to sentiment. In one of their last conversations, Rosenfeld asks the 94-year-old what he would like as an epitaph. He replies, “Here lies Irv Brecher, who doesn’t recommend it.”

Brecher sold his first jokes to young, up-and-coming vaudevillian Milton Berle in the early 1930s, never dreaming that he could make a living as a writer. By the end of that decade he was under contract to MGM, where he crafted the scripts for two Marx Brothers movies, At the Circus and Go West, and formed a close, long-term friendship with Groucho. One of the joys of this book is its illustrations; there aren’t many but what’s there is cherce. Script pages from the Marx Brothers films show how Groucho’s dialogue was written and revised. Pictures bear witness to Brecher’s claim that he stood in at a hurried photo session for a stage tour of Go West—only to discover that his picture, in Groucho makeup, was reprinted for years to come as if it were the real Julius Marx. Another anecdote involving the writer and Jack Benny pulling a practical joke on director Mervyn LeRoy might seem like a tall tale if there weren’t photographic evidence to back it up.

If you love vintage show business, this book is a must-read. Prepare yourself for conversational detours, trips to the local deli, and a lot of anger over George W. Bush. And be ready to appreciate a man who never got the attention he deserved. (Irving Brecher died just as this book was going to press, late last year. He couldn’t have asked for a better testament to a life well lived.)

THE SILENT CINEMA IN SONG, 1896-1929: An Illustrated History and Catalog of Songs Inspired by the Movies and Stars, with List of Recordings by Ken Wlaschin (McFarland & Co.) — This book is right up my alley: I love silent movies, I collect sheet music related to films, and I’m fascinated with the way Tin Pan Alley songwriters chronicled the birth and growth of movies as part of our culture. Ken Wlaschin has captured all of that and more in this loving, well-informed, profusely illustrated volume. If you don’t already know “Take Your Girlie to the Movies” or “Since Sarah Saw Theda Bara,” this historical odyssey will open your eyes—and ears—to a wonderful world of clever lyrics, social trends, and savvy commercial exploitation. The book opens with a year-by-year chronology of the silent-film era, followed by an annotated listing of movie stars (and occasional filmmakers) citing the songs associated with them during their heyday. Did you know there was a song inspired by Thomas A. Ince’s epic Civilization? (I didn’t, either.) A survey of recordings and a bibliography round out this valuable book, which I’m sure I will consult for many years to come...but unlike some reference guides it’s also great fun to browse.

IWAO TAKAMOTO: MY LIFE WITH A THOUSAND CHARACTERS by Iwao Takamoto with Michael Mallory; Foreword by Willie Ito (University Press of Mississippi) — Mention the name of Iwao Takamoto to anyone who’s worked in the animation business over the past fifty years and you’re bound to get a smile and a story. Although he spent several decades at Hanna-Barbera as their chief character and production designer he started his career as a teenager at the Walt Disney studio in 1945 and worked alongside such legendary figures as Milt Kahl, Ward Kimball, Frank Thomas and Ollie Johnston.

Knowledgeable animation writer Michael Mallory helped Takamoto tell his life story, and fortunately for us, they finished just before Takamoto’s death in 2007. The book is highly readable but it’s also a valuable document for several reasons: we learn what it was like to grow up in the Little Tokyo section of Los Angeles in the 1930s, gain a vivid portrait of life at the Manzanar camp during World War Two, discover rich, wonderful anecdotes and observations about working at the Disney studio, and get an inside look at the m.o. of Hanna-Barbera when it was at its peak of production (along with intimate word pictures of both Bill Hanna and Joe Barbera).

Takamoto has a wonderful sense of humor and his book is an absolute delight. It’s also one of the richest autobiographies I’ve ever read by someone in the animation field.

REYNOLD BROWN: A LIFE IN PICTURES by Daniel Zimmer and David J. Hornung (Illustration Press) — Reynold Brown seldom received credit for his artwork on hundreds of movie posters in the 1950s and 60s, yet he created some of the most memorable images of that era, from the title characters in Creature from the Black Lagoon and Attack of the 50 Ft. Woman to remarkable portraits of such stars as Gregory Peck, James Stewart, Jane Wyman, and Kirk Douglas. He had a productive career before he started working on Hollywood movies (doing magazine illustrations and paperback covers) and after (as a fine artist who became renowned for his western paintings). This handsomely produced book provides an informative, personal biography of the man as well as a thorough chronicle of his work, including photos he used as reference, early sketches and layouts and finished pieces. Interviews with colleagues and family members provide a surprisingly personal view of a freelance artist’s life, with all of its slings and arrows. The pièce de resistance for movie buffs is a generous sampling of original artwork created for his movie campaigns, ranging from Audie Murphy westerns to Spartacus. Photographed directly from Brown’s meticulously detailed paintings (which, the authors point out, were usually degraded in the printing process) they are absolutely eye-popping and well worth the price. Order from the publisher's website.

