I love good character actors…their light may be dimmed a bit by the Big Stars they support, but it burns, much like Polaris, the Northern Star, with smooth, dependable consistency.

And, since I love a good character actor, I’ve got a bit of a crush on our Islander guest, actor Richard Herd.  He’s been shinning brightly and consistently in films and on TV for decades, literally.  His credits, as listed on IMDB, are nothing short of astounding.

He’s been shinning brightly and consistently in film and on TV for decades.

He didn’t begin in Tinsel Town, however, but rather on the East Coast, where he worked in the theater.  I could tell you more, but I think the story is best related by Richard himself…here:

Richard’s abilities extend far beyond the big and small screen.  He writes poetry.  He paints pictures.

I trust our readers and listeners will enjoy hearing Richard’s picks for his deserted island DVDs.  In addition, I hope you will all take a moment to check out some of his other works…by following these links:

Valley Artists Guild, which hosts many of Richard’s paintings,

Vivia Gallery, another place to see Richard’s works,

and Richard’s own corner on the Internet, The Official Richard Herd Website.

Thank you, Richard, for allowing us to ship you off to our deserted island.  Enjoy your BBQ chicken!

Islander interview with Richard Herd, part one:

Islander interview with Richard Herd, part two:

Companion piece to the Dogville Shorts review in Cinema Misfits, episode 18.  For those who doubted such a series could exist, go ahead and stare in disbelief and wonder at the stills and clips.  And for those who just can’t get enough of Dogville (and you know who you are, even if you won’t admit it), we offer Nancy’s appreciation of the series.

Ah, the Dogville Shorts.  I clearly recall stumbling across one of these gems on a hot summer afternoon about ten years ago.  It was quietly tacked on the end of a TCM film offering, and when it appeared, unbeknownst and unexpected by me, my first reaction was unmitigated incredulity.  Was it the heat, I pondered.  Was I dreaming?  Did I need to adjust my medication?  Or could this be real…dogs of all shapes, sizes, genders, and breeds, dressed as humans, acting out parodies of popular film genres?

Real it was, and real they are.  While film preservationists may mourn the miles and miles of celluloid treasures lost over the decades, at least the Dogville series has survived.  Whether that survival signifies good or evil depends upon individual taste (or, perhaps, lack of it).  I, for one, love them for any number of reasons, including their role in cinema history, the crazy productions, and their sheer silliness.  Oh, and the dogs!

Produced at the dawn of the sound era, the Dogville films, through their very existence, reflect the insatiable appetite filmgoers at the time had for talking pictures.  That’s clear enough from the films’ tagline, “All Barkies” (a play on the era’s ubiquitous “All Talkie” promotional slogan).

In 1929, MGM hired two second-string directors, Jules White (who now lives in infamy as the producer and director of the scores of Three Stooges movies) and Zion Myers to turn this oddball conception into a reality.  White and Myers usually shared directorial credits and provided many of the voices for the canine stars.

Ironically, these shorts are, in one way, actually more watchable than many of the features of the day as the “actors” voices, and all other sounds, were dubbed, freeing the four-footed thespians from the movement restrictions that sound enforced on their two-legged contemporaries.  They fly airplanes, drive cars, fight wars, go to nightclubs…all with a freedom of movement human actors on film had to wait years for.

There are those who might demur at the viewing of these shorts, and that’s understandable.  Dogs don’t usually walk upright and wear waistcoats and evening gowns.  Clearly, there are times when wires and harnesses are involved in order to achieve the onscreen antics of these pups.  Nevertheless, I think it’s highly doubtful that the canines are mistreated.  After all, they were obviously trained animals, and were therefore valuable assets both to their owners and the filmmakers.  Their mistreatment at the hands of White and Myers or anyone on the crew would have been senseless.  These pups were their bread and butter–or kibbles and bits, as it were.  Perhaps that’s a naive assumption to make, but I’m willing to make it.

I’ve been a dog lover all my life, and have seen scores of hounds who have, by virtue of negligent ownership or lack of any ownership at all, suffered far more than any of the celluloid pooches in this series could have.  In addition, there is currently at least one Great Dane out there who is forced to live with the indignity of being featured in this summer’s atrocious Marmaduke.  Now that’s a form of animal cruelty that no one can justify.

