On DVD: Peter Bogdanovich Revealed in One Day Since Yesterday (2015)

I've always had a lot of respect for Peter Bogdanovich, both as a filmmaker and as a custodian of film history. When many of the great directors were still alive, he befriended these legends and recorded their thoughts for future generations. He would also pay tribute to the style and stars of classic Hollywood in films like Paper Moon (1973) and The Last Picture Show (1971). That said, I have also often been a bit put off by his seeming arrogance, a sort of haughty, above-it-all air he's carried with him throughout his career. In the documentary One Day Since Yesterday (2015), now available on DVD from Warner Archive, all these aspects of the director's life and persona are explored in a loving, revealing, and lightly critical way.

While the documentary covers Bogdanovich's entire career, it focuses on his 1981 romantic comedy They All Laughed and his love affair with one of the film's stars, Dorothy Stratten, who would be assaulted and killed by her estranged husband before the release of the film. It is in essence an exploration of what made Bogdanovich the person he was before and after this tragedy.

Currently working film directors, former stars in Bogdanovich productions and his family offer their thoughts, while the director himself opens up about his work and the tragic relationship that has colored his life. At the time of Stratten's death, the pair were on their way to spending a life together. They seem to have been a good match: Bogdanovich saw beyond the actress/model's beauty to her emerging intellect and inherent compassion, while Stratten kept him humble and grounded.

Even at twenty Dorothy Stratten was beginning to reject the treatment she received as an otherworldly beauty. While her looks propelled her to a certain success as a playmate and actress, she did not bank on them for her happiness. She was intellectually curious, and acutely in tune with the emotions and motivations of those around her. The documentary captures a bit of her fire in a clip from The Tonight Show: when Johnny Carson asks her a question that offends her, she turns it around on him, subjecting him to the same intrusive gaze that he has inflicted on her. The flustered talk show host hardly knows how to react to her authority.

Bogdanovich is still clearly grieving the loss of Stratten. The typically dour director cracks a rare smile when he shares a story about how he was starting to flip his lid about something and she leaned over him to gently say "your heart, darling, your heart." He so revered her that you wonder if the relationship could have matured into something less starry-eyed and more aligned with the rhythms of daily life.

You can learn a lot about someone from the people they know and where Bogdanovich is concerned, it is clear he cherishes women. The most illuminating interviews in the film come from former love and lifelong friend Cybil Shephard, friend and They All Laughed star Colleen Camp, Stratten's sister Louise (to whom he was married for thirteen years) and his two daughters. These sharp, intelligent and loyal ladies have clearly felt valued by the director and they know him best, revealing his arrogance and generosity with great candor.

I've always felt a bit ill at ease about Bogdanovich's marriage to Stratten. Aside from being much younger than her sister, and the director, I wondered if he was chasing the dead in marrying her. It didn't seem healthy to me. It was fascinating to hear both Louise and Peter describe how the alliance helped them to heal from the trauma of Dorothy's murder. Being together assured them both of always being near someone who understood the feelings of grief and loss. While it is true that Bogdanovich saw something of his lost love in her younger sister, it is clear that the relationship was and continues to be strong and mutually supportive.

While Bogdanovich's quirks are approached with honesty, his work is essentially given a pass. Directors Wes Anderson and Noah Baumbach offer uncritical appraisals of the director's work, focusing more on paying tribute than offering analysis. I found this a bit disappointing, She's Funny That Way (2014) was an entertaining film, but I felt skeptical of interviewees in the film who compared this less graceful effort with the airily romantic They All Laughed. I got the feeling that the love for the director was so great, and the need for him to succeed so strong that critical thinking could not enter the picture.

The film digs into the controversy and backlash Bogdanovich experienced as the first celebrity director, revealing the director's own discomfort with fame and eventual popularity with studios as a filmmaker striving to make art in a business driven by profits. While his flaws are not ignored, his methods are essentially justified. Perhaps he got wrapped up in the excitement of fame and success, but he was always in it for the movies. One Day Since Yesterday makes that obsessive passion clear and shows how it could help a man living with an unshakable tragedy to survive.

Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing a copy of the film for review. This is a Manufacture on Demand (MOD) DVD. To order, visit The Warner Archive Collection.