ERROL FLYNN SLEPT HERE: The Flynns, the Hamblems, Rick Nelson, and the Most Notorious House in Hollywood By Robert Matzen and Michael Mazzone (Good Knight Books/Paladin Communications)

Just when you think every bit of Hollywood history and lore has been explored, along comes a book that’s inventive, surprising and impossible to put down. It exists because in 1987 and 88 the authors, independent of one another, visited Los Angeles and traveled to Mulholland Drive in the hope of seeing the home Errol Flynn designed and built. Each one made his way onto the property—one by dint of sheer nerve, the other waved in by unconcerned workmen—and shot photos, unaware that the house would soon be torn down. In the years since they have conducted an impressive amount of research into the history of the home and its owners over the years: Flynn, then songwriter/performer Stuart Hamblen, and finally Rick Nelson, whose sons have vivid memories of a place they found spooky.

The bulk of the book is devoted to Flynn, and presents a fresh, spirited yet even-handed biography of the actor with special emphasis on the years he spent planning, building, living and reveling in the place he referred to as a farm, spanning eight hilltop acres. In the main house the actor designed secret staircases, sliding panels, and famously, a two-way mirror in the ceiling of the guest room and another alongside a guest bathroom. The colorful text is accompanied by scores of rare and unusual photos, including publicity pictures from the 1930s and 40s and the color shots taken in the house’s final days.

This handsomely produced volume is the kind of book I intended to browse but wound up reading from cover to cover. It stands as a tribute to the authors’ enthusiasm and perseverance...but we who love stories of vintage Hollywood are the real beneficiaries.

MOVIE SPEAK: HOW TO TALK LIKE YOU BELONG ON A FILM SET by Tony Bill (Workman Publishing) — There are dictionaries and encyclopedias that explain the jargon of filmmaking (best boy, key grip, etc.) but none has approached this task with the humor and brio of veteran producer, director and actor Tony Bill. He not only has such up-to-date terms as Lewinskys (kneepads used by stuntmen—“a recent addition to the argot”) but he infuses his definitions with observations gleaned from hard-earned experience. After explaining that an “Abby Singer” is the next-to-last shot of the day, named for the legendary assistant director and unit production manager, he adds, “One caveat: a director can avoid embarrassment by making absolutely sure that the penultimate shot is indeed at hand before he confirms the Abby Singer, for if he reneges more than once or twice during a given production, it will be cause for behind-the-back mockery , if not open distrust. It is tantamount to lying to children or taking away their candy.” Another of this compact book’s assets is an array of witty illustrations by Katie and Peter Maratta.

JOSEPH P. KENNEDY PRESENTS: HIS HOLLYWOOD YEARS by Cari Beauchamp (Knopf) — I could exhaust a thesaurus finding words to describe this book: riveting...revelatory...succulent...jaw-dropping are all adjectives that come to mind. Beauchamp has put in years of painstaking research in order to tell, for the first time, the full story of Joseph P. Kennedy’s adventures in Hollywood during the 1920s and beyond. Although her account of his various takeovers and maneuvers is detailed it is never dull. As Betty Lasky, the daughter of movie pioneer Jesse Lasky, so aptly puts it, “Joe Kennedy was the first and only outsider to fleece Hollywood.” The man who later became America’s kingmaker, by putting his son in the White House, was years before a wheeler-dealer in Hollywood whose ability to bamboozle everyone from corporate boards to glamorous movie stars was unparalleled.

To even begin to comprehend his ruthlessness and chicanery in the business world—and his audacious behavior in private life—one must understand his background and the influences that shaped him. To that end, Beauchamp’s book is a full-fledged biography that follows Kennedy from his early years in Boston (where, as a Catholic in a Protestant-dominated city, he always felt like an outsider) through Harvard and then to the world of banking. She also describes his ardent courtship of Rose Fitzgerald (and the disapproval of her father, the fabled mayor of Boston known as Honey Fitz) and how the moment they finally wed he essentially abandoned her. This set a lifelong pattern in his relationships with women, whom he treated as conquests rather than human beings.