The entire Dogville Collection is now available through Warner Brother’s Archive Collection

Here’s Carleton with Debbie Reynolds (in her film debut) in a number from the MGM musical Three Little Words (1950).  Check out the podcast to hear Carleton discuss his Islander film choices as well as his career during the golden age of the Hollywood musical.

Podcast episodes 17 and 18 feature an Islander interview with film and stage star Carleton Carpenter

Lee Patrick

In its heyday, Hollywood showcased dozens upon dozens of wonderful character actresses.  As with their male counterparts, most of them fell into “types,” roles for which they were well suited and extremely competent and reliable. Looking for a ditzy dame? Call upon Joyce Compton (The Awful Truth [1938], Christmas in Connecticut [1945]) or Barbara Nichols (Sweet Smell of Success [1957], Pal Joey [1957]). Need a high-toned, fussy society woman? Get in touch with Florence Bates (Heaven Can Wait [1943], The Devil and Miss Jones [1941]) or Edna May Oliver (Ann Vickers [1933], Pride and Prejudice [1940]). Want the ultimate kind, gentle, and understanding mother? Look no further then Fay Bainter (Young Tom Edison[1940], The Human Comedy [1943]) or, if the child in question is Jimmy Stewart, Beulah Bondi (Stewart’s onscreen mother in a record four films: Vivacious Lady[1938], Of Human Hearts [1938], Mr. Smith Goes to Washington [1939], and It’s a Wonderful Life [1946]).

And that’s fine. It’s the way it should be. As an audience, we look to these women to fulfill a specific role with great competence and gentle dignity (yes, even the ditzy dames).

What we don’t often see is the onscreen growth from one type of character into another. And another. But that’s exactly the sort of metamorphosis that character actress Lee Patrick achieved throughout the course of her long tenure as a bona fide character actress in Tinsel Town.

Patrick was born in New York in 1901, the daughter of a trade paper editor. Thanks to him, her interest in the theatrical arts was sparked, and, by the age of 21, she had snagged a role as a part of the ensemble cast in the Broadway review The Bunch and Judy. The leads? Fred Astaire and his sister, Adele. Not a bad place to start. Over the next decade, she would become something of a fixture on the Broadway stage, appearing in 26 productions including a co-staring role (and off-stage romance) with future film great Humphrey Bogart in Baby Mine (1927) and the lead role in the smash hit Stage Door (1936).

The prospect of starring in the 1937 RKO film adaptation of Stage Door ultimately lured Patrick to Hollywood, but her hopes were dashed when the studio demurred from taking a chance on a newcomer and ultimately rearranged the cast list and chose to spotlight the talents of Ginger Rodgers and Katherine Hepburn as the leads. To be fair, at the age of 38, Patrick’s ingénue days in Hollywood were well behind her. She wasn’t graced with leading lady looks at this point, although she did have a set of amazing cheekbones that would serve her well in front of the camera for years to come. However, even as an “older women” her dreams of mega-movie stardom were quelled when she lost out on the title role in Stella Dallas (1937) to slightly younger and more bankable leading lady, Barbara Stanwyck.

There were more disappointments to come. Patrick’s husband, writer and journalist Thomas Wood, penned a frank and unflattering piece about Hollywood gossip columnist Louella Parsons. According to conventional wisdom, the powerful Parsons fought back by using her considerable influence to keep Patrick stuck mostly in B pictures.

Lee Patrick as Effie lights one up for her boss, Sam Spade (Humphrey Bogart) in The Maltese Falcon.

Despite her feud with Parsons, Patrick had a long and successful career as a character actress, and over the course of three decades, appeared in scores of movies and television shows. In her performances, Patrick displayed a versatility that was rare even among the most gifted character actors. Three films in particular illustrate her range. In the first, The Maltese Falcon (1941), Patrick portrays Effie, the reliable and quick-witted Girl Friday of detective Sam Spade (Humphrey Bogart). Her onscreen time is brief, but in it, she matches Bogart in snappy banter and adds just the right amount of brightness to a film cloaked in murder, deceit, and the fog of San Francisco.