Book Review: The Story of a Film and a Restoration, The King of Jazz (1930)

King of Jazz: Paul Whiteman's Technicolor Revue
James Layton and David Pierce
Media History Press,

In 1930, a struggling Universal Studios hitched its hopes for resurrection to two mega-productions: one, the dark anti-war epic All Quiet on the Western Front the other, a frothy Technicolor musical revue called King of Jazz. While the former would go on to become one of the most universally lauded films in cinematic history, the latter would have a more complex trajectory. In a new book, James Layton and David Pierce tell the story of this unusual film and the recent restoration that brought it to life again.

King of Jazz the book begins with the story of its players: Universal Studios and its father-son team of Carl Laemmle and Carl Laemmle, Jr.; director John Murray Anderson, who came fresh to movies from the stage; Paul Whiteman, the enormously successful band leader who is practically forgotten today; and the diverse cast of vaudeville players and rising stars in the cast.

Paul Whiteman and his band

At the time, Whiteman was the major draw. Wealthy and in demand, with a string of number one hits and several satellite bands traveling the country, the rotund band leader with the tiny mustache was a star. Today, he is best remembered as the man who commissioned Rhapsody in Blue, a version of which is the centerpiece of the film. As the decades passed, and King of Jazz has seen various reissues, including a home video release, Bing Crosby has emerged as the face of the film, though he only appears in a few songs as a member of the Rhythm Boys singing trio.

King of Jazz requires some explanation for modern audiences. Rather than make Universal contract players attempt to be musical stars, as had been the case with most revues at other studios, director Anderson, with the exception of Universal crooner John Boles, pulled his performers from vaudeville. And so you have acts like the German sibling act The Sisters G, comedians William Kent and Grace Hayes and cabaret artist Jack White, all presented like the greatest stars you have never heard of.

The Sisters G

There are also the so-called "blackout" acts, brief, sometimes seconds long comedic skits that zing out a punchline before flashing to a black screen. This is where Universal stars, like Laura La Plante, made the most significant contribution. This vaudeville tradition, with its blink-and-you'll-miss-it speed, makes a lot more sense with a little explanation.

One of the best aspects of the book is that it does translate the meaning and importance of the stars, traditions and style of the film for modern audiences. Understanding these elements can increase the enjoyment of a film that otherwise can seem to zip along with little reason or form. It goes into the history of its players, placing the studio, band, performers, and Whiteman especially, in their various industries and explaining how they all came together.

A particularly lovely page from the book

King of Jazz explores different prospective versions of the film and describes in detail the various ways the studio created tailor-made versions for foreign audiences. It also digs into the differences between different releases of the film, which has seen a lot of cuts and re-editing as it has gone from re-release and television to video cassette and the recent reissue. An appendix goes into the geekiest of these details, outlining different sources for restoration, cut scenes and production histories.

The book is modest in its assessment of the film. There is no claim that this rather jumbled spectacle is a universal classic in need of enormous revival. It makes a strong case for its appeal though, from the cheerful skill of its performers and the fun of seeing Bing Crosby in his first film role to the stunning designs of Herman Rosse, who won the Oscar for best Art Direction for his work on the production.

One of the most useful and enjoyable sections of the book is the scene-by-scene synopsis which describes, and occasionally illuminates the action of the film from start to finish. I found I enjoyed King of Jazz much more after reading this chapter.

The Russell Markert Dancers en pointe for the Rhapsody in Blue production number

It's a nice-looking book, loaded with photos, posters and advertisements which all help to tell the story of the film. For the most part I found the formatting pleasing; I liked the full page photos and the balance between photos and print materials. However, the print is very small and sometimes I found it a strain to read. I also found it difficult to make out the details in some of the photos when they were arranged, two or more to a page. Perhaps there is some economizing at hand there, but I would have liked to have seen full-page photos for at least the stills of the larger production numbers, rather than the portraits and dual shots of performers the book favored for full page reproductions.

The Melting Pot final production number

So much of the magic of this film is in the look of it. While the rough copies of it that have been floating around over the years provide mild entertainment value, the musical is vastly improved when viewed in a restored version. I've yet to see the full restoration, but the few scenes I have seen give it the feel of an entirely different film. When properly presented, the two-color Technicolor cinematography and the elegant simplicity of the sets enhance the action in an almost magical way. The book describes the journey to this dramatic transformation in such an engaging way that I can't wait to check out the restoration.

