Seeing Double: “Cat Ballou”

I loved running across the factoid that Michael B. Jordan’s performance(s) in Sinners marked the second time that a Best Actor Oscar went to someone playing twins. (The  most famous literary work featuring two lookalikes is Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities, in which Sydney Carton nobly sacrifices himself to the bloodthirsty mob because of his close physical resemblance to French aristocrat Charles Darnay. Several film adaptations have been made, notably the 1935 epic starring Ronald Colman, but I gather no actor has ever played both roles.)

 Once I read that the only previous Oscar-winner playing twins was Lee Marvin in 1965’s Cat Ballou, I felt obliged to check it out. A huge hit, it racked up five Oscar nominations. Several of them related to the film’s rollicking score and to the comic ballad used to narrate the proceedings. (It was sung on-screen by the delightful duo of Stubby Kaye and Nat “King” Cole, the latter of whom died of lung cancer shortly before the film’s release.) There was also recognition for the adapted screenplay and film editing. But the only win on Oscar night belonged to Lee Marvin, who took on the wacky dual roles of Tim Strawn, the tin-nosed hired assassin who threatens Cat and her gang, and Kid Shelleen, the legendary gunslinger who’s only effective when he’s drunk. The two men are eventually revealed to be brothers, though not necessarily twins, and its’ clear that Marvin relished every moment of his time on-screen.

 The film’s story is something of a masterpiece of silliness. The title role is played by Jane Fonda. Though she was still in her twenties back then, it was her ninth film, and she was firmly in the ingenue phase of her career, making movies like Barefoot in the Park and Barbarella in which she showed emotion by opening her eyes very wide. (For me her true acting breakthrough was in 1969’s grim They Shoot Horses, Don’t They?) In Cat Ballou, Fonda starts out as an innocent finishing-school grad traveling west. Through a series of mishaps she discovers love and bad behavior, ending up as the leader of an outlaw gang which of course is a good deal more virtuous than the honchos of the little prairie town in which the action mostly unfolds. Other actors along for the ride include the agreeable Michael Callan and impish Dwayne Hickman (much loved by young folk for his goofy TV role as perennial teenager Dobie Gillis, and here having fun as a pretend preacher). 

 But how did Marvin, whose dual roles are not particularly large or challenging, ever manage to win that Oscar? I can only conjecture. First of all, at the ceremony held in 1966, the big winner was The Sound of Music. The Sixties were difficult years, politically speaking, and I think voters liked supporting something that was musical and upbeat, despite its inclusion of Nazis threatening Austria. (Other Best Picture nominees included Doctor Zhivago, Ship of Fools, Darling, and one wry comedy, A Thousand Clowns.) Among that year’s Best Actor candidates were two Serious Thespians from Britain, Richard Burton (The Spy Who Came in From the Cold) and Laurence Olivier (Othello). Also nominated were towering dramatic performances by Oskar Werner (Ship of Fools) and Rod Steiger (The Pawnbroker). I think audiences in that era needed a laugh, and only Lee Marvin supplied one. It didn’t hurt that he was in Ship of Fools too, as an over-the-hill baseball player.

 Disappointingly, in Cat Ballou Marvin’s two outrageous characters are never on screen at the same time. Kudos to Sinners for seamlessly accomplishing that feat. 

 

Days Gone By: “Anne of the Thousand Days” and the Oscar Films of 1969

It was Hilary Mantel’s wonderful Wolf Hall trilogy about Thomas Cromwell, the all-powerful “fixer” in the service of England’s Henry VIII, that led me to watch a starry 1969 film, Anne of the Thousand Days. In this classic costume drama, Henry is played by Richard Burton. His  imperious performance here is far more interesting than the long-suffering roles (like that in the film Becket) he’d played earlier in the decade. Stalwart character actors, including Anthony Quayle as Cardinal Wolsey, are also shown to good effect.

 I was looking forward to seeing Canadian actress Genevieve Bujold as Henry’s second wife, Anne Boleyn. Bujold had won my heart for her spirited yet deeply innocent portrayal of Joan of Arc, in a TV adaptation of George Bernard Shaw’s Saint Joan. (This was the era when Hallmark Hall of Fame could be relied upon for glossy versions of the classics.) I had expected Anne of the Thousand Days to view the doomed queen with sympathy. But to my surprise, Bujold as Anne doesn’t make a lot of sense. She boldly stands against King Henry when he forces her away from her first love, treating him with angry disdain. When Henry humbly pleads for her affection, she scorns him. Then, presto!, she declares her affection. As Henry’s newly-crowned queen, she’s cranky as all get out. The fact that she’s blamed for not producing a male heir doesn’t help, of course. But when Henry accuses her of infidelity and witchcraft, I wasn’t all that sorry to see her led to the chopping block.