Patrick uses all her tricks to lure a fellow inmate into her web of vice in Caged.

Throughout the 1940s, Patrick appeared on screen steadily, albeit mostly in second-tier films. There were a few supporting roles in A movies thrown into the mix, such as Now, Voyager (1942), Mildred Pierce (1945), and The Snake Pit (1948). Then, in 1950, she portrayed Elvira Powell, the “vice queen” sentenced to serve some time in lockdown in director

John Cromwell’s Caged, celebrated as the first bona fide entry into the genre of women’s prison films. Patrick doesn’t appear until well into the movie’s second act, but her impact is immediate and unforgettable. Filmgoers who knew her as Sam Spade’s helpful assistant would be excused for not recognizing her here. Her portrayal of a steely and resourceful incarcerated madam, bent on recruiting soon-to-be-paroled prisoners to work for her on the outside, deftly skirts campiness as her character cooly plots the ultimate downfall of two fellow inmates; first, the leader of her cellblock whose position she ruthlessly usurps, and second, the once naive heroine who finally succumbs to Elvira’s seductive bribes. It is a nuanced performance in a sub-genre where that term is seldom, if ever, used.

Patrick (left) as Doris Upson, uses all her charms to welcome Rosalind Russell to the bucolic suburban life in Auntie Mame.

In the 1950s, Patrick successfully found her way into television, and was celebrated for her portrayal as the scatterbrained wife of the title character in the series “Topper,” based upon the 1937 film and the character originally played by Billie Burke. It’s not a stretch to suggest she parlayed this new characterization into her film role as Doris Updike in the Warner Brother’s hit Auntie Mame (1958). Surely, no one could be expected to top the wonderful Rosalind Russell, but Lee Patrick easily holds her own in two delicious scenes with Russell as Doris Upson, an upper-middle-class matron completely bent upon seeing her bourgeois lifestyle perpetuated through the marriage of her vapid daughter to Mame’s unsuspecting nephew. With her “New Look” style dresses (already hopelessly outdated by the end of the decade) and her hair swept into a classic French roll, Patrick epitomized the vacuity of a particular sect of the post-war generation long before it was stylish to do so, all with an infectious charm and goofiness so unlike her characterizations in Caged and The Maltese Falcon.

Lee continued her work in film and television up until 1975 and spent her remaining years battling health problems while still pursuing her various hobbies including her love for painting. She died one day before her 81st birthday in 1982 and was survived by her husband of 45 years.

Lee Patrick may not have become the most recognizable of character actresses in film, but that’s a great part of what made her so special.  Find Patrick’s name in a movie’s opening credits, and you are assured of a solid and satisfying performance – as well as one that just might surprise you.

When writer/producer David Jacobs joined me recently on “The Islander,” he had a lot to say about some of the films he loves, including why he is fond of them and what makes them stand-out cinematic achievements.  In this bonus audio clip, David uses his same keen understanding and appreciation of movies to discern what went horribly wrong with three films that should have been great but weren’t: The Chase (1966), The Cotton Club (1984), and Angela’s Ashes (1999).

Gene Lockhart was such a character actor. Born in 1891 in Ontario, Canada, Lockhart benefited from parents who were musical and artistic, especially his father who sang tenor in the 48th Highlanders’ Regimental Band. Young Gene had the opportunity to study music and theatre in London, and, upon returning to North America, he sang in concert, often on the same bill with the reknown Beatrice Lillie. In 1917, at the age of 25, he first appeared on Broadway and went on to continue his stage work, both onstage and behind the scenes as a writer and lyricist. He studied at the Juilliard School of Music and taught classes there as well. In 1924, he married British actress Kathleen Arthur and, one year later, the couple celebrated the birth of their only child, June Lockhart.

Hollywood beckoned briefly in 1922, when Lockhart made his screen debut in Smiling Through, but it wasn’t until 1934 when his career in Tinsel Town really took off. By then, he had developed physically into the jowly and pleasingly plump personage that would serve him well for the next three decades. Lockhart alternated between two “types”: insidious villains in films such as Algiers (for which he received an Academy Award nomination for Best Supporting Actor) and somewhat shy, bumbling characters, typified by his portrayal as Bob Cratchit in the 1938 MGM version of A Christmas Carol, in which he appeared with his wife as Mrs. Cratchit and his daughter June, making her screen debut as one of the Cratchit children.