Many thanks to Media History Press for providing a copy of the book for review.

Images courtesy and property of Media History Press.

On Blu-ray: Ida Lupino, Robert Ryan and Thrills in On Dangerous Ground (1951)

The romantic noir thriller On Dangerous Ground (1952) transcends an uninspired story thanks to the special talents of its cast and crew. Directed by Nicholas Ray, starring Robert Ryan and Ida Lupino and scored by Bernard Herrmann, the economical production makes a surprising emotional connection. Now the film is available on Blu-ray from Warner Archive.

Ryan plays a tightly-wound big city cop Jim Wilson, who is disgusted by the slick hoods and violent thugs on the streets of his beat in New York. His increasingly violent means of dealing with these criminals finally gets him in trouble. He's instructed to go to the country to handle a brutal murder case while things cool off. Released from the tension of the city, he is able to reflect on his anger while falling in love with the blind sister of the mentally ill murderer.

It's always a bit difficult to believe that an angry, violent character could suddenly see the error of his ways and begin anew. There may not be many actors besides Ryan who could begin to pull off that transformation. He's perfect for the role, and noir in general, because while he is magnetic, appealing, and sometimes even tender, there's always tension thrumming within him. Anything he does, even an act of sincere kindness, is underlined by that feeling that he is on the edge. You always expect that he could suddenly explode into violence, letting lose with a slap or a sock to the jaw.

Ray also makes that transformation more plausible in the way he films the city and rural settings. The New York scenes are cramped and dim, with lots of anxious close-ups. You feel the rough panic of the streets where Wilson spends so many hours. Drug addicts, criminals and underage girls with stringy hair and tight sweaters slinking around bars form the tableaux that inspires his dismay and disgust.

By contrast, the country scenes are wide open and full of light. Acres of snowy fields increase the sense of this being a heavenly place to find redemption. While the murder of a young girl is more terrifying for its rarity in the small community, it is near restful for Wilson to be able to focus his energy on one crime while surrounded by decent people. The revenge-crazed father of the young victim takes his place as the one driven by anger, which helps the detective to understand what he has become.

As Mary, the blind older sister of murderer Danny (Sumner Williams), Ida Lupino plays innocent and somewhat vulnerable, but only to a point. Her familial loyalty gives her strength, and her other, heightened senses have taught her things about people that they might not wish to reveal. It is her wisdom as much as her gentle nature that seems to intrigue Wilson.

As director Nicholas Ray led a somewhat scandalous and dysfunctional personal life, I've always been curious to know what he had in him to inspire such sweetly romantic and deeply compassionate connections between his actors. You can see it in the various interactions between James Dean, Sal Mineo and Natalie Wood in Rebel Without A Cause (1955) and especially between Farley Granger and Cathy O'Donnell as a couple on the run in his first feature They Live By Night (1948). His characters find comfort each other to such a profound degree, as if they have finally found the one person in the world who could make life bearable.

Lupino and Ryan connect in this way, seeming to see deep into each other as they become acquainted. Mary makes Wilson melt, though you can never completely forget the rage of which he is capable. His eyes are kind, liquid and calm, but also slightly sinister, like a seal pup. And yet, the pair seems to have a chance because they so profoundly get each other.

Composer Bernard Herrmann underscores all these emotional shifts with dramatically different moods. His score sneaks up on you; in the early scenes his famous propulsive style is not yet evident. It is only when the action moves to the rural settings that he cuts loose, throwing in the swirling strings of Vertigo (1958), the sharp jabs of Psycho (1960) and the blaring brass of North by Northwest (1959). In these scenes he almost cannibalizes his own works too much, but ultimately gives the score its own character by imbuing it with a reckless, off-kilter wildness. This is also one of the composer's best romantic scores; in the scenes with Lupino and Ryan, he uses the low, throaty sound of the rare string instrument the viola d'amore to add unsentimental warmth.

The picture quality of the Blu-ray is good, with occasional scratches, but a decent image overall. Special features include a theatrical trailer and commentary by film historian Glenn Erickson.

Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing a copy of the film for review. To order, visit The Warner Archive Collection.