 In retrospect, what’s interesting about Anne of the Thousand Days is the era in which it was released. Historical dramas about the doings of royalty had, since the beginning, been a Hollywood staple. Audiences had always seemed to appreciate dramas set long ago and far away. I gather this was still true in 1969: Anne did well at the box office, and was nominated for 10 Academy Awards. There were three acting nominations (Burton, Bujold, and Quayle), and one for the screen adaption of Maxwell Anderson’s Broadway play. The craft categories also got nods, and the film was up for Best Picture. After all that, it must have been a disappointment to everyone concerned that Anne won only a single statuette, for its sumptuous costumes. 

 The 1969 films and performances  honored by the Academy in 1970 are a fascinatingly mismatched lot. The Best Actor Oscar was a nod to old Hollywood: Burton was bested by John Wayne in True Grit. Best Actress was Maggie Smith, near the start of a long career with a bravura performance in The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie. In support, Anthony Quayle lost to that complex figure, Gig Young, a standout as a sinister emcee in one of the darkest and most brilliant films I can remember, They Shoot Horses, Don’t They?  Cutie-pie newcomer Goldie Hawn was honored in support for a blithe Broadway comedy, Cactus Flower. And the Best Picture winner was the gritty Midnight Cowboy, first and only X-rated film to take home the top award. Aside from some nods to tradition, 1970 was a mostly a year for honoring material that strove to connect with the youth audience and make sense of the modern world. (Butch Cassidy, Easy Rider, Alice’s Restaurant, and The Wild Bunch all received some recognition.) How did Anne of the Thousand Days fit into this trend? Frankly, not at all. The most honored films of 1969 recognized the modern age. Voters understood that Anne was too distant in its concerns to have much real impact in a complicated era.

 

TNT Jackson: For Whom Jeanne Bell Tolled

Long ago I promised tireless B-movie fan Errol Thomas that I would write about my memories of Jeanne (also known as Jeannie and Jeanie) Bell. I worked with her on the blaxploitation classic TNT Jackson, and have never forgotten the experience. TNT Jackson, of course, has a sterling exploitation film pedigree. Shot in Manila by the always audacious Cirio Santiago, it was released in 1974 through New World Pictures. Since the film got its start in the fertile brain of Roger Corman and since Roger has just celebrated birthday #93, this post can be considered a tribute to him and to the outrageous environment in which I got my very special Hollywood education.

TNT Jackson sprang out of Roger’s canny realization (in the wake of Enter the Dragon and David Carradine’s Kung Fu TV series) that a martial arts flick with a gimmick could make for a sure hit at the drive-ins. He was well aware of the box office being generated by such physically tough African-American actresses as Pam Grier (in Coffy) and Tamara Dobson (in Cleopatra Jones). Roger’s brainstorm was to propose a film featuring a sexy black chick adept at martial arts. Manila, home of Roger’s crony Cirio, would nicely stand in for Hong Kong, enhancing a story about a woman outfoxing rival “tong” gangs. There were several attempts at a suitable script, one banged out by a Corman stalwart, the late Dick Miller. (When Dick turned in a draft that Roger disliked, the two got into a fight that severed their friendship for years to come. Find details about that colorful episode in my Roger Corman: Blood-Sucking Vampires, Flesh-Eating Cockroaches, and Driller Killers). Once the screenplay was finally done, it was time to find our leading lady.

Back then, while working at New World Pictures,  I moonlighted as a theatre critic. At a local playhouse, watching a drama about drug addiction, I was impressed by the performance of a young black actress. We invited her to audition for the title role of Diana (TNT) Jackson, and she was quickly cast. Then, just before she was due to fly to the Philippines, she announced that she was pregnant. Not a good sign: the part would require intense fight scenes and (since this was a Corman movie) a fair amount of nudity. On short notice, we started looking around, and came up with someone who was not much of a thespian but could boast an appearance as one of Playboy’s first African-American centerfolds. For a Roger Corman actress, this was a terrific credential. And though she hardly knew much about martial arts, Jeanne proved to be amiable and hard-working (and looked mightily impressive in a topless kung fu battle).

What I remember best about Jeanne Bell was the day she came into my office to work on some publicity material. I jotted down some notes about her background, and then she asked me how she should spell her name. Say what? It seems her real name was Annie Lee Morgan. She’d settled on a stage moniker, but wasn’t sure about the spelling. She wanted to be called Jeanie, but liked the Jeanne spelling. So she asked if that was OK. I reassured her she could spell her name any way she pleased.

So, though I liked Jeanne, I didn’t give her credit for much in the way of smarts. She was undeniably cute, however. Later that same year, she was cast in The Klansman, and Time magazine revealed to the world that she was canoodling with star Richard Burton. Who probably gave her some tips on spelling. 

Ms. Bell and Mr. Burton, Oregon, 1974

This one’s for Errol Thomas, who willed it into being