What made Lockhart so special as a character actor was his ability to blend the two types for which he was famous, that of the overtly sinister villain and the bumbling nice guy, into a unique and compelling mix that never failed to delight. He did this again and again in numerous films such as His Girl Friday, Carousel, They Died with Their Boots On, Meet John Doe, Leave Her to Heaven, and, perhaps most memorably, the perennial Christmas classic Miracle on 34th Street where, as Judge Henry X Harper, he almost single handedly saves Christmas.

OK, John Payne helped a little.

While Lockhart was known best for his work in film, he also had an impressive career on the stage, including his much-lauded performance as Willie Loman in the original Broadway production of Death of a Salesman (taking over from Lee J. Cobb). Before that, he appeared with George M. Cohan and another great character actor, Elisha Cook, Jr., in the Broadway debut of Eugene O’Neill’s Ah, Wilderness. All told, he had sixteen Broadway plays to his credit. Add that to his numerous television appearances and his more than a hundred film appearances, and it is clear that Lockhart rightly earned his place in the pantheon of great character actors.

Earlier, I mentioned his work as a lyricist. Think you don’t know any of his stuff? Oh yes, you do. I’ll let Les Paul and Mary Ford prove it as they perform one of Lockhart’s most famous songs…Presented by Listerine!

The song was originally published in 1919. Musical luminaries such as Duke Ellington, Benny Goodman, and Django Reinhardt covered it over the years. Les Paul and Mary Ford’s version was a million seller in 1949. The classics! They endure!

The reason was Mark Lisanti, founding editor of Defamer, and our guest on “The Islander.”

Long story short:  Mark came to Hollywood looking to work in The Industry.  He dabbled about a bit, but also published his own blog, Bunsen, which got him noticed by New York-based Gawker Media Empire overlord Nick Denton who decided to branch out to the West Coast.  Thus, Defamer was born.

From it’s very inception, Defamer was a little bit of Brilliance.  Lisanti worked anonymously at first, sort of as a joke, but it really didn’t matter.  What did matter was the amazing quality of his posts, often as many as two dozen a day, which left the denizens of Hollywood gasping for air, and the underlings…the overworked personal assistants, underpaid production assistants, and yahoos like me…craving for more.

And Mark always delivered, slavishly pounding away on his laptop inside his Los Feliz apartment.  He fielded press announcement, trade postings, and tips from those on the scene.  Like this tipster-supplied holiday message from Eva Longoria, which Mark ultimately turned into a very special Thanksgiving greeting.

I was thrilled when Mark took me up on my offer to be our Islander, and it was an absolute honor to speak with him.  Please enjoy the segment, and then read his other online offerings:

Defamer archive of Mark’s posts

Bunsen, Mark’s first blog

Lisanti Quarterly, Mark’s current blog

The Little Golden Men Oscar blog on Vanity Fair

Islander interview with Mark Lisanti, part 1

Islander interview with Mark Lisanti, part 2

As I was preparing my review for Holiday, I ran across an interesting item.  Apparently, the character of Linda Seton, portrayed by Katherine Hepburn in the film, was based on Gertrude Sanford Legendre (1902-2000), an unlikely debutante of the 1920′s who gave up her socialite ways to become a big-game hunter, a World War II spy, and an author.  In her teens, Gertrude shot her first elk in the Grand Tutons of Wyoming.  She went on to eschew New York society cocktail parties so as to hunt big game in such locales as Indochina, Africa, India, and Iran.  It was on a safari in Africa where she met her future husband.  They were wed in 1929, with the announcement proclaimed in August 20, 1929 Social News section of  the New York Times.

GERTRUDE SANFORD, EXPLORER, TO MARRY: Engaged to Sidney J. Legendre, Who Was Co-Leader in Abyssinia Expedition.  SISTER OF POLO PLAYER.  Fiance, Member of Old New Orleans Family, Is Well Known as Sportsman and Athlete.  Her Ventures in Exploration.