On DVD: Six Horror Classics in The Legends of Horror Collection

This batch of six MGM and Warner Bros. shockers is a quirky cousin to the classic literature-inspired horror classics of Universal Studios. It features familiar stars of horror: Bela Lugosi, Peter Lorre, Boris Karloff and champion screamer Fay Wray, in flicks that get a little naughtier, creepier and more bizarre than those better known classics. It is a sort of adventure to explore this varied set, which is now available on DVD from Warner Archive.

Mark of the Vampire (1935)

Enjoyment of this quirky horror flick with a touch of comedy depends upon your ability to enjoy its parts and ignore how it comes together. Amid the clunky scenes of exposition and Lionel Barrymore intensely chewing on his lines are great spooky moments: a supposed dead man playing a droning tune on an organ; Carroll Borland, an early prototype of the goth girl, eerily peering through a window in her deathly pale make-up, and a soundtrack full of angst-inducing moans and night noises. When it works it's effectively creepy, but a few goofy touches keep it from truly plunging you into horror.

The Devil-Doll (1936)

Lionel Barrymore gets the opportunity to go full ham in this quirky sci-fi horror with special effects that remain intriguing to modern eyes. He masquerades as an old lady in several scenes, and clearly relishes the opportunity to act without restraint. The plot is a busy affair, with a mad scientist who plans to miniaturize the world with his ghoulish sister, Barrymore as a wrongfully convicted escaped prisoner out to clear his name and Maureen O'Sullivan completely unaware of it all as his daughter. The miniaturization effects are a lot of fun and seem to have aged well partly because they are in black and white. Tiny people, horses, dogs and the like are used to often creepy effect to steal, exact revenge and essentially cause chaos.

The Mask of Fu Manchu (1932)


Beautifully designed, acutely racist and oozing with camp, it's amusing to imagine what is going on in Boris Karloff and Myrna Loy's minds as they valiantly attempt to portray "Asians" in this pre-code adventure horror flick full of colonial swagger. Though they play characters that kill and torture, they're somehow more sympathetic than the supposed British heroes who stop a moment to marvel at the legacy of Genghis Khan before pillaging his tomb without a hint of self-awareness. Even the normally entrancing Karen Morley looks like a jerk in her pith helmet and khakis, while Loy is sadistic fun, peering through a headdress of beads, delighting in sticking it to the white man.

Mad Love (1935)

Completely bald, so that he looks like an vaguely menacing egg, Peter Lorre is especially unsettling as a famous doctor who becomes fixated on a Grand Guignol actress (Frances Drake). When her concert pianist husband's (Colin Clive) hands are crushed in a train accident, he attaches the hands of a murderous knife thrower to his arms, make her feel she owes him a debt when he has actually brought her more trouble because of the still violent impulses of the newly-attached appendages. The early scenes in the theater are good fun with its grotesquely-masked attendants and proto-torture porn melodrama. It's a bit baffling that Drake is the only one who seems to see how unbearably creepy Lorre is, but as it unfolds, a guy that socially malignant isn't going to stay under wraps forever.

Doctor X (1932)

Two-strip Technicolor is a great look for a horror film, as can also be seen in The Mystery of the Wax Museum (1933). It gives Caucasian flesh an eerie pink hue, so that everyone looks like a creepy doll come to life, and holds back just enough color to keep dark corners and looming shadows sufficiently forbidding. Lee Tracy is probably the only comic relief journalist that I could bear in a horror film, though it is still baffling that Fay Wray as a crime-solving scientist's daughter would give him a tumble. The look of the film gives it most of its power to chill, though the grotesque make-up effects used to simulate synthetic flesh are also delightfully sickening and the final sequence is suspenseful in a gut-churning way.

The Return of Doctor X (1939)

I was ready to throw my drink at the annoying snappy reporter in this awkward comedy/horror sequel that has nothing to do with the 1932 film, when the oddly-cast Humphrey Bogart made his appearance as a mad scientist. Just before his true break-through in Hollywood, the actor played this villain with greasy skin, a skunk stripe in his hair, and the bearing of a man who doesn't get much fresh air. He's a simultaneously awful and brilliant choice for the role of a mad scientist, as deliciously campy as an old school Bond villain. The rest of the film is silly and forgettable, but seeing pre-headliner Bogie in such a bizarre part made it worth the watch.

Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing a copies of the films for review. These are Manufacture on Demand (MOD) DVDs. To order, visit The Warner Archive Collection.

Book Review--Jean Cocteau: A Life

Jean Cocteau: A Life
Claude Arnaud
Originally published: Gallimard, 2003
English translation by Lauren Elkin and Charlotte Mandell:
Yale University Press, 2016

Jean Cocteau never quite fit in with the human race. Lost in fairy land fantasies and opium reveries, with even his hair refusing to part right and standing on end in rebellion, he was an oddity who inspired rage and affection, but rarely disinterest. Unable to find a cohesive thread throughout his many pursuits: novels, poetry, plays, films and drawing, he would sometimes agree with his critics that he was nonsensical and not of this planet. He lived in his own world.

In 2003, Claude Arnaud drew on years of research to compose an epic take on the life of this misunderstood artist, giving him his proper due as a unique and influential artist. It is a dense work, full of daily details and a cast of characters more populated than a Russian novel. It takes great patience to navigate, but offers a rewarding history of a man, the great geniuses he knew and the time in which he lived. In its recent English translation the beauty and irritation of this massive work retains the feel of its culture, occasionally even taking on the otherworldly, fanciful voice of its subject.

Cocteau in 1923

It took me a while to engage with Cocteau. The first half of the book was jammed with so many quotes and references to various personalities that it didn't have room to breathe. Eventually Arnaud finds his flow though as he begins to trust his own voice and settles into more cohesive storytelling. Cocteau was a narcissist, in constant need of love and attention, and as a result he knew just about every creative soul of note and patron of the arts in early Twentieth-century Paris, and all of these relationships are important to his story. It's a complex tale to unwind.

In associating almost entirely with creative people, the sensitive Cocteau found himself surrounded by intense and ambitious personalities. The pressure of these dynamos molded him as much as they destroyed him. He counted among his allies major modern influencers like Coco Chanel, Marcel Proust and Igor Stravinsky. He was mentored by writers including the now mostly forgotten Anna de Noailles and nurtured new talents like the doomed Raymond Radiguet, who was also his great romantic obsession, and the eternal thief Jean Genet.

Jean Marais, 1947

Throughout his life Cocteau also made many enemies, irritating many with his unusual and erratic ways. Among his worst detractors were the Surrealists, who, led by movement founder André Breton, waged a public campaign against him in the twenties and thirties. The artist held no grudges though and his forgiving nature would often win over his most vehement critics, though notably not Breton, who hated him for life. Cocteau also had an enduring frenemy in Pablo Picasso, who was as loyal as he was toxic over the course of a decades-long relationship.

As Cocteau lived for other people, it is appropriate that his relationships form the core of his biography. While most attracted to the male physique, he could be fluid both sexually and with the nature of his friendships, which included platonic romances and a highly-satisfying threesome late in life that was more affectionate than erotic. He had a passion for young men and would mentor many to great artistic success throughout affairs that were sometimes romantic and always paternal. Along with Radiguet, his most famous "son" would be actor Jean Marais, with whom he would have a complicated, but essentially supportive relationship for the second half of his life. His rare romances with women are also examined, and in particular his love affair with socialite and princess Natalie Paley with whom he dreamed of having a child.

Natalie Paley

While I was fascinated to learn about the culture and creators who affected and formed Cocteau, I craved more detail about his process of creation. I found the text especially uneven and lacking detail when it came to the production of his films, which was especially disappointing as I approached the book with a particular interest in his cinematic works. For example, while the process of filming Blood of a Poet(1930) is described in satisfying detail, from conception to completion, there is very little space devoted to his marvelous post-war masterpiece Beauty and the Beast (1946). Given that film offered Cocteau the opportunity to combine so many of the different arts that inspired him, it surprised me that these unusual works did not get more attention.

Overall Cocteau is effective because it takes you under his skin, making clear his desires, motivations and dreams. He led a tortured existence, sensitive to criticism and hate, and plagued with skin ailments, allergies, insomnia and myriad other discomforts. For much of his adult life he dealt with his physical and emotional pain by self-medicating with opium. It is a habit that would take him out of the world to an alarming degree, and Arnaud captures that disconnect with reality effectively.

