Tag Archives: Frank Albertson

Bachelor Mother (1939, Garson Kanin)

I’ve seen Bachelor Mother at least twice before but didn’t remember the most salient feature of the film. I even forgot what a big part Donald Duck plays in it (though I did remember David Niven’s watching the clock to wait to say “good afternoon” as opposed to “good morning”).

No, what I forgot was the romance between Niven and Ginger Rogers. It’s the most important thing in Bachelor Mother. The baby Rogers gets stuck with through the bullheadedness and “altruism” of others is secondary.

It’s a lovely romance mostly because it’s so unexpected to the characters. Niven and Rogers are, at best, friends when they go out and discover their attraction. Their friendship scenes are also wonderful, as Niven tries to help Rogers raise this baby he’s unknowingly saddled her with.

He gets his comeuppance at the end (the third act is mostly about him identifying, avoiding, then wanting than comeuppance) and it’s just fantastic.

Kanin’s direction starts off incredible–the first shot is outstanding–then it runs into some problems as it becomes clear he didn’t have enough coverage for editors Henry Berman and Robert Wise (or they just did a terrible job of it). It eventually resolves itself, with the shots matching a lot better after about twenty minutes.

Rogers and Niven are both great, Charles Coburn is hilarious as Niven’s father and Frank Albertson is good.

The film has a brilliant narrative structure (the present action is a few days) and it moves fluidly.

Simply wonderful.

CREDITS

Directed by Garson Kanin; screenplay by Norman Krasna, based on a story by Felix Jackson; director of photography, Robert De Grasse; edited by Henry Berman and Robert Wise; music by Roy Webb; produced by Buddy G. DeSylva; released by RKO Radio Pictures.

Starring Ginger Rogers (Polly Parrish), David Niven (David Merlin), Charles Coburn (J.B. Merlin), Frank Albertson (Freddie Miller), E.E. Clive (Butler), Elbert Coplen Jr. (Johnnie), Ferike Boros (Mrs. Weiss), Ernest Truex (Investigator), Leonard Penn (Jerome Weiss), Paul Stanton (Hargraves), Frank M. Thomas (Doctor), Edna Holland (Matron), Dennie Moore (Mary), June Wilkins (Louise King) and Donald Duck (Himself).


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Man Made Monster (1941, George Waggner)

Man Made Monster, at least for the first fifteen minutes (of an hour), gives Lon Chaney Jr. one of his best roles. He gets to be the affable guy his other performances from the forties often hint he’s capable of being, but never gets to be. Not surprisingly, Monster takes that aspect of his character away and turns him once again into a tragic monster. This time, Lionel Atwill is turning him into an electronic zombie.

Lots of Man Made Monster is familiar. The opening reminds a great deal of Unbreakable, though I wouldn’t go so far as to say M. Night Shyamalan is aware with this film–it’s clear from his films he doesn’t know anything about movies. And Danny Elfman has at least heard Hans J. Salter’s score, as he turned some of it into the Batman score.

The film’s uncredited legacy aside, it’s a misfire–too cheap, too short. There’s not enough time spent with Chaney to make it a significant tragedy and the special effects are goofy. A glowing electric man is not scary.

There’s a lot of great acting here. I’m not sure if Atwill’s ever had more fun; he’s a joy to watch as he oozes evil. Samuel S. Hinds plays the good scientist here and does well. Anne Nagel and Frank Albertson are somewhat unlikely love birds who figure Chaney’s not really bad; it’s got to be mad scientist Atwill.

Waggner has some great closeups and some mediocre medium shots.

It pretty much evens out.

CREDITS

Directed by George Waggner; screenplay by Waggner, based on a story by Harry Essex, Sid Schwartz and Len Golos; director of photography, Elwood Bredell; edited by Arthur Hilton; music by Hans J. Salter; released by Universal Pictures.

