For The Birds: “Birdman of Alcatraz”

Birdman of Alcatraz? As a youngster, I was fascinated by this intriguing title. And I knew that Burt Lancaster had won plenty of kudos for his portrayal of Robert Stroud, who—sentenced to life imprisonment in solitary confinement for committing two murders—became a world authority on our avian friends. I didn’t know the movie was based on a sympathetic biography of the still-living Stroud by Thomas E. Gaddis. On the strength of this biography, Gaddis became a character in the 1962 film, and (portrayed by Edmond O’Brien) serves as its narrator.

 Biographers have always had an interesting relationship with the film industry. At a recent conference of the Biographers International Organization, I heard Pulitzer-Prize winning biographer Kai Bird talk about the thrill of seeing his book on J. Robert Oppenheimer brilliantly translated to the screen. And right now my longtime friend Jack El-Hai is eagerly awaiting the release of Nuremberg, based on his The Nazi and the Psychiatrist. Other serious biographers are less happy about what Hollywood has done to their well-researched work. But it’s also true that there’s a place for biographers in sharing with the moviegoing public the behind-the-scenes facts related to popular films.

 My colleague Kate Buford is the author of Burt Lancaster: An American Life, as well as Native American Son: The Life and Sporting Legend of Jim Thorpe. Because of her scholarly reputation, as well as her skills as a public speaker, Kate has been asked to do audio commentary on several of Lancaster’s major films. When I recently watched Birdman of Alcatraz for the very first time, I was dazzled by Lancaster’s complex performance as well as by the moody black-&-white cinematography of Hollywood veteran Burnett Guffey. I also appreciated the supporting performances of such classic Hollywood actors as Karl Malden, Thelma Ritter, and (in an Oscar-nominated role) Telly Savalas as a likable fellow inmate. I don’t usually have the time to re-watch a film while listening to a commentary track. But when I saw Kate Buford’s name on the screen, I knew I had to pay attention.

 Given her exhaustive research, Kate was able to put Birdman of Alcatraz into context for me. She helped me to understand how much this film was a product of Lancaster’s personal and social values. It was he, as honcho of Norma Productions, who chose relative newcomer John Frankenheimer to direct, after firing British director Charles Crichton (known for comedy classics like The Lavender Hill Mob). And he imbued the material with his own dedication to progressive social concerns. The evolution of Stroud from crazed killer to gentle soul devoted to nurturing canaries is heightened in the screen version, but Kate makes clear that the actual Stroud never entirely lost his volatile edge. Part of the reason for his abrupt transfer from Leavenworth (where he had a full aviary and research lab) to the new, modern, and very stringent Alcatraz was that he was secretly using some of his equipment to concoct alcohol for his own pleasure. And his real-life aggressive homosexuality (never hinted at in the film) helps explain why over the years of his confinement (from 1909 until his death in 1963) he was so stringently guarded.

 The film makes for such powerful viewing that I would have thought it earned a fistful of Oscars. There were four nominations (including for Lancaster and Guffey), but no wins. Not a surprise, really. This was a year for inspirational projects like The Miracle Worker, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Longest Day, and big winner Lawrence of Arabia. So the camels beat out the birds in 1963.