Cocteau offers a far-reaching, detailed history that cannot be recommended for a casual reader. Committing to this massive text offers many rewards, but it is a demanding book, with much to absorb and understand. It is well worth the effort for any fan of French culture of the early Twentieth century in addition to Cocteau devotees.

Many thanks to Yale University Press for providing a copy of the book for review.

On DVD: Four Atmospheric Horror Classics Produced by Val Lewton

In the early forties, Russian-American film producer Val Lewton was head of horror production at RKO Studios. In a precise agreement with the studio, for each film he was given a strictly limited budget, a title and instructions to keep the running time short. With these basic elements, an efficient and effective cast and crew for each production, and his own talent for scriptwriting, he made a series of viscerally chilling films, in a distinctly shadowy style, that would become horror classics.

In a pair of double feature DVDs, four of Lewton's classic chillers are now available from Warner Archive. One disc features Boris Karloff in two of the three films he made for the producer: Isle of the Dead (1945) and Bedlam (1946). The other showcases stars Dennis O'Keefe and Richard Dix in The Leopard Man and The Ghost Ship (both 1943) respectively.

Isle of the Dead/Bedlam

The future director of plush productions like Peyton Place (1957) and Valley of the Dolls (1967), Mark Robson would show a flair for horror with this pair of Karloff flicks. Isle of the Dead and Bedlam are two of five films the director would make for Lewton (the others: horror flicks Ghost Ship and The Seventh Victim [1943], and the drama Youth Runs Wild [1944]). Both movies are notable among Lewton's productions for building horror with more disturbing than creepy content. Here the fear isn't so much of what is hiding in the dark, but human nature.

Inspired by a mysterious painting by Swiss artist Arnold Böcklin,

Isle of the Dead, by Arnold Böcklin

Isle of the Dead takes a while to build momentum. Like the static world in that work of art, it maintains a feel of lingering dread, but it takes much of the film's running time to escalate to anything truly compelling. It almost plays out like a stage production, its characters quarantined in a house on an island infested with the plague, afraid of the real threat of death, but also wary of local legends. There is a pay-off though, with a truly terrifying final sequence that descends into palpable confusion and madness.

While Karloff is a dominating presence in Bedlam, it is also a remarkable showcase for Anna Lee. The actress rarely had the chance to dig into a role as meaty as this 18th century tale of a woman accustomed to living among the rich, as a sort of jester for prominent men, who is inspired by a Quaker to fight for improved conditions in a local insane asylum. Karloff is the cruel overseer of the institution in which inmates are treated like animals and brought out for parties to be mocked by the upper classes.

Through Karloff's machinations, Lee is wrongly committed to the asylum and there she finds strength in the sort of feminine traits typically mocked as weak by men. Though horrified and unsettled by the inmates, she relies on the wit that has given her a plush life to keep her own sanity. She finds herself capable of disturbing behavior herself, the sort of dark impulses that provide the true horror in this unusual film.

The disc includes commentary on Bedlam by film historian Tom Weaver

The Leopard Man/The Ghost Ship

While the dangerous men in The Leopard Man and The Ghost Ship are as gripped by the dark side of human nature as Karloff, these films present those impulses more firmly in the threatening, shadowy world that formed Lewton's unique style.

The Leopard Man would be the last of three horror films Jacques Tourneur directed for Lewton. He was as responsible as the producer for the feeling of fearful anticipation that would characterize these RKO productions. Like his previous efforts Cat People (1942) and I Walked With a Zombie (1943), it draws its chills from dangers lurking in the darkness; its most terrible moments drawn from something as simple as the fear of a sheet of pure, black night, with just enough light to show the fear on the face of whoever must enter that void to reach safety. 

There's a feeling of doom chasing the residents of a small New Mexican town, where an escaped leopard used for a nightclub publicity stunt seems to be killing women who walk the streets alone late at night. Voices, sounds and the swish of tree branches increase the feeling of being alone and doomed. A gush of blood oozing from beneath a doorway simply and efficiently communicates the horror of what is happening on the other side.

The Ghost Ship approaches that terror of isolation in a different way, leaving a man feeling alone among a crew of many because they can't see as he can how dangerous their obedience-obsessed captain has become. As played by Richard Dix, the unhinged seaman leads with icy calm, sending his men to doom simply to test his own powers and satisfy his need for revenge over anyone who defies him. The ship feels like a haunted house, empty, shadowy and with the feeling of being filled with dark spirits that possess the captain and his men.