Starring Lionel Atwill (Dr. Paul Rigas), Lon Chaney Jr. (Dan McCormick), Anne Nagel (June Lawrence), Frank Albertson (Mark Adams), Samuel S. Hinds (Dr. John Lawrence), William B. Davidson (District Attorney Ralph Stanley), Ben Taggart (Police Detective Sergeant), Chester Gan (Wong), George Meader (Dr. Bruno) and Russell Hicks (Warden Harris).


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The Last Hurrah (1958, John Ford)

While the title refers to politics, The Last Hurrah also, unfortunately in some cases, provided to be the last hurrah of a number of fine actors as well. It’s a fitting–I can’t remember the word. It isn’t eulogy and tribute seems intentional. I don’t know if Ford knew he was making the last film like The Last Hurrah, and there are a number of films like it. Watching it, the mood, the politics, and James Gleason reminded a lot of Meet John Doe. Jane Darwell, for some odd reason since she wasn’t in it, reminded me of The Informer. The Last Hurrah is very much the last film in style–and not the exact style, Ford was a fluid filmmaker–Ford pioneered in the 1930s. While Touch of Evil is, I suppose, a later stylistic descendent, The Last Hurrah‘s the last in the storytelling vein.

Ford’s direction here, his composition, his camera movements, are all very assured, very confident, but also very sentimental. He ties the composition to the story content, letting the frame express what sometimes Spencer Tracy cannot verbalize. I meant to start with Tracy, then I thought I’d save him, but now’s as good of time as any. Tracy’s performance, down the way his nose moves when he breathes, is perfect, so perfect it’s hard to remember he’s Spencer Tracy and was probably in a hundred movies. He’s nothing like any of them. He and Ford, whether by design or accident, create something amazing–Ford for constructing the framed arena capable of supporting Tracy’s performance–but also needing nothing less–and Tracy for filling this field.

The other performances, starting with Jeffrey Hunter, are excellent. Hunter’s great as the film’s emotional reference. He’s new to it, so is the viewer. The rest of the characters have all been around a while; Hunter doesn’t lead the story or even provide an access point, he just shows on screen what the viewer is experiencing. Frank S. Nugent’s script’s something fantastic, but in the story it tells, and the way it tells it. Everyone’s good so it doesn’t make sense just to list them all, but Basil Rathbone’s great as a villain, Carleton Young as Tracy’s assistant, Dianne Foster as Hunter’s wife and Edward Brophy. Brophy’s role’s hard to describe and what he does for the film. Pat O’Brien too, in maybe the least flashy of the film’s roles for good actors.

The way Ford finishes it. Coda. Is coda the word I’m looking for? Maybe The Last Hurrah is coda for certain kind of film, the adult drama of the 1930s and 1940s. Anyway, Ford’s last shot in the film. The pace, the sound, the shadows. It gets blood from a stone. It reveals a deeper capacity for feeling. It’s his best close.

CREDITS

Produced and directed by John Ford; written by Frank S. Nugent, based on the novel by Edwin O’Connor; director of photography, Charles Lawton Jr.; edited by Jack Murray; production designer, Robert Peterson; released by Columbia Pictures.

Starring Spencer Tracy (Mayor Frank Skeffington), Jeffrey Hunter (Adam Caulfield), Dianne Foster (Mave Caulfield), Pat O’Brien (John Gorman), Basil Rathbone (Norman Cass Sr.), Donald Crisp (Cardinal Martin Burke), James Gleason (‘Cuke’ Gillen), Edward Brophy (‘Ditto’ Boland), John Carradine (Amos Force), Willis Bouchey (Roger Sugrue), Basil Ruysdael (Bishop Gardner), Ricardo Cortez (Sam Weinberg), Wallace Ford (Charles J. Hennessey), Frank McHugh (Festus Garvey), Carleton Young (Winslow), Frank Albertson (Jack Mangan), Bob Sweeney (Johnny Degnan), Edmund Lowe (Johnny Byrne), William Leslie (Dan Herlihy), Anna Lee (Gert Minihan), Ken Curtis (Monsignor Killian), Jane Darwell (Delia Boylan), O.Z. Whitehead (Norman Cass Jr.) and Arthur Walsh (Frank Skeffington Jr.).


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