Last night, we watched "Park Row"(1952), a two-fisted, rousing celebration of the New York newspaper business circa 1886, courtesy of our cigar chomping pal Sam Fuller. As the movie opens, "Phineas Mitchell" (Gene Evans), an editor for The Star, is drinking in a saloon and getting angrier by the minute, because the headline in today's edition is gloating over the execution of a man Phineas knows was innocent. He's furious at his publisher, "Charity Hackett" (Mary Welch), who led the paper's charge to convict, so out the door he goes, on his way to Potter's Field, where he nails a board to the the marker of the dead man, with the message: "killed by yellow journalism."
Charity hears about it, comes to the saloon, and fires Phineas (who was gonna quit anyway) and everyone from the paper who is with him. Though still in his cups (and chomping a stogie to represent director Fuller) Phineas decides on the spot to start his own paper.....sigh.....if he only had the money. Then an older man approaches, having heard his lament. "I once had the same dream," the man says, before giving a poetic lead-in to what he's about to offer: full financial backing for Phineas's new paper, which he's christened The Globe. The whole scene reeks of Integrity with a capital I, and that's a big part of the style here: the movie has the energy of live theater, where every line of dialogue is snappy and uttered with "let's put on a show" verve. Fuller wants you to know -without a shadow of a doubt - that freedom of speech is represented by the newspaper business, and while his heart is righteously on his sleeve (he started as a news man himself), the sentiment is quaint because now, ever since JFK (and 9/11, OKC, et al.) the press and media are in charge of suppressing - not printing - the truth.
Ahh, but I shant go on a tirade. While the "rah-rah, have another giant-sized beer, let's get out there and trump-et the truth" theme of the movie is nostalgic, but outdated, the real story here is the newspaper war in NYC that raged at the end of the century. It starts when "Steve Brodie" (George O'Hanlon) dives off the Brooklyn Bridge, to make himself famous. Phineas covers it in the first edition of The Globe, which he prints on butcher paper and sells for a penny a piece. He and his staff are really winging it. A subplot of interest concerns the invention and development of the Linotype machine, which I found quite fascinating.
But when Phineas gets the scoop on Brodie, Charity - his former boss - gets nervous about competition, which gets worse when the French offer the Statue of Liberty to America as a gift. Phineas raises money for its pedestal, while Charity has her editor rail against trusting the French: "Is the statue really a gift, or a prelude to asking for a loan?" She's the queen of cynicism and exploitation, anything to sell papers. But Phineas is winning the circulation battle with Earnestness (capital E) and Honesty. Then things get nasty. The printer's devil kid who works at The Globe gets run over by The Star's delivery wagon and is hanging by a thread. Despite his antipathy toward Charity, Phineas was about to fall in love with her (because actress Mary Welch is a stunner). Now he's is ready to kill both her and her editor, who set up the delivery wagon mow-down. The circulation battle is now an all-out war, with Molotovs being chucked through windums. The Globe's Linotype machine is destroyed, and there's an obscenely violent punchout, by Phineas, of the guy who ran over the kid. It's sickening (looks like real life), and as noted, I am tired of watching extended beatings in movies. Yeah, Sam Fuller was Mr. Macho, but what's the deal with the Tough Guy Artiste? I just don't get it.
We've talked about having things named after you, like mustaches and underarm deodorants. But what about Brodies? Did you ever pull one as a kid? Man, we used to pull Brodies all over the place. The earliest Brodie I ever pulled may have been at Reseda Park. I didn't learn how to ride a bike til I was seven, so it must've been in the Summer of '67, about six months before we moved to Northridge. Anyway, I was with an experienced Brodie puller (can't remember his name), and we rode to the north side of the park where the LA River passes through. There wasn't a fence on the river bank in those days, and my friend demonstrated how to ride up real fast toward the bank, then pull a Brodie before you tumbled over the side. I did it, too, and I'm pretty sure it was the first Brodie I ever pulled, because I was new to riding bikes and hadn't heard of Brodies before. But I mean, as cool as it must be to be Fu Manchu or Robert Mitchum, how about being Steve Brodie and having kids still say your name, 80 years after you jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge, every time they pulled a daredevil skid? That's why a Brodie was called a Brodie; because it was daredevil (supposedly). And "pulling" a Brodie meant doing as he did, like pulling a stunt only it was a big, sweeping skid on your bike.
