The 20th Century Fox of the Future

Growing up in a pleasant corner of L.A. called Beverlywood (no, I had nothing to do with that), I was quietly thrilled by the proximity of a famous movie studio. Yes, 20^th Century Fox was about a mile from my home. It was exciting to drive west on Pico Boulevard and see the gates through which celebrities entered, along with huge posters for such coming attractions as Cleopatra, The Sound of Music, and Star Wars. In later years,  my husband- to-be, along with members of my family, took part in the mammoth parade down a fake New York street that was intended to be the high point of 1969’s Hello, Dolly!

 Of course, time marches on. Starting in 1963, much of Fox’s rambling backlot was sold to developers, resulting in the building of hotels, condo towers, and a high-end shopping mall known collectively as Century City. (Such brand-new boulevards as Avenue of the Stars played into the movie-star motif.)  Then, after a series of ownership changes, most of the studio (including its intellectual property) was purchased by Disney in 2019. Today the complex is known as 20^th Century Studios: it houses Fox productions, maker of The Simpsons as well as other television favorites, and is also used as rental space for additional TV and movie projects.

 Unlike such storied Hollywood properties as Universal Studios, Fox has never been known for public outreach. Touring the lot is generally not an option, unless you have specific business on the premises. But today that’s starting to  change. A project called Fox Future is being organized to preserve and enhance the remains of one of Hollywood’s oldest studios, and the first to commit itself wholly to the production of sound films. Among the plans: the resurrection of the Fox Research Library, which—like most of the old studio libraries—had been shamefully allowed to disperse over the decades.

 In tandem with Fox Future, the heroic L.A. Conservancy devoted itself on a rain-splashed recent Sunday (yes, it does rain in  SoCal) to educational tours of the lot. We glimpsed the commissary once visited by Soviet premier Nikita Khrushchev (who there learned with dismay that his planned visit to Disneyland had been cancelled out of security concerns)), and were allowed inside a famous scoring stage. We gawked at giant murals commemorating the studio’s greatest hits, like Gene Wilder and Teri Garr romping through Young Frankenstein as well as Marilyn Monroe flirting with Tom Ewell in The Seven Year Itch. Perhaps most charming were the earliest buildings on the lot, from the days when Hollywood studios pampered their über-famous contract players with private cottages tailored to their individual tastes. Still standing in the so-called Artist’s and Writer’s Village are several cozy but elaborately outfitted bungalows now used as office space but once dedicated to some of the studio’s brightest stars. Will Rogers’s once-upon-a-time bungalow still has its American Southwest flair. Next door  is what originally was meant to look like a wee Irish cottage. It was apparently built for the popular Irish tenor, John McCormack, who made several films in the early 1930s. Eventually, it became the

home-away-from-home of one of Fox’s biggest Depression-era stars, Shirley Temple. Here’s one of my very favorite factoids from a tour docent: little Shirley was such a worldwide favorite that she frequently received gifts from overseas fans. One admirer in Australia sent a brace of live kangaroos. Soon they were hopping all over the lot, but ended  up being corralled  in an historic lily pond near the studio’s original main building. (You can’t make this stuff up!) 

 

Sweets for the Sweet: Willy Wonka meets The Cakemaker

 This past weekend was a fattening one, not least because I saw two very different movies that both focused on sweet-tooth delights. I watched 1971’s Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory with a very excited six-year-old who knew the Roald Dahl original and was thrilled to see it come to life on the screen. This was not the 2005 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, starring Johnny Depp in a performance that perhaps reflects Dahl’s own perverse sense of humor but has also creeped out kids and adults alike. In Willy Wonka, the candy man is played by Gene Wilder as a fellow full of mischief, one who’s unpredictable when faced with bad behavior but remains ultimately benign. Those all-seeing blue eyes, that Harpo Marx hair – I’d like my Willy Wonka to look like that.

Which is not to say it’s a film without flaws. Though I enjoyed the ageless Jack Albertson as Grandpa Joe, finding his footing after years spent in bed, the movie’s essential Charlie Bucket did nothing for me. As young Charlie, Peter Ostrum comes across as a nice kid, but not one with any particular charm or complexity. (Perhaps that’s why he never made another movie. He’s had what’s perhaps a much saner life, as a husband, father, and veterinarian.) Attempts to add suspense into the plot via an apparent industrial spy are lame, at best. And the film’s musical numbers, including a would-be poignant ditty sung by Charlie’s mother early in the film, can only be described as saccharine.