Special features include commentary by director William Friedkin on The Leopard Man and a trailer for the film.

Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing a copies of the films for review. These are Manufacture on Demand (MOD) DVDs. To order, visit The Warner Archive Collection.

On Blu-ray: Doris Day and James Cagney on Blu-ray in Love Me or Leave Me (1955)

So much of the joy of Love Me or Leave Me is in the luxurious MGM-style polish of the production. There's the beautiful sets, the too gorgeous to be real costumes and the beauty of the luscious color photography. This glossy fictionalization of the rise of chanteuse Ruth Etting and her relationships with the gangster Martin "Mo" Snyder and pianist Harry Alderman, starring Doris Day, James Cagney and Cameron Mitchell respectively, is now available on Blu-ray from Warner Archive.

Doris Day is a curious choice to play Etting, as the pair have vastly different personas. Day is the wholesome, determined daffodil, while Etting was a sexy, slinky chanteuse. Despite the longing and sadness in so many of her torch songs, there's always a bit of laughter in Etting's eyes. Her appeal is in seeming strong enough to stand up for herself while still exuding inviting warmth. These qualities are in evidence in the shorts A Modern Cinderella (1932) and Roseland (1930), which feature the singer and are available as special features on the disc.

While Day is also a candy-coated woman of steel, she doesn't quite capture these aspects of Etting's personality in her portrayal. For one, she takes the toughness too far, coming off like a glum Doris instead of tough but tantalizing Ruth. Day's also not the kind of actress to disappear into a character. Though she was able to play comedy, drama and musical moments with satisfying success, her persona and sense of self was always too powerful for her to be anyone but that side of herself she had crafted for public view.

Though footage of Mo Snyder is not as readily available as that of Etting, it is likely fair to assume that Cagney's persona was just as dominant in his portrayal of the mobster who launched and promoted the singer's career. Photos of Snyder show the face of a tough man who could get incredibly unpleasant if pushed. While Cagney has plenty of moments where he is just that kind of overbearing bully, his take on Snyder is ultimately that of a pathetic, if powerful man with plenty of sadness hidden within him.

You begin to feel sorry for Snyder as Etting takes full advantage of his generosity, pushing him to do things even he finds morally repugnant, while offering nothing in return. He is too rough and controlling to deserve her love, but as portrayed here, the singer often doesn't show respect or even gratitude for what he does to help her. She sees him as a means to an end, and he can never do enough. However, she does offer a much-needed challenge to his overbearing ways: he thinks he is buying himself a malleable lover, but is humbled when she proves to be more than his match.

Day and Cagney are an effective team, because both actors are effective listeners. They're not meant to have chemistry and they manage to portray the friction between the two well. It isn't nearly as messy as it was in real life, but they capture the jarring effects of a toxic relationship, where there is always a thin grime of ugliness weighing them down.

It is difficult to accept Cameron Mitchell as Etting's irresistible piano playing lover. He may be nicer than Cagney, but he's not nearly as interesting. I found myself looking around for a third option to please this lovelorn songbird.

Day sings several of Etting's hits in her own distinctive style. While she doesn't sound at all like the cooing torch singer, her interpretation of her catalog is pleasing in its own way. The tunes are presented in simple, but visually-appealing production numbers which rightfully keep the focus on the songs.

While the MGM take on Etting's story has its own slick delights, I can't help but pine for a pre-code version of this story. Of course the timeline of her life would make such a thing impossible, but imagine Jean Harlow playing Ruth and a young Cagney still in the role of Snyder. Maybe Robert Montgomery as the piano player? Perhaps it wouldn't be a much more accurate take on the tale, but the spirit of the age would serve the story well.

As that scenario is impossible; I'll take Doris and Jimmy, who always deliver, even when they don't hit the bullseye.

In addition to the Ruth Etting musical shorts A Modern Cinderella and Roseland, special features on the disc include the star-studded MGM promo A Salute to the Theatres which highlights upcoming features also produced the year of Love Me or Leave Me's release, and a theatrical trailer.

Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing a copy of the film for review. To order, visit The Warner Archive Collection.