The brother?  The POLO PLAYER?  His name was Laddie.

During World War II, she worked for the O.S.S. in Washington and Paris.  She became the first American woman in France to be captured by the enemy.  After six months, she made a daring escape, ultimately boarding a train to Switzerland.  The train stopped short of the border, and even as she was ordered by a German guard to halt or be shot, she made a dash to the border–and safety.

After the war, she and Sidney settled in their historic home at Medway Plantation in South Carolina.  She went on to write two memoirs and established both the Medway Environmental  Trust, ensuring that Medway would forever be managed as a nature preserve, and the Medway Plan, an organization dedicated to providing medical help to war-damaged countries.  She ultimately became quite the grand dame of Charleston society, well known for her philanthropy.  She was also hailed for her lavish New Year’s Eve costume parties.  At one of the last of these affairs, she turned to her guests and raised her glass in a toast.

“I look ahead.  I always have.  I don’t contemplate life, I live it.  And am having the time of my life.”

Here’s to you, Ms. Legendre.

For the most part.

They loved Chaplin in The Kid, as well as Buster Keaton in Cops, Singin’ in the Rain, which I screened to illustrate the transition from silents to talkies, went over BIG, especially with some of the girls, who fell fast and hard for Gene Kelly.  My Man Godfrey was appreciated, and the film led to some interesting discussions about history as well as the nature of comedy.  When we got to the 1940s, I hit cinematic pay dirt with, of all things, Mildred Pierce.  While Some Like it Hot probably proved to be the class favorite, overall, the Joan Crawford tour de force ran a very close second.  There was not one snarky comment about her eyebrows or shoulder pads.  Those kids were IN!

My footing got a little unsteady when we hit the 1950s however.  I take the blame.  Somehow, I thought that I absolutely had to show a Hitchcock film…like there was some sort of law…and I chose one of my favorites, North by Northwest.

It was a mistake.  A really BIG mistake.

The students hated it, and I came to understand and appreciate their views.  The whole Cold War thing meant absolutely nothing to them, so there went that.  Cary Grant, while still absolutely dishy to me, was a little too craggy to draw in my girls…even those who had swooned over Gene Kelly (and would go on to swoon even more for Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate).

Then, there’s the technical aspects of the film.  Those of us who love Hitch have learned to overlook and forgive his lack of technical prowess when it comes to filmmaking.  We accept all of the tired rear projection and allow it for the sake of the storytelling.

But kids today?  Eh, not so much.  Most of them complained that the famous crop-dusting scene just went on too long.  I guess when you walk home every afternoon knowing you could be caught in the crossfire of some warring gang banbers, being trapped in some mid-western corn field doesn’t seem to pose a lot of peril.

There was, however, one reaction that caught me completely off guard.  It came from a charming young man named Juan Cortez.  Juan was a great student.  He started out more skeptical than any of the others, but got swept up in the films I showed and became my most avid film watcher.  When someone gifted me with a small stuffed animal early in the semester, it was Juan who insisted that I name it “Godfrey.”

Juan’s complaint with North by Northwest?  Why, that tramp Eve Kendall (Eva Marie Saint), dontcha know.

“Miss, she sleeps with him on the first night she meets him!  She’s kinda…well…you know…”

“A what, Juan?”

“Well, Miss…Ummm…kinda a slut!”

We tossed this idea around a bit.  I brought up the fact that her actions were all done to keep America safe from the likes of James Mason and his evil, Communistic ways, but Juan was having none of it.  Nope.  Good women don’t do that sort of thing, and, clearly, Eve Kendal was not a good woman.

Juan did seem to have a qualm or two about the fact that Mildred Pierce hooks up with Monty Beragon on their first date, but, ultimately, Mildred got a pass…something about the fact that she had already been married.

Personally, I live in my own happy little world, where a one-nighter with Cary Grant completely trumps the same sort of fling with Zachery Scott…especially when I am protecting the world from the Red Menace.  Or even if I’m not.  I mean…c’mon!

But, then again, I’m not wide-eyed and sixteen.  Nor would I wish to bel.  Still, I love to get their input.