The ability to justify his behavior in any and all circumstances served him well in the accumulation of wealth. From the moment he set his sights on Hollywood he made sure to invest with other people’s money, not his own. That philosophy ran true from his dealings with Robertson-Cole (his first studio acquisition), F.B.O., First National, and Pathé, as well as the eventual formation of RKO Radio Pictures. At one time Kennedy had his fingers in four separate movie companies! (Only the self-made David Sarnoff, of RCA, saw Kennedy for what he was.) Even when he became smitten with Gloria Swanson he didn’t allow his libido to interfere with his business sense. He wound up bilking the star of untold thousands of dollars, even though at one point he spoke of marrying her.

Kennedy’s anti-Semitism is well-known, so reading how he was greeted upon his arrival in Hollywood as a “great white hope” by such influential men as Will Hays and trade-magazine editor Martin Quigley—when in fact he was employing business tactics that might have made the established moguls blush—is just one of the many ironies in this fascinating narrative.

It should come as no surprise that Kennedy was also a master of public relations and quite early in life began reinventing his life story, courting important members of the press, and setting the stage for decades of uncritical (if not downright ignorant) news coverage of his activities. Only later, when he was serving as the U.S. Ambassador to England and maintained a fierce isolationist stance in the days leading up to World War II, did any columnists and reporters have the temerity to cast aspersions on him.

If you think you already know the saga of Joe Kennedy, think again. Cari Beauchamp’s exhaustive combing of business files, public records, previously published works has yielded a bumper crop of new information, just as interviews with people who knew and worked for “the Old Man” have produced many rich, eyebrow-raising anecdotes. The beauty of Joseph P. Kennedy Presents is that it reads like the most scandalous fiction—yet it represents a work of imposing scholarship. I would call it a “must-read.”

HOLLYWOOD DREAMS MADE REAL: IRVING THALBERG AND THE RISE OF M-G-M by Mark A. Vieira (Abrams) — Mark Vieira’s name has become synonymous with handsome coffee-table books, but his credentials as a master photographer and photo archivist sometimes obscure his bona fides as a serious film researcher and historian. In his foreword to this beautiful volume he explains his fascination with Irving Thalberg and promises that this picture-and-text compilation is merely a prelude to an exhaustive biography of Hollywood’s legendary “boy wonder.” I don’t know how long we may have to wait for that magnum opus, but in the meantime, this book goes a long way toward examining the modus operandi behind the fabled film executive’s mystique.

Making abundant use of rarely-quoted interviews with longtime associates, unpublished manuscripts (including notes for Norma Shearer’s intended autobiography) and other sources, Vieira brings Thalberg to life in these pages. A voracious reader, the producer spent endless hours in story sessions with his staff writers and once made this revealing comment: “Directors realize only seventy-five percent of our scenarios, and while the audience never knows how much it has missed, I do.” Greta Garbo and John Barrymore filmed their scenes for Grand Hotel three times before Thalberg was satisfied. In 1930 he halted production on three features that he felt were completely beyond rescue.

As you’d expect, the photos that illustrate Vieira’s year-by-year chronicle of Thalberg’s tenure at MGM are exquisite, including portraits of Garbo, Lon Chaney, Joan Crawford, Norma Shearer, et al., set stills, production shots and more. There are even a pair of fascinating snapshots taken by Basil Rathbone on the set of Romeo and Juliet. A few selections can only be described as eccentric—like a shot from a Karl Dane-George K. Arthur silent comedy in which neither star appears. I suppose the author simply fell in love with the still and couldn’t resist using it here.

I learned more than I ever expected to from the text, and savored the beautifully-reproduced photos. This is unquestionably one of the premier film books of the season.

LANA: THE MEMORIES, THE MYTHS, THE MOVIES by Cheryl Crane and Cindy De La Hoz (Running Press) — I’ve become wary of coffee-table books devoted to great stars. Although they are usually handsome, too often they strike me as a product rather than a book, with text serving merely as filler between photographs. This volume is a notable exception. Not only is the writing compelling and informative, it’s personal, being the work of Lana Turner’s daughter (and coauthor Cindy De La Hoz). What’s more, every aspect of Turner’s life and career discussed in these pages is illustrated with ideally-chosen photographs from the vast collection of Lou Valentino, long acknowledged to be the world’s foremost Lana Turner aficionado.

The book is less a biography than a celebration of Lana, as Crane recounts her mother’s thoughts about stardom, marriage, makeup, jewelry, parties, nightclubs, friendships, pets, working at MGM, and of course the many men she dated (let alone married) over the year