Speaking of sugar, I’ve got to add that the wonders of Willy Wonka’s candy factory (a chocolate waterfall, candy cane trees, and so forth) do not look especially mouth-watering. The film contains a few clever visuals (I like the wall-hook that snatches Grandpa Joe’s hat), but it didn’t make me especially hungry for a trip to the candy store. By contrast, The Cakemaker quickly set my mouth to watering. If you like scrumptious cinnamon cookies, not to mention a chocolate-and-cherry Black Forest Cake, you will find yourself wondering where you can go after the movie for a quick pick-me-up.

Black Forest Cake is actually the American translation of Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte. It’s appropriate to give the German original here, because this film is a rare Israeli-German co-production. No, it’s not Holocaust inspired, though the mistrust that Jews might feel for Germans, even today, is part of its backstory. The central character is Thomas, a young German baker who’s a master of his craft. The tragic death of someone he loves brings him to Jerusalem, where he shyly insinuates himself into the life his lover left behind. The Cakemaker is not a movie that overexplains itself, and viewers are left to decide on their own the motives and emotions of all the central characters. This is a pleasure that’s somewhat rare when it comes to Hollywood movies; I’ve discovered that the film’s ending, in particular, can lead to serious post-screening discussion over that yummy piece of cake. Curiously, I’ve found some evidence that men and women see the ending quite differently, especially in terms of the behavior of the film’s female lead. Is it love she’s after, or closure, or what exactly?

Suffice it to say, without spilling all this movie’s secrets, that The Cakemaker explores relationships between Berlin and Jerusalem, male and female, religious and secular life. (The unbending observance of Jewish dietary laws forms an important element of the plot.) How tasty to see a film that gives the viewer so much to chew on. 

Love Stories; Life Stories: A Farewell to Gene Wilder and Arthur Hiller

I’m remembering two giants we’ve lost in the last two weeks: Gene Wilder and Arthur Hiller. Life, sad to say, isn’t fair. True, these gentlemen lived long and prospered. Wilder was 83 when he passed away, and Hiller was a ripe old 92. They were admired by the public and by their peers in that most fickle of industries, show biz. And yet their later years were clearly tough for them both, as well as for those who loved them.

I was first aware of Gene Wilder in 1967, in one of the most brilliant little sequences in an altogether brilliant movie, Bonnie and Clyde. He and his lady friend are canoodling on a small-town verandah when the Barrows gang audaciously steals his car, parked at the curb. In a series of wacky reversals, he and Velma pursue the outlaws, only to find themselves ordered at gunpoint into the stolen vehicle. For a while they get along famously with their abductors, sharing snacks and telling jokes. Then he happens to let slip his occupation—undertaker—and the mood dramatically shifts.

From that auspicious beginning, Gene Wilder went on to do unforgettable work for Mel Brooks, as Leo Bloom in The Producers, the Waco Kid in Blazing Saddles, and (best of all) the grandson of the famous Victor Frankenstein in Young Frankenstein. (Who can forget his “Puttin’ on the Ritz” song and dance routine with the monster? I’m told this was Wilder’s idea, vetoed by Brooks until he saw how well it played.) He also, as a mysterious candy maker named Willy Wonka, played a major role in the childhoods of many youngsters I know. In addition, he was part of an unlikely duo with Richard Pryor in both Silver Streak and Stir Crazy, zany films that made the two men Hollywood’s first successful interracial comedy team.

Along with all the fun, Wilder faced heartbreak, notably in his short-lived marriage to Gilda Radner, who died of ovarian cancer after less than five years of wedlock. He worked hard to raise money for cancer awareness, and slowly segued from acting into writing. But, tragically, it was complications from Alzheimer’s disease that claimed him on August 29, 2016.

 Arthur Hiller was a director, not an actor, and so his face was not as familiar as Wilder’s, with its flyaway blonde curls and innocent blue-eyed gaze. Hiller actually directed Wilder and Pryor in Silver Streak, and was also known  for a wide array of hit comedies and dramas, including The Hospital, Plaza Suite, and The Man in the Glass Booth. His favorite of his own films came early in his career, 1964’s wryly anti-war The Americanization of Emily, starring Julie Andrews and James Garner and based on a Paddy Chayefsky screenplay. But of course he remains best-known for the most schmaltzy film of its era., Love Story may be ripe for parody but it also earned Hiller an Oscar nomination as Best Director of 1970. Dedicated to his industry, he served as president of the Directors Guild and of the Motion Picture Academy, while also being active on the National Film Preservation Board.    

I met Arthur Hiller in his later years, and was saddened to learn that macular degeneration was preventing him from making—or even watching—movies. In the last year, I caught a glimpse of him at the dentist’s office: he was essentially blind. A poignant outcome for a gentle soul dedicated to the motion picture medium. He passed away less than two months after his wife of 68 years. So I guess he knew what a Love Story was all about.