Anyway, where were we? Oh yeah, "Park Row." Don't get me wrong, it's an excellent movie, worth Two Huge Thumbs Up in almost every respect, and at the time it was made (during the height of the Cold War and HUAC), Freedom of Speech and of the press was a big deal. But it's message sadly doesn't ring as true in the era of corporate, selective news. Having said that, it's still highly recommended. Gene Evans is great as the ready to rumble Phineas, and Mary Welch, whom we hadn't seen before (she was a stage actress), is just beautiful. You can't take your eyes off her and the picture is razor sharp, which helps. ////
The previous night, we had an eye-for-an-eye crime film called "The Outer Gate"(1937), in which "Bob Terry" (Ben Alexander), a young and ingenious architect working for Ralph Morgan's firm, comes up with an idea for prefab houses. This is 1937 and he's way ahead of the game. Morgan's daughter "Lois" (Kay Linaker) has a crush on Bob, and because daughters rule Dads, (and Morgan likes Bob anyway), he gives him a promotion at the company. But then, 5 Gees go missing from Bob's production account. Morgan has a strict code about workplace malfeasance, and on scant evidence, he accuses then charges Bob with embezzlement. Bob is found guilty and does five hard years in the clink. His cellmate is a guy named "Todd Shannon" (Eddie Acuff), who's cynical but easygoing and knows the ropes. Young Bob went into prison a Boy Scout, but when the real embezzler commits suicide and the truth is revealed that an innocent man was convicted, he leaves the joint embittered, sworn to pay Morgan back tenfold. Shannon suggests he cut his throat, and you don't know if hes joking or not because he's ironic.
Meanwhile, Morgan feels terrible that Bob has lost five years of his life due to his accusation. He wants to "make it up to him," which is if course impossible, but he does take him in to live at his mansion, and his daughter Lois is in love with him. They get Bob a job as headwaiter at a swanky nightclub, but the band leader there is a criminal behind his Smilin' Jack facade. He hears that Morgan has a quarter million in bonds in his safe. Bob gives him the combination (which Morgan gave to him) and tells him where it's located in the house.
Shannon, Bob's former cellmate, has been paroled, but has second thoughts about the aforementioned revenge plan against Morgan, because by now he's met Lois too. She likes him (she likes everyone) and has gotten him a job at the nightclub, also. When the bonds are stolen buy the bandleader and his henchmen, Ralph Morgan knows he going to be accused by his board of directors. It's like that episode of The Flintstones, when Mr. Slate fires Fred, and Fred wants revenge, but then finds out that Mr. Slate has bosses, too (the board of directors) and that Slate feels the same pressure he does, maybe worse. But anyhow, Morgan knows that Bob has helped set him up, but he willingly accepts his fate. "I cost you five years of your life, now I will suffer the same."
But Todd Shannon, a good man at heart, because he's ironic (a cynic is an optimist who's been disillusioned) thinks it's wrong to persecute Morgan. Revenge is self-destructive, he tells Bob, "and it's is also hurting Lois, who loves you!." But Bob doesn't care. Then at the end, he does, when he helps bust the bandleader. Two Bigs, even though the direction is a bit dry. The picture is slightly soft. ////
And that's the kit-n-kaboodle for this evening. My blogging music is "Fool's Mate" by Peter Hammill, my late night is Handel's Ezio opera. I hope your week is going well and I send you Tons of Love, as always.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo :):)
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